Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part I: Bind

In the small guest house adjoining the backyard, your tools and supplies sat perfectly organized for the dark and dreary seeking your services. But weeks had passed since your last patient. The operating table sat unused along with the over-pillowed and blanketed bed.

Strolling back to the house, you pulled out your maps to continue your real work. The work that ruined your life and rebirthed it with meaning. Stacks of notes dotted the kitchen table, color-coded to reflect notations on the oversized map of the continent. It was lovely and aesthetically pleasing, but only since you had the time to do it.

Though with fewer patients each month, the time and money would slip. While patients paid for their stay over recovery, some paid you in something far more valuable: information. Which unfortunately didn't matter the longer you went without the money.

Photos of locations and people stuck to the cabinetry at odd angles you swore had meaning. There was more on the exterior of the cabinets than inside. But you didn't need much. An average kitchen with an average living room for an un-average person on an unreasonable quest.

Poking at the mark on your wrist, you scowled at the way the name was written. Black and shaky, it looked like it was carved into your skin. It coursed down the vein like it followed an uneven river. Whatever it could have mattered before, it didn’t now. You didn’t imagine you’d meet them at this point since you lived hidden away from the world.

You scribbled a note on the side of the map and sipped your morning coffee. The sun barely crept over the sky when you heard a knock at your door. A thump, really, with the intention of being a knock.

You snatched your knife from the counter and slipped it under your sleeve. You didn't usually have problems, but you were working with people others wouldn't, after all.

Morning light flooded the living room as you opened the door. A tall man with dirty blond hair hunched over, clutching his side. He leaned on the bannister for support, trying to string words together but he swallowed each before he voiced his concerns.

Blood pooled on your porch, adding to the already inseparable stains from every bodily fluid imaginable.

“They never said the doctor was a pretty, little thing,” he coughed out.

You kept your face even, displeased. You’d dealt with his types before and a quick warning was the best policy. You flicked the knife from your sleeve and held it under his jaw. He stilled, but his aura shifted like he wanted to make a move. But from the state of him, it was unlikely he’d be able to do much (for now).

“Three rules if I heal you,” you said, sliding the flat of the knife under his jaw until it hit the tip of his chin. “One: you pay me with money and information, but both can be negotiated. Two: keep your hands to yourself. And three: stay out of my house.” You tapped the knife against his chin, watching the intent building and then dying in his eyes. “Deal?”

“Deal.” He coughed with a smile. “You made your point.”

“Fantastic!” You smiled and let out a laugh as you dropped your knife from his chin. “Sorry about the knife. I just need to be careful.” You slipped it back in your sleeve. You stepped outside and locked the door. He followed you into the backyard, doing a good job to keep his pain as quiet as possible. You were long past the point where you’d ask your patient's name, but you liked his blasé attitude to his injuries and it would be fun to have a name to the face.

Like he read your mind, he slunk up beside you. “Name’s Phinks.” Hunched over he looked much shorter than he would be at his full height.

“Nice to meet you, Phinks.” You offered a hand, laughing as he wrapped a single, unbloodied finger around your own. “My name’s none of your business.” He pouted and you shrugged with a smile. “You can call me Doc.”

“Fancy meeting you here, Doc,” Phinks said, looking around like he was waiting for somebody or something. “Want the sob story? It’s a good one.”

“Depends on how well you tell stories.” You held the door to the guest house open for him.

He shared his tale of misery, with limited hand motions. You thought he’d have given a more animated retelling if he weren’t pale and desperately in pain.

“I’m surprised they got you.” You patted the table, offering him a seat. “You don’t look like an easy guy to kill.”

“Were you planning on it?” He smirked. “I wouldn’t try.”

“I want your money too much,” you said, snapping your gloves against your wrist as you tugged them on. Each glove missed the thumb and middle finger covering. “I’ve got better things to do than kill the transients that meander into my office.”

“But you could.” He hissed as he laid back to let you examine the wound. He took another look at the open door and you kicked it closed with a harsh look telling him to stay down.

Phinks dropped his hands from his stomach to let you examine his gash. “I can put people down if needed.”

“Like dogs?”

“Like rodents.” You reached for your tools. “Who else is coming?”

Phinks raised his brows. “You caught that, huh?”

“You don’t seem like you work alone.” You felt the warmth of your ability in your hands. Phinks' wound met the criteria for healing. Poor guy. “This will hurt.”

“No sugar-coating it,” Phinks said.

“What was I thinking?” You smacked your hand against your head. “Be a good boy and count to three. I’ll give you a lollipop.”

“Just do it,” Phinks said, sounding too amused for the pain he was about to receive. “If they show, they show. I got separated over a day ago.”

“Then let’s make sure your friend finds you alive,” you said kindly. “You can tell me all about them after I heal you. We’ll see if we can find ‘em. Oh, last thing, do you want to be awake for this?”

“You’re not drugging me,” he said.

“Fine by me.” With that, you dipped your finger into his wound. Phinks yelped and grabbed your wrist. You gave him a sharp look.

“I need blood from the wound,” you said, “I’m gonna heal it inside out and to do that, I need to be in the wound.”

“Fuck.” He pressed his head back and dropped his hold on your wrist. “They said it would suck, but you’re evil.” His mouth quivered with a smile. “My friend would love you.”

“You can tell them when they get here I’m not interested,” you said. Starting again, you activated your Nen. Slick blood seeped into the pads of your middle finger and thumb. Pressing them together in the wound, you allowed your ability to expand beyond the joined fingers. Phinks cursed but stayed still as the sting of his own blood turning on him kicked in to force the healing process against his body’s wishes. At least you wouldn’t need to tie him down. Feeling the slimy grit of organs, you scowled. The wound was deep enough to kill him on the spot, but he hadn’t died and somehow made it to you. Tough to kill, indeed.

His skin illuminated gold around the wound as tendons and bone rejoined. Rivulets of color sprung through his veins, lighting up his torso like a fireworks show. It would burn terribly, but part of the process was convincing the body it wanted to be healed. With a wound like this, the body wanted to give out, not accept the bone-deep, vicious burning sensation.

Phinks cursed and hit his balled fists against the table. Sweat pooled at his hairline, dropping into his eyes as he strained his face to remain still.

Ignoring his outburst, you continued your work until the wound was at a manageable level, enough that you could stitch it freely and wrap it.

“I’m going to stitch it up, but you’re going to have to stay a while,” you said, pulling your gloves free and tossing them in the trash. “At least one night while I make sure your body doesn’t decide to reject the healing.”

“Not like I have anything better to do without Fei, I guess,” Phinks said, his voice strained like he was on the verge of passing out. He probably was.

You figured Fay would be the one who’d come looking for him. Perhaps his girlfriend or colleague.

Phinks babbled as you stitched and wrapped the wound. By the time you were done, his eyes glazed over and he fell asleep. You sighed and dropped to a crouch to cover your head. The pressure in your temples from your ability never got better. The migraine had already started and it wouldn’t stop until you threw yourself into the dark and didn’t come out until the light stopped burning.

You looked up at Phinks. He wasn’t going to move. So no going to his bed, but you could bring the bed to him. You held his neck up just enough to slip a pillow under his head. Holding the blanket in your fist, you debated putting it on him. After taking his temperature, you decided against it.

“I’ll be back in a few hours, big guy.” You left the blanket on the chair beside the table. Filling a glass at the sink, you gave him water and painkillers he could take when he woke. You topped it off with a note to call if he needed anything.

Your spine tingled on the walk back to the main house. You turned back to the guest house. The door was still closed. Even in broad daylight, you body felt more prey than person. Looking down the street and back the other way, you couldn’t see anyone, but you could sense them, feel them. They were concealing themselves only enough not to be seen. Whoever it was, they wanted you to know they saw you. You only hoped it was the Fay person Phinks had mentioned, and that they wished you no ill will. But there was only one way to find out.

“Phinks is healing,” you called out to wherever. “He needs some time before he’ll be fine. Don’t grab him and run in the night. I’m not done healing him.”

You waited for somebody to respond. The only indication you weren’t alone was the feeling of their aura slithering closer. Their electric presence streaked through your veins like it wanted to pull you from the depths of the ocean and shock you conscious. Opening up to their presence would wake you and throw you from a jagged cliff back into the chilling ocean waters. A ghastly cycle of birth and death.

Shaking the feeling away, you walked back towards the house, keeping your composure as well as possible. This presence awaking every part of you didn’t need to know they had such an effect.

“He’s not in the main house,” you said at a casual volume. The presence was close. “So stay the fuck out of here. If you’re craving a good old fashioned B&E, do it in the guest house where your friend’s sleeping.”

Again, nothing but the overwhelming sense that you were meant to move closer.

“Stay out.” You pointed towards the street, hoping your watcher would see it.

You shivered as you locked the door behind you, certain you’d heard a chuckle and silky voice respond: “Perhaps.”

“Shit.” You slid down the door, looking up to ensure the dozen locks were in place. It had been ages since you’d regretted taking a client. Phinks seemed fine, just talkative. But it was this ghostly presence that came with him that set every sense on edge.

You sat at the table with your maps for hours, waiting for the presence to open your door. Whether they knew you were waiting or not was yet to be seen, but you figured they probably did. Head pounding, you still refused to sleep before a call from Phinks for food.

The door to the guest house was still locked when you arrived.

“We won’t need to bother finding your friend,” you told Phinks as you handed him warm broth. “They’re here.”

“You saw him?” Phinks said, chugging the broth like he didn’t have a healing gash across his stomach.

“Didn’t see him,” you said. “Menacing presence? Hides in the shadows oozing wrath? Doesn’t answer direct questions?”

“That’s him.” Phinks smiled.

“He better not kill me tonight or you’ll probably die too.” You smiled but fought a real ounce of concern. Not that Fay had done anything that warranted concern other than be annoying. But there was something so off-putting about his presence that made you uneasy.

“Can’t guarantee it,” Phinks said.

“Fantastic,” you said. “If you can move, let’s get you to the bed so you can sleep tonight.”

After a shower to remove the remaining blood, you could barely stay awake. By the time you fell asleep, the thoughts of the strange presence had dissipated. The creak of the door opening didn’t wake you, or the aura invading your space, or the man himself sitting on your couch waiting for the moment you’d wake up and find him.

Besides, he had nothing better to do without Phinks.

Chapter Text

The clock ticked the early morning hour. You turned in bed, fluffing your pillow and pressing your face into the fabric. It was tough enough to sleep normally, but even worse when there was a patient in the guest house. 

Better.

You blinked.

No – not better. You were even more uncomfortable. Uneasy.

You shifted again and jolted as a presence invaded your senses like a warning and a promise. You stumbled out of bed, taking blankets and pillows with you. The Hunter’s Association would have laughed at the spectacle you were making of yourself during a home invasion. You sounded like a caged animal trying to escape captivity. Sloppy and out of practice. 

You pressed your ear to the bedroom door, thanking whoever that you’d closed it the night before. Not that the caution mattered. Your approach wasn’t graceful and the presence certainly heard blankets rustling and feet crashing on hardwood. But they hadn’t moved. Their aura remained set in place.

This wasn’t Phinks. You knew what his presence felt like. He’d had no stamina left to conceal himself when he arrived. This was the other one; the presence from yesterday that seeped deep inside your bones. 

He could be fast, stealthy, and dangerous. Most likely the case since he hadn’t moved when he heard you. But if you were too aggressive, you could escalate needlessly. You’d warned Fay that if you died, Phinks would too. But that staked too much on their unknown relationship with him. Maybe they didn’t care if Phinks died. 

Plus your maps were all over the kitchen. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

But even more stupid would be to call attention to them if this intruder hadn’t paid any attention.

The knob creaked as you pushed the door out. The hall never felt as long or the shadows as nefarious. Branches outside swayed in swaths of light and you scowled as you jerked away at the movement.

But the closer you stalked, the closer you needed to be. Intoxicating. Ravenous like a wildfire and sweet like the promise of eternal sleep. The presence yearned for your own. 

Closer. Something tugged your limbs, compelled their movement. Nothing external; something too deep to consider at the moment. 

Each step, each careful breath felt like a step towards where you needed to be. You’d show no fear, give nothing. He’d invaded your space but you would set the rules. With a final, soothing breath, you rolled your shoulders back and glided into the living room.

Moonlight seeped through parted curtains behind the couch where he sat. Fay’s shadow stretched through the room, reaching to you like you were reaching to him. The light caught the cut of his cheek bones and the vicious fascination burning in his grey eyes. If not for his telling gaze, you’d miss his expression entirely. A cowl wrapped his face and a large overcoat blocked any tense or concerning body language. 

A book sat in his lap. Your book from your shelf. He’d made it halfway through the story while you slept. He’d been here a while and hadn’t made a move to harm you. Yet, at least. Just reading by moonlight like he did this often. 

He folded the corner of his page and dropped the book on the couch as he stood. You frowned. You wouldn’t go into his house and fold his book pages. 

His eyes moved up your body, giving only a cursory glance to the knife you held up just enough to make a point. Everything moved slowly with him, like he had all the time in the world. But it looked more calculated than anything. 

“Do you like the book?” You swallowed at the yearning and vulnerable waver in your voice, unnerved at the strange question you couldn’t possibly explain asking. Not when there were about twenty ways to ask what the fuck he was doing in your house at 2 a.m. 

Why did you want him to like it, anyway? 

Whatever he’d expected you to do or say, it didn’t appear a book review was on his list of possible inquiries. His eyes squinted and then brightened with a jubilance too malicious to be playful.

“Your taste is acceptable,” he said softly, stepping closer with gleaming eyes. “Nice to pass time.” 

“You could have done that in the guest house.” You twisted the knife in your hand and dropped it to your side. A tentative promise of trust since he hadn’t immediately attacked. No need to escalate.

Though your pulse raged in your ears, this was a different kind of rush. 

“No books there.” He cocked his head. His voice; god damn, his voice. Soft and melodic, but cutting like the crack of a whip. 

You shivered as you shattered and reformed. Every nerve burst and twisted through your body. Searing pain, heavy and hot like a brand, wriggled through the veins in your wrist. Cursing you grabbed for your arm and felt the warmth seep through your fingers. When it singed your palm, you shook out your hand and stared down at the previous black letters burning hellfire gold.

Feitan.

“Feitan?” You said, voice cool with wonder. A word like a prayer.

His eyes widened like he too felt the pain. But Feitan’s reaction was a simple flex of his fingers. 

From one blink to the next, he was against you. He tossed the knife across the room, out of both your reach. Feitan’s calloused hand squeezed your neck, fingers constricting your breath just enough to keep you in place. You gripped his coat to keep him away and his hold tightened like a warning. His free hand tugged your wrist towards his face, close enough you dared wonder if he might kiss his name branded on your skin. 

His warm breath sent your senses reeling. The stroke of his thumb down the center of your neck as you swallowed; his breath barely audible as he stood silent as a body in a grave; the scent of earth and blood permeating the room; the heat coursing your veins, humming under his wicked stare. 

His presence burned like a wildfire: hot and unrelenting. 

Feitan frowned while examining his name. His thumb pressed each letter one by one, shifting the veins below your skin. Cold pressure met your wrist but you burned warm under the touch. You squirmed and his grip on your neck tightened.

“Careful,” he warned.  

Twisting calligraphy of your name donned his wrist. Stunning work in comparison to the hack job lettering on your own. 

You wriggled again and by some miracle, he dropped his hold on your neck. 

“Thank you.” You rubbed the skin with your free hand. 

Feitan flicked his gaze from your wrist to your face. “Bad locks. Got in too easy.” 

You shook your head. Of all the things to say, he was critiquing your security system after what had just occurred? Was he insane? Perhaps, considering he was friends with Phinks. 

Maybe you needed that knife he’d tossed. 

“I’ll get better locks,” you deadpanned, confused and suddenly unimpressed with Feitan. “You can sleep on the couch if you promise to stay out here.” You held your voice even, rolled your shoulders back, and clasped your hands in front of you. You'd show no fear, no wanting, and none of the yearning burning your veins. But most of all, you'd deescalate to ensure he didn’t do something unpreferable like kill you. 

He didn’t respond, instead he yanked you closer by the wrist. You stumbled, caught by Feitan’s other hand clutching your chin. His nails pinched. Shoving your face to the side, his gaze trailed from your collarbone, up your neck, and over your lips before pushing your head to do the same on the other side. 

Did he feel it too? Was he burning inside out? How was he so unperturbed, annoyed even? 

You flushed under his focus, like he was consuming every detail about you. Feitan stroked his thumb over your cupid’s bow and down your bottom lip. He shoved his thumb past your lips and back out again to press into the point of your chin.

“Pretty,” he said, like it displeased him. “What a shame.” 

The burning. God, the burning. How was he composed? 

“That’s enough,” you said evenly, collecting his hand from your face and placing it back at his side. “If you’re done assessing me, then step back.” 

His brows fell and his grip tightened on your wrist. For a moment, you thought he’d choke you again. Instead, he complied.

Wordlessly, he ambled back to the couch. He sat perfectly straight, holding the book open in his lap. Was he uncomfortable or did he have that posture before? You yearned to remember, but his presence had been so overwhelming, you couldn’t recall. 

He flipped one page, then another, and another. 

“We aren’t acknowledging what just happened?” You said, stepping forward to stand over him on the couch. He looked up slowly, like you bored him. 

“Don’t want a soulmate,” Feitan whispered, like he knew your soul would shatter to hear it. “Useless to me.” 

Of every choice of words, that one cut harder than it should have. 

He didn’t want it? He’d flirted - or what you guessed was his strange version of flirting. Even if you hadn’t considered the implications of having a soulmate, it hadn’t occurred to you to disengage outright. You never thought you’d meet them in the first place, so there was no need to consider what you’d do if you did. But having somebody else would be a miracle. You needed more help to find your brother. Two sets of eyes, one to look forward and one to watch your back. 

“When Phinks is healed,” you said, “you’re both gone.”

“Too busy to stay.” Feitan flipped to the next page.

“You -” But you paused. The warmth on your wrist hadn’t ceased, and it was dripping down your arm. The outside, not the inside. 

“You bled on me.” You twisted your arm to examine how much he had bled in the moment or minutes you’d stood together. It felt like too long and not enough. 

“Wound closed and reopened,” Feitan said, not looking up from his (your) book. 

In the moonlight, you could see it now, the gash down his arm, illuminated red, so bright against his dark clothes and pale skin. Your chest ached. Absolutely not. You wouldn’t find your soulmate and lose him because he wouldn’t fucking ask to be healed. Feitan could try to convince you he didn’t want you, fine, but you weren’t about to let him die, or at the very least sit in pain because he was a huge asshole. 

“Don’t move." You pointed as he shifted in his seat. He glared but you scowled back. “Stop it. Sit still while I get my kit.” 

“Demanding.” Feitan’s feather light voice travelled from the living room. 

Nope. This was your house and he was going to deal with it. 

“Demanding is breaking into my house to get me to heal you without asking," you said. "You could have knocked on the fucking door like everyone else.” 

“Not when I enter so easily,” Feitan said. 

You dragged out your personal first aid kit and returned to the living room. Despite his protests, Feitan had stayed in place on the couch. Holding back a smile, you dropped to your knees in front of him. He shifted now, pushing back until you reached for his forearm. 

“Are you comfortable removing your coat?” You pulled your hand away, feeling his injured arm tense under you. 

You got no response. 

“I need to remove it to see the damage.” 

Feitan nodded. You reached for the collar and pulled the cowl down. Faint red tinted his cheeks as you helped his injured arm out of the coat. The rest of his face was as pretty as what you’d seen so far. But his lips were tense, turned down. He swallowed as the coat fell down his arms. 

Feitan scooted back again. 

“Do you want me to heal you or not?” You adjusted yourself between his knees so you were nearly pressed against him as he moved back.

“Watch it,” he hissed. A real command now. 

You retreated immediately. “I’m sorry.” 

You stood and looked behind you. The coffee table would hold. Pulling it forward, you sat in front of him, eye to eye. Leaning in, you pressed gentle fingers against his arm to turn it for a better view of the gash. 

“This never actually closed, did it?” You turned to speak to him, finding his face nearly on yours, also watching you work with the wound. His breath warmed your face again. “It’s fresh.” 

Feitan didn’t break your stare. His lips turned up in a half smile and his chin dipped like he was mocking you. “Very good, Doctor.”

The mocking fell away from his face and he scowled like he was in pain.

“It must hurt.” You turned away to get your partially-fingerless gloves and the supplies you’d need to stitch it. You snapped the gloves in place. “I’ll get it fixed quickly and then you can wash up at the sink if you’re up to it.” 

You slipped your fingers into the wound, activating your ability. When nothing happened, you released an even breath. Nothing critical had been hit, nothing that would require your Nen. 

“I’ll clean it and stitch it up.” You peeked at Feitan, whose free hand gripped into a fist in his lap. 

Disinfecting the wound, you ignored the feeling of both Feitan’s stare and breath on your face. He was enthralled, more with the wound and what you did to it than you yourself. But you could see his gaze catch on you every time you moved, like he was stalking you from centimeters away. 

You stitched it up and wiped the dried blood from his arm. 

“Don’t get the stitches wet if you can avoid it,” you said. “You and Phinks will need to come back in a few weeks to get them removed, so don’t stray far. Or just find someone else who can remove them.” 

You tossed your soiled goods in the trash and put away your first aid kit. You grabbed some pain killers and headed back to the living room. You handed Feitan the drugs and a glass of water. He looked between your hand and your face. 

“Painkillers,” you said. “Not poison or something. Same shit I gave Phinks.” 

Feitan scowled but took both without complaint. Or at least without words of complaint. 

“I’d prefer if you both stayed a few days so I can ensure your wounds don’t get infected.” 

Feitan hummed like he’d heard but didn’t agree. 

“Phinks almost died,” you said. “I’m shocked he showed up alive at all. He needs a few days. And you do too. Lay down for a while.” 

Maybe that would give both you and him time to think about what just happened. The rush of heat and pain had settled into something fresh and confusing, but softer.

No answer seemed like an affirmative from Feitan. Needing something to do, you rummaged through your hall closet for an extra blanket and pillow. Finding none, you cursed and stole your own from beside your bed where you’d thrown them earlier. 

Feitan was laying on the couch when you returned. His injured arm lay flat while his other rested on his chest. You’d have thought he was sleeping if not for the slit of whites you could see in his eyes. 

“Here.” You rested the fluffy pink blanket over him, ignoring his scowl. “Lift your head for me.” He complied and you slipped the pillow under his neck. 

“What do I owe?” Feitan said, cracking an accusatory eye wider.

“Well,” you said, plopping down on the floor next to him. “Considering your name’s branded on my arm and mine’s on yours', I’d say nothing. But since you’re being an asshole about it – money or information.” 

You hoped he’d rise to the bait, but he ignored it.

“Your maps,” Feitan said. 

“What about them?” You frowned. Then he had seen them between his cozy reading and bleeding sessions on your couch. “Do you know something?” 

“You are looking for someone,” he said, with real interest in his eye, “important.”  

“Do you know something?” You repeated, your voice clipped. 

Feitan hummed. “Perhaps.” 

You were about to shake a response out of him when a fist rammed on the door. You cursed and fumbled for the knife still sitting on the floor. 

“Doc!” Phinks whined. “I felt Fei. He’s not torturing you or anything, right? I don’t want to die because he was bored.” 

You froze. You’d imagined murder as the worst thing Feitan would do to you. You looked back at him on your couch. A small smile graced his lips as he ignored you entirely. 

“And why would he do that?” You called as you shuffled across the room to toss open the door.

“No reason.” Phinks looked much better than he had hours before. He was at least, mostly, standing on his own. He still rested a hand on the bannister for support. 

You were about to wave him in when his arm shot out. He clutched your wrist and turned it. Golden letters betrayed you. You turned your face away, burning red under the harsh porch light. The color change on your face and wrist felt too personal to share with Phinks. 

“Would ya look at that.” Phinks flicked Feitan’s name. “We’ve got ourselves our newest Spider Princess.” 

Chapter Text

“What the fuck’s a ‘Spider Princess?’” You said, gazing back to find Feitan standing at your shoulder. He’d made no sound slinking over. “It sounds like some gruesome infection.” 

Phinks snorted and groaned, clutching his side. “Still hurts, Doc.” 

“I can tell,” you said. “But I’m glad you’re well enough to stand.” 

Phinks smiled, genuinely. “A ‘Spider Princess’ is what we call the people lucky enough to get -”

“That is enough, Phinks,” Feitan said. 

Well, that didn’t answer your question. 

Phinks rolled his eyes and pushed past you into the house - without the invitation you were planning to give him after you moved your damning work in the kitchen. “Might as well tell the boss. You know he was pissed at Shalnark for hiding it for a year.” 

One of their friends hid their soulmate for a year ? And they had a boss of some kind. Most likely the crime kind, not the paper-pushing kind. Maybe that’s why spiders sounded familiar. But still, you couldn’t place it. There wasn’t much to know living cooped up in your house with a single goal. Anyone other than your brother was a tertiary concern. 

“I said,” Feitan’s voice sounded gentle as a dream about to turn nightmare, “that is enough.”  

“Oh, loosen up,” Phinks said, tossing his arm around your shoulders. “Shouldn’t you be getting to know this pretty thing instead of snipping at me?” 

That was the spirit. 

“I’m with Phinks on this,” you said, smiling up at the only person other than yourself in the room who agreed with you on this soulmate business. “Why don’t we get to know each other? But you both should both really sit down. I don’t think I’m going to convince either of you to sleep. And I’m definitely not sleeping now.” 

“Do not encourage him,” Feitan said. “He will never shut up.” 

While the banter was fun, your maps sat open for viewing in the kitchen. Looking would be suspicious so you engaged with the conversation. An excuse to go to the other room was all you needed. 

“Don’t bullshit me,” Phinks said. “You cut your own damn arm for a reason to come in here.” 

“You did what?” You said louder than you meant to, momentarily forgetting the kitchen. “Are you crazy? You could have seriously hurt yourself!” 

“You can not prove it,” Feitan said, his gaze shifting to Phink’s arm around you. He was more expressive without the cowl. His distaste was clear with his scowl and squinted eyes. “Keep hands to yourself or I will take them.” 

Phinks dropped his hold and ambled over to the recliner in the corner. “Don’t worry, Fei. I won’t touch your girl. Unless she wants me to.” Phinks winked at you. 

“Touch her. Hands. Fish food,” Feitan said. “Got it?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Phinks plopped down into the chair and groaned as he landed too hard for his injury. “I was just jokin’.” 

Feitan didn’t respond so you ambled over to Phinks. Closer to the kitchen. You could offer them water or food. Anything that would give you a moment to hide your work. “How’s your side feeling?”

“Pretty good considering I was almost turned inside out.” He said, popping the recliner back to stretch, until he again remembered he’d almost been turned inside out and it hurt . This man was something else. “You did a killer job of not killing me.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” You perched on the recliner arm. “Did you take the painkillers?”

Easing into the conversation. That would get you to the kitchen. 

“Sure did,” Phinks said, saluting you. “Doctor’s orders and all that.” 

“Do you want something to drink?” You said. Phink’s face lit up. “Non-alcoholic. We’re not getting you drugged and drunk at the same time.” Phinks face fell.

“Water then, as long as Fei won’t waterboard me with it for daring to look at you.”  

Your neck prickled and Feitan was again behind you without a sound. He squeezed your wrist and tugged you away from Phinks. You jerked, sliding across the floor to the couch. Feitan tossed you down and stood over you, arms crossed. 

So much for the kitchen. You’d need to redo your trek in an unsuspicious way. 

“Ow,” you protested, rubbing your wrist that had gotten too battered already. “What’s wrong now? I was checking on my patient.” 

“I am your patient,” he whispered. 

“My other patient.” 

“I take priority,” Feitan said.

“Why’s that?” You smiled sweetly. He could say it; you wanted him to say it. But you imagined he’d exhausted his use of the word ‘soulmate’ when he’d rejected you. 

When he didn’t respond, you continued. 

“You heard Phinks,” you said, “he was flipped inside out like a shirt in the washer.” Phinks called his agreement. “And I don’t think he did that to himself…” 

You let the dig linger, refusing to break eye contact. If he was going to throw you around like a ragdoll, he’d get the challenge he greatly needed. 

Feitan sat next to you, conveniently between yourself and where Phinks sat chuckling on the other side of the room. Feitan picked up his book and continued reading. You took it as a win that he had no response. 

He looked occupied but it was a farce. There was no way he wasn’t watching every movement in the room. But he was an idiot if he thought you’d let him play guard dog when he’d made it clear he neither had nor wanted to acknowledge the bond. He had no claim on you. 

“Coffee, anyone?” You stood, dodging Feitan’s hand that clutched at your side as you scooted past. “And food? I love early morning snacks when I can’t sleep.”

“Sit down.”

“Food sounds great!” Phinks hopped up from his chair and you stumbled to push him back down. He wasn’t supposed to come with you. For fucks sake, these guys were a handful. “Whatchu got to eat?” 

Snacks weren’t going to be enough time. You needed to make a meal. Rushing to take down the information in the kitchen would look and sound suspicious, so it had to be slow. But you needed a meal to compensate. Something justifying the length of absence. 

“Nothing if you two don’t sit on your asses like I requested,” you said. “I’ll make breakfast. If you want to chat - yell.” 

“At least let me hel -”

“I said no.” Your cold voice gave you pause. Collecting yourself, you reformed the smile you’d given so many times. The fake one that most everyone believed. But you weren’t sure Phinks did with the way he cocked his head, assessing you. “Now that you’re in the house, you’re guests. Guests don’t help. They sit and look pretty.” 

“You really are Fei’s soulmate,” Phinks said. 

“She is demanding,” Feitan said. He almost sounded pleased. 

Your heart stuttered and you swallowed the shallow breath his voice induced. As they snipped at each other, you slipped out of the room. 

Slowly. You’d remove everything slowly.

Pictures of your brother dotted the cabinets. Him as a child, a teen, an adult, and whatever demon he was now. You’d almost respect it if he hadn’t ruined your life in the process. The tape stuck to the wood and it took multiple attempts to remove each. 

“Whatcha doing in there?” Phinks yelled.

Shit. You weren’t making enough noise.

“Just thinking,” you called back. 

The pots and pans clanked as you tossed them onto the stove. Cold and refreshing, the refrigerator illuminated the room as you dragged out eggs, milk, and bread. The freezer felt even better. With your trove of food, you got to work. 

Eggs cracked and bacon sizzled. It smelled nice and felt domestic to make a meal like this for guests. You'd never even had somebody else in the house other than your friend Mai. And they usually brought their own food.

Wiping your hands, you crept to the table. The maps were a mess and you didn't have that much time. You folded them as carefully as you could. They'd sat for weeks and were happy to stay in their current form. Sticky notes bent and paper crackled as you folded it. Clutching it all to yourself, you slipped down the hall and tossed them in your bedroom closet. There really shouldn’t be a reason for Phinks to venture in there, even if he did find his way into the bedroom to explore. 

You popped back into the kitchen, already feeling his presence. 

“Why hide them?” Feitan said, watching the eggs like they hadn’t had a home cooked meal in weeks. 

Was he trying to help ? 

Probably not. He wanted to be a nuisance. Exactly what he’d been from the moment he showed up inside your house. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said. Pushing him aside, you returned to the stove, tending the breakfast you didn’t think you’d make for three when Phinks showed up at your door yesterday. But food kept people calm and you weren’t sure exactly how, but these two men were extremely dangerous. Far beyond the bounds of your normal patient.

“Hide what?” Phinks popped his head around the corner. 

Fuck. Okay - half truths were best. 

“Just a personal project that took up the kitchen.” You smiled and started plating breakfast. “There was no room at the table and you heathens aren’t eating on my furniture.” 

“That sounds more like a challenge than an order,” Phinks said.

Chest shuttering, you schooled your features. He’d passed right over the comment about your work.

Your pulse raged as you waited for Feitan to rat you out. But he didn’t. 

“If you do, I’ll rip your stitches out myself.” You bonked Phinks on the chest with a spatula and pointed it towards the table. “Sit. Still want that water?” 

"Bossy," Phinks said, rubbing his chest where you'd hit him.

“Just obey,” Feitan said, dropping into a chair. 

Did his feet even touch the floor? There was no way to check without looking strange.

Fetian pulled his legs up to sit in an uncomfortable position.

“Water's boring. Coffee,” Phinks said, “black.” He dropped into his chair. 

Now you just needed to have eyes on both at all times so neither wandered too far during or after the meal. 

Phinks babbled at Feitan, who simply listened as they ate. The conversation made so little sense, either because your exhaustion peaked or because you weren’t meant to understand. 

You shifted your food around your plate and finally pushed it to the men. Stomach churning, you struggled keeping what little food you’d had down. So much change in such a short amount of time. Two criminals in your house; one who saw your work and another too nosy for his own good. And more questions than you had answers. 

Feitan seemed less talkative than Phinks. So you’d pick what you wanted to know most and direct the question at Phinks. One answer might be the limit before Feitan shuts it down. Once you could get Phinks alone, you could go wild with inquiries. (Assuming Feitan would leave you alone with Phinks after the strange possessiveness he’d displayed.)

“Why you thinking hard?” Feitan asked. Demanded. He demanded. 

“Your face gets all scrunched up when you think,” Phinks said, mouth full, pointing his fork at you.  

Where could you even begin? What could you even say? 

Because you two are polar opposites and interacting with one sets off the other but I can’t figure out when. Because it’s three in the morning and I’m exhausted. Because I have two criminals sitting in my kitchen with my work thirty feet away. Because rent is due in four days and I might be able to pay. Because I haven’t spoken to my one accomplice in weeks. And because I have a fucking soulmate I found and hour ago who thinks I’m useless to him, but also somehow property he can dictate to.

“Like that,” Phinks said, waving his fork in your face. “You look constipated.” 

“Watch it,” Feitan said quietly, pushing his plate away. 

You blinked, correcting your face into a gentle smile. “Just thinking about what I’ll do with the peace and quiet when you two rascals leave.” You looked right at Feitan as you spoke, dropping your chin in challenge. 

“Thought you were comin’ with us.” The table shifted and Phinks hissed. “Shit, Fei.” 

Phinks grabbed his butter knife and heaved it into the table where Feitan’s hand had been a moment before.

“Too slow,” Feitan said from the other side of the kitchen. “Try again.” 

Feitan had a knife too. A cutting knife he tossed up and down, catching it each time. Moonlight glinted off the medal with each throw. He watched Phinks like you weren’t even in the room anymore.

“Wanna run that one by me again, asshole,” Phinks said. He stood and crumpled over, holding his side. “I’m not the one leaving my little soul -” 

“Knock it off!” You stormed past Feitan and let Phinks wrap an arm around you to remain upright. “I thought ‘no fighting in my house’ was implied.” 

Phinks wobbled and his knees gave away. You both hit the table, but Phinks caught you before you dropped to the floor. Your bones rang with the impact. 

“You’re going back to the guest house and you’re sleeping, Phinks,” you said. “We’ll chalk this up to exhaustion. Feitan - put my knife back.” Feitan examined it and then dropped it back in the drawer. “And the other one, too.”

Feitan squinted and pulled another cutting knife from behind him. 

“How you know?” He tossed it into the drawer.

“I didn’t.” You shrugged. 

Phinks snorted and let you half drag him out the front door. 

Feitan hadn’t stopped you, or stopped Phinks from touching you this time. 

You were going to feel this in a few hours. Not only the physical impact, but the emotional strain too. But no matter what, you couldn’t break in front of them. They were too focused, too observant. One wrong move could be it. Especially if they were likely to kill each other with little provocation.

“I wasn’t gonna whack him, Doc,” he said. You smiled. He’d certainly seen your name on Feitan’s wrist, but opted to use the name you’d given him instead. “We’re not allowed to fight each other seriously.” 

You remembered your original plan of getting Phinks alone. This wasn’t how you’d figured it would go down, but now you had the chance.

“Whose rule is that?” You said, selecting a casual mocking tone to mask the real interest. This could be your chance to find out who they were.

“The boss,” Phinks said. “Keeps everyone in check.” 

Damn it. That wasn’t exactly what you were looking for.

“So you’re part of a group?” You said. And then frowned. That sounded too much like an accusation. “I’m glad that you take care of each other.” 

“I almost stabbed your man.” Phinks pressed against the guest house door as you opened it. “I try to make sure he’s mostly alive when it benefits me. But he can take care of himself. You don’t need to worry about him.” 

You groaned as you dropped him on the bed. He was more dead weight than you were used to carrying. And you’d done it twice in a few hours. 

“I think you misunderstand my situation,” you said evenly. “Feitan’s made his opinion of me and my role in his life clear.”

Phinks frowned.

“I won’t be joining you both when you leave,” you clarified. Your smile was too flat to look genuine. “I don’t think either of us expected something like this to happen. It’s a lot to process but Feitan’s clearly given it more thought than I ever did. He knew what he’d do before he even got in this situation.” You dragged a chair to lounge beside the bed. “While I’d never even considered it.” You plucked at the hem of your shirt. “I have so much to do on my own and I’m sure Feitan is the same. I can’t ask him to change his whole life for me.” You laughed without humor. “I wouldn’t want him to ask that of me either.” 

Phinks stretched and rested his hands behind his head. “You’re allowed to come.”

“That’s not the problem,” you said. Did he not listen to anything you’d just said? Maybe you’d given him too much of the drugs. Or the wrong drug. 

“Chrollo allows it,” he said. “Would be inhumane if he didn’t. And hypocritical considering he has his own with him.” 

Chrollo. You’d heard that name before but you couldn’t place it. 

“I don’t know who that is,” you said, resting your elbows on your knees. Your back ached and your chest felt too heavy to hold up. Everything looked blurry. All the lines you’d drawn and boundaries you’d set had been rammed through by an idiot and his friend who was also an idiot. Nothing made sense anymore. 

“And you call yourself an underworld doctor.” Phinks laughed.

“Never claimed to be some crime world whisperer,” you said. You were never supposed to do this work anyways. “I’m tired of the guessing games. Who are you guys?”

Phinks closed his eyes and breathed evenly. You wondered if he’d fallen asleep the longer you sat in silence. Seconds bled into minutes and you were certain you weren’t getting an answer. The chair scraped against the floor as you dragged it back in place. Checking the room, you ensured Phinks had everything he might need for the next few hours. You could barely keep yourself upright. You needed sleep and you needed these guys to leave. Even if you didn't want them to.

You were at the door when he spoke. So quietly, you nearly missed it. 

“Can’t believe you didn’t see our tattoos.” Phinks whispered. “We’re part of the Phantom Troupe, baby.” 

Your blood ran cold. That’s where you’d heard the name. 

“Spiders through and through.” Phinks mumbled.

Spiders.

Spider Princess.

Oh.

Fuck. 

Chapter Text

You closed the door to the guest house and stood in the middle of the grassy yard. Stars twinkled, catching their light on early morning dew. The dregs of morning sun crested the hills. Such beauty in something fleeting. 

Spiders - fucking Spiders were in your house. Two of them. Panic was futile, absolutely useless; fear was not an acceptable response. But still, worry wollowed in your stomach. They hadn’t really tried to hurt you. Even when Feitan had choked you, it wasn’t enough to cause harm. If they’d wanted harm, they could give it - but they hadn’t.

Even so, something - everything - had changed. There’d be no return to the world before Feitan - only before and after. Two new ways of viewing the world. Not dissimilar to how you viewed the world after your brother. 

At least only two Spiders showed up. From hints of information over the past six months or so, they tended to travel as a pack. Where one went, so did the others. So why were there only two? There had to be more. Especially if they were travelling with their soulmates. 

Nope. Too much thinking. Composure was all you needed. 

You didn't bother checking if Feitan was present before speaking. 

"You're both Spiders," you said. It wasn't a question. 

For some reason, you didn’t feel the unbridled fear anymore, the knee-jerk reaction at the name. Perhaps because you dealt with people like them all the time. Or because you knew them first as people, not as their affiliation; even though it had only been a few hours. But fuck, they were dangerous and your body wouldn’t forget, even if your mind tried to convince it otherwise. 

"You did not ask," Feitan said, appearing beside you with a gentle gust of the chilly, morning wind. He must have been cold without his coat. You shivered yourself. 

"Would you have told me if I did?" You turned to face him, letting the veneer of calm and control slip. It was too late, or too early, to keep playing this game with them. They’d gleaned enough of you to show them a little honesty. Especially when one was your - nope, you weren’t going to call him that anymore. It hurt too deeply. 

"You," Feitan smirked, "did not ask."

"Yeah, I got that part," you said, walking back towards the house. Feitan could follow or not. 

Shallow breaths partnered your uneven steps as you tried to remain nonchalant. You probably looked ridiculous. Fists balled and jaw tight, you turned to him.

Too intense, you said to yourself, trying to relax.  

"So, what do we do now?" You paused on the porch. 

"Me and Phinks leave," Feitan said. The rest of the sentence was implied. You were not welcome; you would never be welcome. 

"Then you owe me payment," you said, pushing into the door. You met resistance and pushed harder. You didnt remember locking it. Phinks was draped over you. There's no way you could have. "I appreciate you locking it but can you let me inside?"

The intrusive thoughts rolled in. Maybe he’d locked you out intentionally. Just because he was supposedly your person, didn’t mean he had no free will or the desire to do right by you. He didn’t want you so what did he care about keeping you safe - from him?

Feitan's blank face extended to his empty tone. "I do not know what you are talking about."

Fantastic. He threw it back at you. 

“Please,” you said, more dejected than you’d meant to sound. It was the closest to begging you’d allow. 

“Because you asked nice.” One moment to the next, your door went from locked shut to open wide. You really did need to get new locks if it had only taken Feitan a second to get in. But apparently he thought they were good enough that locking them when you left was reasonable. Nothing about Feitan made sense. 

Feitan sat quietly while you puttered in the kitchen. It felt better to move than accept the tingling ache of uncertainty you’d get if you stopped. But eventually you had to. You poked your head around the corner to see Feitan examining you - like everything about you displeased him. 

He frowned but didn’t look away.

There was no reason not to be honest now. 

“You’re welcome to stay,” you said softly. It felt too gentle to reflect how desperately you wanted it. “But I understand if you can’t.”

“I will leave,” Feitan said. The finality in his voice was like drowning in cold water.

“Alright,” you said. “And I’m guessing you aren’t going to tell me shit about the Phantom Troupe for payment?” 

Your eyes widened at your own presumptuousness. Fuck. Why did you say that? This is why you didn’t let the people you treated into your house. Phinks and Feitan broke all three of your rules and you’d let them without a second thought. You'd acted too hastily, gotten too comfortable. Perhaps the mark had some impact on your common sense. That was probably it because you’d never be stupid enough to do what you’d done so willingly.

Feitan didn’t respond but his posture tightened, like you speaking any more would cause him to react. 

“Got it. It’s confidential and all that. I’m going to bed,” you said, laughing gently at yourself. “If I’m asleep when you leave, just drop money on the table. Or whatever.” You were too tired to push, too exhausted physically and emotionally. It was only so long before your body shut down entirely. “Let me know if you’re ever around. I’d like to see you again.” You smiled but didn’t wait for a response. 

But you were sure you heard something like: “No reason to.” 

You pretended you hadn’t heard.

Early morning light flooded your bedroom when you were jolted awake. The room spun and your stomach churned. Too much work and not enough sleep. 

A figure hovered over you. You groaned and reacted slower than you should have. The cowl and the angry eyes gave you pause. It was obvious who it was.

“Get out of my room,” you mumbled, “I’m sleeping.” 

But you didn’t protest as he leaned over you. Clutching your wrists, Feitan guided them beside your head. It wasn’t a strong enough hold you couldn’t escape. But you didn’t really feel like trying. 

Only a light blanket covered yourself from him. He was fully dressed and you very much were not. 

Feitan's breath warmed your face in the cool morning air. Black hair hung over you, blocking the view of anything but him. His chest pressed into yours and you kept yourself from arching into his touch. You failed, whimpering as you pressed up against him. It was worth it to hear his breath catch. 

“What are you doing?” You said, voice airy and strained. All you could see, all you could feel, all you could touch was Feitan. And you needed it. 

“Telling you goodbye,” Feitan said against your cheek. “Demanding woman.” Again, with the gall to say it like it pleased him. 

His nails dug into his name on your wrist. Feitan’s breath ghosted your skin as his lips grazed the uneven lettering. Rivulets of blood spattered your wrist as his nails coaxed them from under your skin. Blood seeped over his name, catching the letters like walls in a maze. Feitan watched it pool and curve down your arm before he dragged his tongue over his own name to collect the blood. 

“Bye, Princess.” 

His lips on you cut through something deeper than when you’d first heard his voice. The pain in your wrist felt too good to be bad when it was at his hands. And worst of all, he mocked you, knowing exactly what his actions would do. Like he’d read your mind when you’d thought he would kiss his name. 

You almost stuttered forming words. 

“Fuck you,” you said. “Don’t do that to me and then leave.” 

“Hmm,” Feitan said, nipping your wrist. “Another time. Maybe.” 

You were going to complain, going to argue, going to beg him to stay. But he was gone.

Sleep ebbed and flowed like the tide. Blood on your wrist coated the sheets where Feitan’s hand had been - his mouth had been. The golden lettering of his name proved fate’s sick game. Hadn’t the world taken enough? This was another thing to add to the list. 

The two were long gone, but part of you hoped when you roused to cook, they’d be sitting in the kitchen, complaining you’d overslept. It was nice to have others around after so long. Even if they were probably dangerous psychopaths. But even so, they’d treated you well. Or well enough considering what an ass Feitan had been. 

Deep, aching loss dragged you down as you ambled through the hall. Somebody you’d known a day had done this. You clutched the wall to support your wobbling legs. How better your life would have been if you hadn’t met him. If you’d forever had a strange ache in your soul you didn’t know you had until it was filled, and taken away again. 

“Stop it,” you said, smacking your cheeks. “No pity parties. You’re busy.” 

You tossed water on your face in the sink and made breakfast for one.

When you plopped down to eat at the kitchen table, you saw it. A stack of money so large you immediately dived for it. Had they had this on them the whole time? 

Money spread like a fan as you pushed it around the table. Your mouth hanged open as you guestimated the total of the loot. Months worth of rent, at least, possibly years. Under the stacks of bills, you found a note in the uneven script on your wrist. It wasn’t much. Just an address, date, and time.

You flattened the note, flipping it, searching for more. But there was nothing else. Were they planning on meeting up with you again? This address wasn’t a nice part of town. It was possible with the mixed messages you’d received from Feitan. Maybe he wanted to see you again without having to ask. 

The date was almost a month away. Why so long? Were they busy until then?

Shuffling through the stack, you tried to find any follow up, any clue as to what this place might be and why you were supposed to go. But there was nothing else. 

You rested your head against the table and let the days slip away. 

After a few weeks, you’d normalized the ache too deep to be healthy. A side-effect of the stupid bond. Had you ever bothered to research what the name on your arm really meant, you’d have known your fate. The ache raged like a hangover you couldn’t shake. Feitan likely felt it too; the wrongness of being too far apart for too long. The only consolation. 

If only you could follow the path of the increasing or decreasing ache like a string back to him, then maybe you could feel whole again. But even if you did, he didn’t want it. He’d made that clear. Just as much as you didn’t want the ache from missing shards of your soul. 

Chasing one person was enough. Two felt impossible. 

But, you’d let yourself stray for a few days. Borrowed library books to research and read stories about soul bonds, blood rituals and legends, and side effects of separation (the worst part you fixated on the most). 

You donned longer sleeves to cover the mark in public and in private. The gold gleamed too bright in the daylight. And you didn’t want to see it. 

You could have fought him more to make him stay. 

When you’d learned too much, you shoved dozens of books away, but kept them close to torture yourself with information in the early hours of the morning. 

The only good to come out of the (likely fated) meeting with Phinks and Feitan was that you had enough money to be comfortable for a while. That was kinder than they'd needed to be. Maybe Phinks felt sorry for you - figured he could help a little if Feitan wouldn’t.

Almost a dozen calls later, you finally accepted your friend’s invitation to your house. They were always kind like that, taking the strain when you couldn’t. 

Mai banged on your door and you grumbled as you let them in. Their pale brown hair cut blunt at their chin and their large eyes hid the deviousness Mai loved to keep hidden until it was time to go in for the kill. 

“What’s going on?” They stormed into your house with too much food for one meal. Which meant you’d eat it all in one meal. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”

You couldn’t justify the weeks leading up to Feitan, but you could justify the time after. You pulled your sleeve up to reveal the golden marking, not bothering to look at it. 

“Oh, shit,” they said. Mai looked between the mark and the displeasure on your face. “Oh no. They’re awful.” 

“Well, yes,” you said. “But not to me necessarily. He just never wants to see me again.” 

It was the first time you’d spoken it out loud since they’d left. It solidified the feeling that you really might not see them again. It brought back the kind of question you’d asked yourself when you began your search for your brother: How did you find somebody who didn’t exist? Somebody like Feitan? You’d too have to become someone who didn’t exist. You should have faked your fucking death like your brother did. But your brother wasn’t Feitan. Finding him would be easier than finding a member of the Phantom Troupe. 

“Foul,” they said, dropping the food onto the counter. They dodged the papers stacked high and the soulmate books littering every open space. “Need me to kill him?” 

You snorted. “You couldn’t if you tried.” 

“Hire someone then?” Mai spun around with a spoon in their hand, ready to eat everything they’d brought. 

“I don’t think that would work either.” 

They tapped the spoon on their chin with pursed lips. “He’s ‘bad bad’ then.” Mai dug through the bags and pulled out a soup canister. They’d made the stuff they’d brought. You really didn’t deserve that treatment after avoiding them for weeks. Plus the food in your fridge was barely edible with how long you’d stuck inside, only escaping to torture yourself with new library books. 

“Definitely bad bad.” You followed Mai’s lead and dug through the bags. Fruits and breads and cheeses and multiple soups. The kitchen felt more hospitable with the scents of fresh food and company that wasn’t liable to kill you. “I don’t feel so great, but the books all say that’s to be expected.” 

“My cousin had a soulmate die,” Mai said, mouth full of bread. “Then he died like two weeks after.” 

“Don’t tell me that,” you said. 

“Fine,” Mai said, “we’ll talk business while we eat and then watch trashy shows until the sun comes up again.” 

There was no use in arguing. “Did you find anything?” 

Mai dropped a folder on the table. “Took some searching but I got it.” 

“You’re too good to me,” you said. “Thank you.” 

Mai flipped open the folder with a new picture of your brother. A newspaper clipping attached to a photo of a massive crowd only a few cities away. And right in the middle was your brother. 

“Look at this.” Mai dug through the pile and handed you a flyer. “Some weird event that happened in the boonies outside that town. Exactly where that picture was taken.” 

“An event?” You scanned the flyer. All it gave was a date and time. Like the real purpose was meant to be concealed. “Do you know anything else about it?” 

“A little.” Mai shrugged. “Only reason it got reported was because it ended in a riot.” 

“What the fuck kind of event was this?” You said half to yourself. What sort of event ended in a riot? And what was your brother doing there? Wasn’t he busy trying to find you? 

You tossed the flyer away. You’d dig up more on this event the next time you went to the library. Look at the Hunters’ website and see if there was anything to find. 

Rushing to your maps, you snagged a sticker and dropped it on the city, writing in the date he’d be there. You began drawing an arrow from the last known city to the new one. But the event had been a few weeks ago. And before that, it had been weeks when you’d found another hit from the Hunter website. There was no proof he’d moved between those cities linearly. 

But you had a lead, finally. He was elusive but he’d slipped up getting photographed in public since he was technically dead. There was a good reason he was at that event or he wouldn’t have risked blowing his cover. There had to be. And you’d find it. You could ask Feitan and Phinks if you saw them. Maybe they knew something about it. They were the type who’d attend an event ending in violence. 

“Cheese?” Mai said, mouth full. 

“Throw it in my mouth,” you said. 

Mai broke off a chunk. It hit your nose but you caught it before it dropped to the floor.

“You’ll find him,” Mai said. “He’s fucked up once now. I bet he’ll do it again.”

“I hope so,” you said more to yourself than them. “Trashy movies?” 

Mai nodded and you let your mind wander away from Feitan and your brother. If you didn’t, you might have lost yourself. 

A few days before you were expected at the address Feitan provided, you opened your real research again. You’d had no patients, no bother other than Mai, and so much time to think. The strange feeling of control grew by the day. The money made everything easier. It also allowed you to buy what you really needed beyond food and rent - namely weapons and information. 

But every day the loneliness ate away at your sleep and your posture.

Even exhausted, you needed to push forward. 

The eerie quiet of the library never soothed you. Every movement could be heard - the clack of keyboards; the crunch of feet on carpet; the sighs of patrons. The perfect place to be exposed. But you needed access to the Hunter website. 

The library was too spacious for comfort. Dozens of computers lined the center of the room in rows, making privacy impossible. Shelves of books outlining the space. People bobbed and weaved, snagging books or sitting to read in place. While everybody appeared to be minding their business, you weren’t naïve enough to believe it. 

You shivered. At least a few dozen people spread across the room. You noted the location of each to keep an eye on their movement. 

Slipping to the back, you found an available computer. Massive windows opened your search to anybody walking by. And fuck, a bunch of people walked by. Adjusting your chair, you tried to cover the screen as you swiped your Hunter license. 

The Hunter Website came up and you typed in the town on the flyer. But you paused halfway through. 

You could search him too. 

Searching 'Phantom Troupe,' you waited for a wealth of information to arise. But there was so little beyond articles about their antics over the years. You flipped through page after page, revealing their cornucopia of crimes: larceny, murder, arson, and so much more. A picture of Feitan was all you wanted, or a hint on where they’d go next. 

But there was nothing.

You wiped the search and returned to the event city. It was a small town, not too far away. Close enough that you could get there quickly. If your brother were still in town, you might have a shot. Without worrying about money or time, you could move more freely than ever before. 

You searched for more information on the town, the riot, what group held the event, but you didn’t find much. Going in person was the only option. But you might not get back in time to meet Feitan.

Breathing deep, you closed out the search and headed home. 

If you didn’t go to the given address, you might never see Feitan again; if you didn’t go to the town, you might never find your brother again.  

You turned the corner to your street and found a man standing at your door. He didn’t look particularly threatening. Nothing like Feitan and Phinks’ general demeanors. 

“Are you injured?” You said. 

“Not really,” he said, smiling.

“Only kind of?” You pulled your switchblade from your pocket and pointed it at him. You didn’t need the money, technically, but more was always good. “Three rules if -”

“I’m not here to get healed,” he said, waving his hands. His blond hair hung over his bright, smiling eyes. “Phinks called me. Sounds like you might need some help. For the right price, of course.” 

Chapter Text

Phinks, not Feitan. Was it out of character? Honestly, how the fuck could you really know? You’d only known them a few hours. But there was an angle here, something happening you couldn’t explain. And the only way to find out was to pry. If this person was also a Spider, he could be useful. But if he wasn’t… 

Would Phinks even trust anyone other than a Spider? 

And now, with this stranger standing in front of you knowing you'd seen Feitan and Phinks, it clicked. You were a liability; a loose string; a path to Feitan; a path to the Phantom Troupe. And if you became a bargaining chip, Feitan wouldn't come. 

Calm; you needed calm. Just like when you'd hosted the Spiders, you couldn't show fear. Weakness was a death sentence if you showed it to one wrong person. 

“What kind of help are you offering?” You wandered past him to stand between him and your door. What the fuck kind of help could he offer when you were going to see the man he claimed sent him here in a few days? Maybe this person had seen Phinks come and go, and waited for the right time to approach. Coming and going hadn’t been common the past few weeks. They might have waited for you to leave to catch you the moment you returned. 

Plus, you couldn’t make it look like you were affiliated with the Phantom Troupe in any way. 

“Heard you’re looking for your brother,” he said. 

Your tongue ached as you bit it to keep a straight face. Phinks hadn’t known you were looking for your brother; Feitan hadn’t even known you were looking for your brother, just some nebulous somebody he caught a few glances at through pictures you couldn’t hide quickly enough. None of your notes specified who the man was, just that you were looking for him. For all Feitan and Phinks knew, you could be looking for a friend or a lover or an old coworker. 

How the fuck did they know?

“You must be confusing me with someone else,” you said softly. You swallowed, letting the sadness from your parents’ death coat the reaction on your face. “My brother’s dead.” 

“No…” he said, letting the word linger. He tapped his chin and gazed skyward. The mid-morning clouds rolled in, soft grey like rain was imminent. "I don't think that's right."

“I don’t know who this Phinks person is,” you said. “I think you’ve got the wrong woman. I’m sorry, do you need healing or not? I have to get back to work if you -”

“They didn’t tell me you’d lie to me.” 

They? 

He grabbed your wrist and pulled the sleeve up, revealing the mark. It glittered merrily in the midday sun. The fucking bastard’s name. 

The first drop of warm rain hit your face, then your wrist. It didn’t wash the mark away, just dulled the gleam like it too had lost any hope. People passed, running now to find shelter, using anything they had to cover them from the rain.  

“I knew I had the right person.” He beamed while you scowled. “Fei’s name is right there, all pretty and gold.” 

You slipped your wrist free and placed a knife at his neck in a single fluid motion. He looked down at the blade and sighed like he was bored. Rain slid down the knife and coursed down your arm. Thunder crashed and the skies opened further. Hair stuck to your face, catching in your eyes and mouth. 

The visitor smiled through the pouring rain, like he didn’t notice at all. 

“You can just say you don’t want the help,” he said, “but at least let me introduce myself because this won’t be the last time you see me.”

Was that a threat or a promise? Or a promise of a threat?

“I know Phinks and Feitan pretty well,” he said, holding out his hand. You eased up on the knife and offered a hand in return. “I’m Shalnark.” 

The name sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe Fetain and Phinks had mentioned him. God, you hoped they hadn't gotten their stitches wet and then had them removed in a timely manner.

“How do you know them?” You didn’t bother even telling him he could call you Doc. You still didn’t know who this guy was or what he really wanted. There was no proof, no -

Oh.

Shalnark hiked up his pant leg. A black spider tattoo, both delicate and vicious, wrapped his leg. The number six sat smack in the middle. You slumped against the door, relieved. This man was a member of the Phantom Troupe. How so much had changed. 

It was only at that moment you realized you wanted to have seen Feitan’s tattoo. It felt wrong somehow to see Shalnark’s first. You didn’t even know what number Feitan had. He hadn’t bothered enlightening you. 

The loneliness lingered closer to your soul than it had all day. 

Lightning illuminated the darkneing sky. It caught the shadows on his face, still so happy, but it notated the undercurrent of something dangerous about him. Even so, you couldn’t just leave him out in the rain. You shivered, tugged at your shirt sticking to your skin. 

“Well in that case...” You turned and unlocked the door. “I usually have rules about not coming in the house, but apparently I’m the official Phantom Troupe host in the city, so come on in!”

It wasn't the same as having Feitan, but it felt like a small consolation. 

“Glad you’re not an idiot.” Shalnark laughed and rested a hand on your shoulder as he passed. “Fei would appreciate the caution.” 

The compliment eased the loneliness just a bit. Until the empty house reminded you your other half was an unfathomable distance away. 

I hope it hurts you too, you said in your head like he could hear it, like it would project to wherever the fuck he was. 

You huffed a breath. Just a few more days and you could ask him what the fuck his problem was. 

Shalnark placed his hands on his hips and examined the living room like it pleased him somehow. You excused yourself to get him a glass of water and a towel to dry off. There was no telling how long he’d been standing out there. 

Digging through your hall closet, you extracted the only extra towel you had and tossed it his way. Shalnark shook his head like a dog and ran the towel through his hair. He dabbed his skin and you considered offering him clothes to change into. It couldn’t be comfortable drenched, even if he appeared not to notice that fact about himself. The Spiders must be so accustomed to discomfort that something like being soaked by the rain didn’t register as bothersome.

You lingered in the kitchen, contemplating questions. So many; too many to be polite. The pictures of your brother mocked you now. There was no use hiding them; Shalnark, Phinks, and Feitan all knew what you were doing. Hopefully you could trust them. 

Grabbing the drink, you finally emerged. Passing the glass to him, you motioned towards the couch. 

“Thanks!” Shalnark beamed. He threw the towel up and let it sink onto the couch. It wouldn’t make a difference, your couch would be drenched, but it was a nice thought. He sat and leaned back, sipping his water. 

“I have a lot of questions,” you said. 

“Questions about your soulmate will cost you extra,” he said, giggling to himself. 

Your lips quirked up into a smile, one of the few you’d had over the past month. He looked so innocent, so kind. You’d figured the Phantom Troupe was strange, but you’d never have guessed it was so idiosyncratic. 

“I’m not worried about Feitan right now,” you said. “So don’t get your hopes up about the extra money I'm sure you’d gouge out of me.” You gave him a pointed look but choked back a laugh when he pretended to look offended. “Before we start, what do I owe you?” 

Getting caught in some loan shark’s trap wasn’t on your to-do list for the day.

“Depends on the questions,” Shalnark said. 

“That’s a bullshit answer,” you said, chest shaking as you wrangled your laughter. Why were these Spiders so damn fun to talk to? You really were starved for connection if you found joy in talking with the Phantom Troupe. Or else - you swallowed - you’d been made to get along with them. Shifting, you tugged the sleeve down lower over your wrist. Feitan’s name shined through the thin, damp fabric and you looked away.  

“How about you give me half of what Phinks gave you,” Shalnark said.

“Half? Are you crazy?” You scoffed. “A fourth, depending on how helpful you actually are.” 

“A third,” Shalnark said. 

You counted in your head. That was only a few months of rent. Also, you could lie - tell him you got less than you did, tell him you spent it. Unless Phinks told Shalnark how much he’d given.

“Of the original total or how much is left?” You needed the clarification before you agreed to anything. 

“How about what you have left and I get to sleep in your guest house for a few days?” Shalnark said. 

“Deal,” you said. It still wasn’t the best bargain, but you could always find a way to make more money. Information might never come again. Even when you did see Phinks and Feitan, it was unlikely they’d have any information on your brother. If they had, there’d be no reason to send Shalnark. 

“I’m seeing Phinks and Feitan in a few days. Why send you now?” 

“Oh!” Shalnark looked too pleased for his own good. “Well, I did dawdle a bit. He told me - What day is it? - Three weeks ago. But I was busy until now.” He sank back on the couch. “I didn’t bother checking to see if they’d reached out. Those two like going off the grid so I don’t bother them too much.” 

“How did they know I was looking for my brother?” You said.

“You’re a heavy sleeper and they’re very quiet when they want to be,” Shalnark said. 

They’d gone through your shit while you slept. They’d probably been able to find information once they had his name. The thought of Phinks seeing you irked you more than Feitan seeing you. Would Feitan have even let Phinks enter your room while you slept, not perfectly clothed? 

“Fantastic,” you said, sardonically. “And why did they send you if they were able to find the information on their own?”

Shalnark pulled a pink phone from his pocket and waved it around. Small bat-like wings donned the top half. Light glinted in his other hand. Pins, the tips matching the bat-like exterior to the phone, protruded from his outstretched hand. 

“You’re gonna call him?” You said.

Shalnark chuckled. “Of course not. I’m going to get us access to every security camera in the region.” He said it so casually. No wonder the Spiders moved so easily. They could access anything they wanted. “One little prick of this,” he said, dangling the pins, “and we can get whatever info we need from anyone.” 

“Do we put that in someone?” You asked. “Like a skewer?”

“Something like that,” Shalnark said. “We'll need some food and supplies for our trip."

"I thought we'd do it from here," you said, uncomfortable with the idea of leaving the small space you'd come to know as yours. The space the Spiders defiled in a beautiful, horrifying way.

"We'll have to do most of it in person," he said. "I need to be able to poke them."

You let the quiet sit between you both. Watching Shalnark, you didn’t trust him the way you trusted Phinks and Feitan. The forthcoming nature of the two didn’t manifest in this man. He inferred a lot, but really said little.

“What are you really getting out of this?” You said, crossing your arms as you stood on the other side of the room. You didn’t want to get close to him. 

Shalnark cocked his head. “Money.” 

“What else?” You pushed. 

Shalnark’s happy facade faltered but he corrected into his smile quickly. “As long as it’s not hurting you, why do you care?” 

A question for a question. There was no point in continuing this conversation. Answers weren't imminent and you didn’t want to risk really pissing him off. You’d have to keep in mind he was equally as dangerous as Phinks and Feitan. 

“You’re right,” you said. “I don’t really care.” 

It was a lie, since you’d bothered to ask at all, but Shalnark nodded with his bright smile.

It shot tension down your back. 

Three days later, you sat in a car with Shalnark and the puppet-human he’d magicked into driving. A happy little family on the way to the scene of a rally turned riot. 

Early morning sun crested the horizon as the warmth of day refreshed your chilly skin. The car hummed along with no air conditioner to cycle air; it smelt musty and old and the seats creaked when you shifted. You’d almost protested when Shalnark pointed to his car of choice - the old beater you were in now. And you’d known what he’d say if you’d asked for a luxury car instead. This car looked like it was meant to be where you were going. It wasn’t fun when he was right.

The ache from the bond pulsed in your chest, but not as much as it had over the past month. Referring to the bond as a string you could follow home might have been more apt than you’d realized. The pain eased the further you drove and it pissed you the fuck off. Nobody should have this kind of hold on you, and especially not Feitan. Lousy, shitty, soulmate, Feitan.

Plus, the constant, grating ache did nothing positive for your mood. Maybe Shalnark had sensed that and behaved accordingly: effectively pretending you weren’t there. If you’d liked him more, you might have thanked him for it.  

Speaking of, Shalnark messed around on his device while you looked out the window. The last few days had been overly quiet. No real conversation with him beyond the necessary. You wouldn’t have called Feitan talkative, but this guy was a blank slate. More words with fewer meaning. 

The man driving had a bat skewer - no, a bat antenna poking from his neck. (Shalnark had very politely informed you not to refer to it as a skewer again. So you’d make sure to refer to it as a skewer again). 

You hoped Phinks and Feitan wouldn’t return while you’d disappeared. Maybe Shalnark had talked with them, but he hadn’t said. And hopefully nobody needed healing while you were away. Dead bodies on your doorstep were a bad look. Might as well get a plague doctor mask at that point. If they had some grace, they’d die in the guest house. 

And you’d know you put your life goals above their desire to live as they sought help you weren’t there to provide.

Shaking the thoughts away, you adjusted in your seat to stare out the window. A pack of weapons sat beside you; your favorites were already strapped on your body. Maps and the most important research were packed under your shirt. You could lose every weapon you had, but losing your work was out of the question. 

“We’ll be there in half an hour,” Shalnark said, still not looking up from his phone. “I found the site in the area that manages the security cameras.”

“Then my part comes in,” you said, pulling your legs up to wrap your arms around them. 

“Try not to die, please,” Shalnark said. But it didn’t really sound like he cared. “Feitan would kill me if you did.” 

You highly doubted that.

“Does he know where we’re going?” You met Shalnark’s eyes through the rearview mirror. Usually wide and bright, they twitched like he held in a squint. And the dark glint in his gaze told you to back off.

“He knows what he needs to know,” Shalnark went back to fiddling with his phone. You took it as the dismissal it was. 

You nodded, knowing he wasn’t watching. You couldn’t worry about the security footage for now. Shalnark might be handling the engineering in the traditional sense, but you were about to handle it in the social sense. 

Your months of mingling effectively with criminals was about to be put to the test. And God, you hoped you wouldn’t die in the process. 

But then maybe your chest wouldn’t ache anymore.

Cracked cobblestone cut through the square, all meeting at a crumbling fountain in the center. Stained with things other than water and time, the fountain bowed in on itself. The angel sank down, its horn facing hell instead of the heavens. 

Small, unkempt shops circled the square. Wood planks shuttered the entryways and windows, rotting and cracking with age. Only one or two of the shops had open signs swinging on the door. Early morning sun brought the scent of sewage and blood. You held in a gag as you walked towards the space you wanted the most: one of the only buildings appearing used. This was where the riot started, where (hopefully) Shalnark was watching. Not that there was much he could do so far away if somebody killed you.

Maybe he expected it. Besides, this only gave you two hours before you needed to be back in the car to reach the place Feitan and Phinks had given you. A ticking clock sounded in your head. 

You slipped your gloves on as you walked. Townspeople ambled past, not bothering to pay attention to the woman in raggedy clothes staring at the crumbling building like it would tell you something. Or they looked that way, at least. You flicked your gaze back and forth before climbing the creaking stairs. Tingling cut down your neck, but nobody followed, so you continued. This was your first real lead and you weren’t going to squander it over the nagging feeling in your stomach.

It was most likely the knowledge Shalnark was watching you through the cameras, assessing you. 

You leaned casually into the door, trying to slip in, but you hissed as your shoulder met resistance. An old, rusted lock sat under the doorknob. You should have tried to go through the back. 

Resting against the door, you flipped your blade from your sleeve and started working it through the lock. The base of the knife pressed into your back and you took a moment to revel in the pain. A different kind of pain than you'd grown accustomed to.

The lock popped open and you stumbled as the door swung open. Your hand ached with how tightly you held the knife. It was one thing when people came to you, when you controlled the environment. But here - you were an interloper who couldn't let your guard down. 

You tried your best to shield your presence, but you were out of practice. Your attempt could fool an amateur, but it wouldn't get past a professional. 

The crooked foundation sank to one side, making the room spin. Tall, dusty windows guided light from the morning sun at strange angles. A molding stage sat in the middle of the room. Faded banners hung behind, swaying in a phantom wind, doused in splatters of blood. The podium directly in the center was topped with a microphone like somebody was meant to proselytize to the masses.

You pulled the newspaper clipping from your pocket, holding it up to the room. Industrial hanging lights? Check. Four doors on the right hand side? Check. The grandiose, decrepit stage? Check. And an out of place seating area on the left? Check. This was the place.

Wandering the space, you found yourself in front of the mismatched seating. Old bottles of liquor and newspapers scattered like they’d been left in a hurry. Strange no one had come to pick them up. Crawling on your knees, you slipped your hands under the couches and chairs. Much of the same came free. And a few bugs that made you jump. The cushions all looked in order, but they were also covered in junk. 

A flyer sat crunched, poking out of the side of a cushion. One much like the one Mai gave you. You looked around the room for final confirmation you were alone. 

The flyer was more detailed than the one you’d seen. They must have given them away at the event. Scanning the text, you couldn’t quite decipher what it was even saying. 

But what you could understand was the title, cresting the top of the page like an arch: The Parable Initiative. 

Your neck prickled again and you shoved the flyer in your pocket. Walking was the plan, but now you felt like running was a better idea. You couldn’t take too long incase somebody sensed you inside. Ducking below each window like an idiot, you rushed to the doors on the far side of the room. Breathing fast, you swallowed back the building terror. You were losing your head. 

You just needed to move. Move. Keep moving. You were fine. You'd asked for this; you'd asked for a lead. 

A strange smell wafted from this side of the hall. Your nose itched at the feeling. 

The first three doors yielded entirely empty rooms. No resistance to entering and no contents. 

But the last door was harder to get inside. You slammed yourself against it until it splintered and you pushed inside. A broken table leaned against the wall with chairs strewn across the room. On the other side sat a humming, industrial-sized refrigerator. You gagged when the smell hit you; acrid rot and the scent of formaldehyde. Food or something worse was in that fridge. 

What the actual fuck had they been doing here? 

Covering your mouth and nose, you inched towards the refrigerator. Throwing the door wide, you looked into a perfectly clean, empty fridge. There was nothing here. You were imagining things with the rush of breaking and entering private property. Leaning into the fridge, the bottom rattled. 

“What the fuck,” you said, crouching down, forgetting you were dizzy with the scent of rot. You tugged and tugged until the bottom came free, throwing you back on your ass in the process. You held the false bottom and whispered, “What is happening here?" What had Marco been doing? What was this place where your brother was photographed? 

While heaving the removable shelves across the room, your hands shook. You knew exactly what was down there, and you knew you had to see it for yourself. If for no other reason than to add another reason to your list of why you needed to kill your brother. 

Steps spun down below the refrigerator. With a look behind you, you slipped into the fridge and lost balance, catching yourself on the first step. No sounds came after your yelp - no shuffles, no voices, nothing that would indicate anyone was downstairs. But they’d likely heard you throwing the fridge around if they were. You hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight when you didn’t anticipate going underground. You wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

Fumbling on the walls as you descended, you searched for a light switch. If anyone was below, they already you were here. The light didn't matter. 

At the bottom of the stairs, a loose string smacked your face. Tugging it, fluorescent lights illuminated. 

You couldn’t form words as your stomach roiled. Throat burning, you shuttered as you leaned over to stop yourself from vomiting. A lifetime of a medical-brand of Nen hadn’t prepared you for the tables of rotting flesh, each at a different stage of decomposition from perfectly preserved to practically melting. 

Myriad tools and supplies lined the room like it was a real medical facility. Everything was in place; from the sparkling sinks to the disinfected tools lined on tables like they were soon to be used. 

Holding on to the wall, you edged closer to the body of a woman better preserved than the others. Her light hair spread around her head like a halo. A golden name curved across her collarbone. A woman who’d found her soulmate. Small lesions circled the mark like they’d used some archaic technique like blood-letting. 

“Who are these poor people?” You said, pulling your phone out and snapping pictures at random, refusing to look as you took shots. It felt like desecrating the dead. But nothing could be more desecrating than whatever was being done to them here. 

Tears streaked your face as you put your phone away, hoping you’d caught enough to better examine when the smell of decomposing flesh wasn’t blinding every one of your senses. 

Shalnark might know what to do. You just needed to get back to him. And then he'd get you to Feitan. 

Fuck, you should have never come.

You turned away, pressing your head against the cool wall. But the cold didn’t stop the overwhelming, burning smell you knew would send you vomiting before you could stop it. 

Tumbling back up the stairs, you clawed your way out of the refrigerator. You needed to get out; faster than you’d gotten out of anywhere. Body practically vibrating with terror, you threw yourself out into the main hall. The smell lingered in your nose, on your clothes, in your mind, like no matter how far away you got, you’d never clean it from yourself. 

The front door creaked. 

“We wondered if you’d show,” a booming voice called from the entrance. “You look just like your brother.” 

You turned and vomited. 

Chapter Text

Shining loafers landed in your line of vision. This man willingly stepped in your own vomit. He chuckled as you turned and heaved again. Even if you didn’t know the guy, you didn’t need to ruin his shoes over nothing. 

“Thought you worked with bodies all the time," he said, shoe tapping like he was suddenly annoyed you couldn’t keep the contents of your stomach inside. 

You shuttered and flicked your knife against his carotid artery. Warm, metallic scented blood blossomed on his skin. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but it was close enough to kill him if you needed to. One perfect flick of the wrist and he’d bleed out in your own sick.

Lovely. 

“I don’t have a brother,” you said. The back of your eyes burned as you tried to assess his person from your peripheral vision. 

These lies, so many lies, were coming easier over time. Whether that was good or not was yet to be seen. 

The man towered towards the heavens, casting a shadow that darkened his eyes and revealed the malice in his stance. A graying goatee seeped into the age lines on his cheeks, beside his lips, next to his eyes. His suit cut perfectly, pressed and expertly tailored like he’d been expecting you for dinner. And you could very well be that dinner, landing yourself a spot on the tables downstairs like the poor woman with her golden soulmate mark like a turkey for carving. 

“Then what the Hell are you doing in my locked building?” The man crossed his arms and stepped forward. You took a half-step back but you couldn’t retreat far when your arm barely reached his neck to threaten him as it was. 

You needed to get farther back. You flicked your knife towards his wrist, ready to carve him like a turkey instead. But you’d take no other action until you knew more. Just like with Feitan, you’d deescalate. Questions first; killing as a last resort. 

“I read the article,” you said, employing your half-truths to their full capacity. 

The weapons hung heavy under your shirt, reminding you there were other options if something went wrong. But right now, this man blocked you from the exit, it would be best to comply until you knew what he’d do. 

Above all else, you needed caution until you could bolt. 

“What did you think about my writing?” He said, resting back on his hip and crossing his arms, like you were having a casual conversation. “Wasn’t too much was it? I laid it on a little thicker than normal.” 

Throat burning, you cleared it, struggling to form words after puking your guts out. But this guy sucked, you could already tell, so telling him the truth sounded fun. Maybe it would force him to act. “Honestly, it was overdone. If you wanted stronger propaganda, you should have masked it better.” Metal from the knife handle made your hand ache as you gripped tight. There was no safe way to get past him. Plus, a sick part of you wanted to stay, wanted some fucking answers about this place, and about your brother. “You sounded like a zealot.” 

“I wouldn’t say zealot,” The man turned and motioned for you to follow him outside. Loafers clacked on concrete as he moved. He just expected you to follow. And you did.

But did this idiot think you wouldn’t make a run for it the second you got outside? What was he thinking? 

“Let’s walk and chat for a while,” he called from the entrance.

Wobbling legs moved under you. The heat of adrenaline still burned your veins, blurring your vision. 

“Marco’s been looking for -”

“I said I don’t -”

“Oh I know. You don’t have a brother. Is that because he really tricked you into thinking he died, or is it more - metaphorical?” The man said, holding his elbow for you to take as you followed him down the steps to the city square. The path to the left was clearer than the right. You took one step, one preparatory step to run like hell, but he said. “Don’t run. You won’t make it. I’ve got guys watching from up there.” he pointed to the rickety buildings around the square. “Blink wrong and you’re dead.”  

“We won’t know until I try,” you snapped, smacking the blunt side of your knife against his wrist. With a quick scan, you saw three men on the rooftops. There could be more, but you couldn’t confirm when so many people flooded the streets. And fuck, why did you say something so stupid? 

He pursed his lips and shook his head like he felt sorry for you. Asshole. “But don’t you want to hear about your brother?” His voice oozed condescension.

Your legs locked, the desire to move slipping away with every moment. “I do not.” On the verge of denying your affiliation again, you snapped your mouth shut. You’d affirmed you read the story written by this guy. It proved you knew Marco wasn’t dead; he was just dead center in the photo this man’s team had taken. 

Why was everyone you’d met over the past month been a fucking asshole? 

“You baited me,” you continued, appalled and impressed simultaneously. “With that perfectly framed photo of Marco.” 

“Welcome to the pond, little fishy,” he said, holding his hand out, he flicked your knife away and offered you to shake. You refused. “I’m Jed.”

Even his name sounded like a reporter. Everything about him was ridiculous.

Jed started walking and waved for you to follow. Body shaking, you tried to look calm, but the memories of the underground and the men standing on the buildings ready to strike made you giggle with hysterics. 

You’d been looking for your brother and found these guys instead. 

“I’m not giving you my name,” you said, dodging people that refused to move like you were a specter they couldn’t perceive. They moved for Jed though. In fact, they looked at Jed with wide, open eyes and soft smiles. Who in their right mind would look at this guy like that? 

“Already have it,” Jed said with a wink. He tried to throw his arm over your shoulder but you side-stepped out of reach. Jed just kept walking and so did the men in black tracking you. “Now that we’ve introduced ourselves, let’s get to the real business. I am a very, very busy man, as I’m sure you can tell.” 

Scowling, you had to concede he was probably right considering the way everyone watched him like he was a saint, ready to give his life for theirs. Whatever was so charismatic about him was lost on you. 

“Clearly,” you deadpanned, pausing with Jed as a man stumbled forward to hug him. Jed patted his head and mumbled something you couldn’t hear. “Why isn’t Marco here?” 

“He’s also a very, very busy man,” Jed said, waving goodbye to the man that had thrown himself at him. 

“Seems busier than you if you’ve been waiting here for weeks,” you said. 

Jed bellowed a laugh, letting the jab pass him by. “You’re just as self-centered as Marco, aren’t you?” Jed paused in front of a bakery with a broken sign and only a few pastries out for sale. “I live here.” He popped his head inside and looked back at you. “Have you had breakfast? Want a pastry?” 

The worker squeaked and waved at Jed. 

“No, thank you,” you said. The men above still followed and the crowds were sparse enough that you couldn’t effectively make a run for it. This town was so unmapped, there was no way to learn the secrets, the passages, the escape routes other than the main road. You’d fucked yourself because you only knew one way out. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

You were already in a shitty enough mood, you didn’t really want to sit and eat breakfast knowing a basement of decomposing bodies was a few blocks away. If you wanted to eat with the dead, you host a picnic at a graveyard. 

“Alright.” Jed shrugged and continued walking. “Then I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Jed tossed his hands in his pockets and you tensed, holding your knife in your sleeve just a bit closer to his arm. 

“Marco told us about your ability,” Jed said, with a strange, dazed look in his eye that imagined something you couldn’t fathom. “We need a doctor.” 

“The Parable Initiative needs a doctor,” you clarified. It was the only possible guess unless there was some other unhinged group of people around. (Other than the three Spiders lurking in the region). 

Jed opened his mouth to respond but was flooded by a group of people tumbling over each other to touch him, like he was some pious figure whom touching was an honor. They smothered him, even as he stood a head above them all. He looked more like a father with his children than an adult with other adults. A woman sobbed as Jed stroked a hand through her hair, twisting his fingers through her tresses.

Your stomach roiled again as you shivered. Something about his general demeanor sent your flight or fight response into overdrive. How did anyone want to touch this man? And who were all these people trying to do it? 

When Jed subdued the crowd, he turned back to face you. 

“I’m glad you’ve heard of TPI!” He clapped his hands together with a child-like smile. “But we do have one little thing we need to do before we confirm you.”

“I haven’t agreed to join.” You scooted a step away from him, closer to a shop-front boarded up with molding planks. Jed also stepped closer, his long arms in reach to grab you. 

“I didn’t think you thought I was asking,” Jed’s voice dropped an octave. This timbre flowed naturally. The pleasant tone, the joyous smiles, the child-like wonder - all a lie. This was the man; this was Jed. “We have a very particular belief system at TPI.” He clasped his hands behind his back and kept walking. When you didn’t follow, he turned and gave you a warning, crooked smile. “Marco did, unfortunately, tell us you have The Scourge.” Jed again offered you his arm and you twisted your knife to let the sun glint freely off the metal. A warning to him. “We need to make sure everything’s in order before we confirm you. We wouldn’t want a little mishap. Too inconvenient.” 

“I have no such thing.” It didn’t matter you had no idea what ‘The Scourge’ was because you didn’t like the way he said it. 

You picked up the pace to walk past him, keeping an eye over your shoulder to track his movements. His heavy, long legs moved quicker than yours and he kept up with ease. Your only option to escape was to slip into the crowd and then run. 

“The black mark on your wrist.” Jed’s chest heaved, his face scrunching like you disgusted him. “Show it to me.”

It was a command.

“No,” you said. “Do not touch me.”

“Insolent bitch,” he said. “Telling me I can’t touch the mark.” 

“Fuck you,” you spit before you could stop the words. “Who do you think you are, keeping those bodies underground? Letting them rot like their lives meant nothing. Fucking scum.”  

Walking faster, you looked down alleys as you moved, trying to find another way to escape. You almost whimpered when a group showed up down the street. Maybe you could hail them, make them catch Jed. That could be your only choice with the men watching from above. 

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.” Jed threw himself at you. 

Dodging, you stumbled over the cobblestone streets, trying to regain your footing. He was wickedly quick for his size. Sweat beaded on your forehead, stress and adrenaline and heat coagulating, dropping into your eyes, nearly blinding you. 

Looking up, the watchers were gone.

Fuck.

Jed snagged your dominant wrist, the one with the knife. You tore another from under your shirt. It shook in your hands as you heaved it into the space between his neck and his shoulder. Jed grunted and stumbled back, gripping the hilt of the knife like he intended to break it. Instead he did the unthinkable and ripped it out. 

“What is wrong with you?” You yelled as you ran. The doctor in you peeked out to help until your survival instincts took over. You had to touch him to use your Nen to kill him, but that would mean you’d need to get in close range again. Killing him from a distance was your safest option.

Air whistled behind you and you ducked. A spear cut across your cheek, sending blood flying as it slammed into a wooden vendor cart. The cart shattered with the impact and you covered your head. Shards of wood cut through your skin, imbedding deep. This was bad but that spear would work for distance. You dove for it but somebody caught your ankle. Your head ricocheted off the cobblestone. Blood seeped from your mouth and your vision went white with pain and fury. 

Kicking out with your free leg, you lost your momentum when a second man caught you. Another knife in your hand, you heaved it between the eyes of the first guy who grabbed you, presumably the faster one. He fell back and you twisted out of the single man’s hold. But you struggled getting up - you were so, so out of practice and the world spun. The hit to your head must have been bad. Why hadn’t you practiced anything over the past few months. You’d let your fanaticism eclipse everything else. 

You got to the spear, almost falling past it, and tore it free from the plank it embedded in. 

Spinning, you slammed the spear into the throat of the second man running for you. Blood splattered like a painting when you ripped it back out. 

Townspeople screamed, barreling towards Jed, falling over him to check that he wasn’t seriously injured. 

You stalked forward with your spear, spinning it in your hands to get accustomed to the weight of it. Your vision wobbled again and you stumbled. You held your arm back, ready to throw when somebody caught you from behind. The spear flew across the road, so far out of reach, you’d have no hope of getting it. You threw your head back but your captor was too tall to break his nose that way. He wrapped himself around you so thoroughly, you couldn’t escape. 

The third watcher.

If you hadn’t been fighting, you might have been honored Jed thought he needed three men for backup against you. 

But still, you were caught, and still you struggled. 

Jed hobbled to his feet, waving away the people scattering to find water and medical supplies for their - God - or whatever the fuck this Jed guy was. His eyes burned, his body shook, the fury raging through him was clear in every step, every twitch of eyes. 

You were repugnant to him. 

“My suit is ruined,” he said, clutching your jaw. “Show me your wrist.”

“Fuck you,” you said, but hissed as your captor gripped your arm. 

You held firm against your captor, tugging back against him to try and keep Jed from looking at your mark. And revealing Feitan’s name, if he didn’t already know it from Marco.

Jed held your wrist with two fingers and scowled like you stank. He dragged your sleeve up, revealing the gold lettering. 

“This won’t do.” Jed cocked his head and scowled. “He didn’t tell me you were unsalvageable.”  

You wanted to scream, complain, demand answers, but this was your one opening. Jed pressed his fingers into your mark and you hissed at the pressure. But your captor had let their guard down, just for a moment. Enough time you could pull a knife and reach back to slice the artery on his neck. At least, you hoped you’d gotten it. 

Watcher number three fell back and Jed’s hold slacked for just a moment. You punched up. Jed’s nose cracked. Blood splattered across your face, warm and sticky, going right in your open mouth. You gagged, but popped the knife out of your sleeve, aiming right for his neck. Jed moved, leaning forward to grab you. The knife pierced his eye instead. He hollered and you ripped the knife back. Tendons and blood came with the entire eye, skewered on your knife like a kabob. 

Jed screamed obscenities and pleas and demands, but you were already running. 

In a normal town, a woman coated in blood and vomit barreling through the streets with a skewered eye would look out of place. But here, nobody really looked, they instead ran towards where Jed was last seen. Adrenaline rang in your ears. If people were behind you, you couldn’t hear them. You should have killed Jed. You were so close, but he’d moved at the last moment and you hadn’t been able to adjust. You’d lost your head and now a madman could be on the hunt for you: the unsalvageable one, they’d called you. 

Tears burned your eyes, mixing with sweat and blood, painting pathways on your skin. The terror of the last hour shifted into hackneyed breathing and struggling limbs. Your vision was still iffy and every few minutes, you’d stumble as the world went sideways. But you couldn’t stop. You were running out of time and you couldn’t be alone right now, even if the only company would be Shalnark. Soon you’d have at least Feitan again. And that knowledge kept your legs pumping and your gaze focused forward. 

Shalnark - that bastard. He’s likely seen it all. 

You ran until your lungs burned and your legs shook like a baby animal trying to stand. You cried out in relief when you saw the old beater. You tried to stop, but hit the car and stayed pressed against the cool metal. The blood from your face seeped down the side. Panting, you leaned over to ask the driver for water. You definitely looked like a ghoul, a woman raised from the dead, but the driver didn’t react appropriately because of the stupid bat skewer in his neck. 

Even warm, the water soothed the throat ache, and the chest ache, and the heart ache. Dumping it over your head, you felt the dirt and blood and vomit seep off your skin and you shuttered. You examined the eye and nearly jumped out of your skin when Shalnark appeared beside it. 

“Didn’t peg you for the trophy-taking kind,” Shalnark said, leaning over to look at the eye on your knife. The tendons hung like ribbons and you gagged, handing him the weapon. 

“I’m not,” you pressed your head into the car again as your vision wobbled. “Did you miss the part where I went for his neck and he moved?”

“I must have stopped watching by then,” he said. “Thought you’d die so I downloaded the other files we needed. When I went back to the live feed, you weren’t there, three guys looked dead, and the other was missing an eye. It was a reasonable assumption you’d taken it for your collection.”

“I don’t have a collection,” you grumbled, dropping into the backseat. You’d ignore the fact that he just assumed you’d die so he didn’t bother watching. So much for being upset Feitan might kill him if you kicked the bucket. 

Shalnark hopped in the passenger seat and the car began moving. 

It was quiet while you drove. The car hummed - or rattled, really. Passing cars whooshed by. The sun was really up now, making the asphalt ripple with the heat. 

You didn’t smell the musty car this time, probably because you reeked more than the upholstery. The window glass was cool against your head and you closed your eyes, not wanting to think about anything that had happened. Now you’d see Feitan and Phinks again and you doubted they’d care if you showed up the way you would. They might even respect it, since you’d gotten out alive. 

You knew you shouldn’t sleep concussed, but you couldn’t stop it.

Someone shook you awake. You jerked and found Shalnark hovering over you. You tried to banish the remnants of the living nightmare from the past two hours, but your full body ache wouldn’t let you. You’d need to rest for a while, drink some water, take some painkillers, and pull all the splinters out of your skin. 

“We’re here,” Shalnark said, immediately abandoning you to walk towards the house. You extricated yourself from the car slowly, holding the door to ensure you didn’t fall. When you were stable enough, you followed.

Tightly packed houses dotted the lane. Old rotting fences and overgrown grass decorated the outside of each. Bags of trash lined the road and it stunk of sewage, making you rub at your nose. 

Shalnark opened the gate. It creaked and fell off its hinges. “Oops,” he said, and kept walking. 

God, you needed rest. Rest and a shower to clean the myriad of bodily fluids coating every inch of you. And a toothbrush to get the blood out of your mouth. 

Shalnark waited patiently on the stoop where an old rocking chair moved with a phantom wind. 

You banged on the door and waited. And waited. And waited. So long, you knocked again.

Shalnark messed with something on his phone. 

The pang of nerves hit suddenly. You’d been so confused, so angry, so numb, and so in pain, you hadn’t bothered to think what you’d actually do when you saw Feitan again. He clearly wanted to see you since he’d given you this address, but what if he’d changed his mind in the last month? Or didn’t think you’d show. What if Phinks had given it and Feitan had no idea? 

Just as your mind went wild, the door creaked open. A pair of eyes looked out.

You waited for the jolt of the bond, the realization Feitan was here with you again. But the bond felt no different; Feitan felt just as far away as always. You hadn’t bothered to think about it after running for your life. 

“Don’t get my house dirty,” a gruff voice said. “You look disgusting.” 

That was not Phinks and it was definitely not Feitan. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Who are you?” 

“Your boyfriend hired me,” he said. “I work with a lot of them.” He pointed at Shalnark.

You’d pass over the boyfriend comment for now. It could be a condition of this guy doing whatever Feitan had hired him to do. Or more likely, hired on your behalf. He didn’t need to know you weren’t exactly dating your soulmate.  

“So he isn't here?” You clarified. 

“Hope you weren't expecting him.” He held the door open and waved you inside.

“Yeah.” You paused. “I was expecting him.” 

Chapter Text

You couldn't have guessed the inside would look as it did. Leather chairs and comfy pillows lead into a small kitchen and a door out to the back. Vibrant paintings covered the walls, framed and masterful with their use of color and intricacy of the brushstrokes. A man with this kind of taste didn’t seem to fit in with what you’d seen from the outside. 

This man was hiding. 

He wasn’t much taller than you, but his long, curly hair made him look larger than life. Especially in this beautiful space he’d curated in such a dreary neighborhood. 

You weren’t offered his name so you didn’t offer yours. 

He tossed a towel over the furniture and waved for you to sit. Sinking into the couch, you clutched the cold water he’d offered. You could die, maybe it was poisoned, but you’d escaped a madman an hour ago so you were going to take the risk. The burn in your throat lingered along with the metallic taste of Jed’s blood. 

Shalnark was still on his phone, hovering near the door like he was waiting for something. He peeked at you and winked.

“They said you’re looking for someone.” The nameless man groaned as he sat, his knees cracking as he stretched them to rest on the coffee table. “And I’m damn good at finding them.”

His infectious, bright smile soothed the nerves manifesting in fidgety fingers and uncomfortable shifting. This was much better company after your near-death experience than Shalnark trying to gaslight you into admitting you had kill trophies. 

You wanted to ask why it had taken a month for you to be allowed to meet, but that seemed too personal. 

“I’m looking for my brother,” you said, digging in your pocket. The wrinkled pamphlet tore from the good beating it got along with you. “He’s got something to do with this group.” 

The bounty hunter (as you assumed he was), read over the pamphlet and handed it back. Relief flooded you when he did. There was no second copy.

“I’ve heard of them,” he said. “Causing a shitstorm all over the region.” 

“Do you know what they want?” You said. “One of them tried to recruit me and then almost killed me when I refused.” 

He rested his hand on his cheek while he considered your question. “Your brother?” 

You shook your head. “Some guy called Jed. Seemed reverent when he talked about my asshole of a brother.” You sipped your water, thinking now you needed a warm drink more than a cold one. “Everybody seemed to love him. He’s the one who wrote that article about the riot a few weeks ago. Did you see that?” 

“Sure did,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “Unfortunately, I don’t know what they want, but I can help find your brother.” 

“Thank you,” you said. “I have some research. Some maps and information, places I know my brother Marco’s been.” You paused, not wanting to give your work up. But you knew it backwards and forwards. Passing it on to a professional (one Feitan vouched for and Shalnark knew) seemed a reasonable trade off. You extracted the maps and pictures and information, handing the pile to the man. “This is about six months of work. I’m not a professional like you so I think this will be better in your hands.”

He rested the materials on his lap and flipped through the goods. He looked between you and a picture of Marco. “You look just like him.” 

“Unfortunately,” you said. 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he said, gently, clearly not wanting to pry needlessly. “What did he do?” 

Shalnark’s fingers stopped moving on the keys. He was probably listening before, but now he was definitely listening. 

“He killed our parents,” you said. “And pretended to die himself.” You shifted and cleared your throat. “It was convincing. I’m one of the only ones who knows he’s not dead. Other than that Jed guy and his group.” 

“Did he do it to join up with the TPI freaks?” He asked. 

“I guess so.” You shrugged. “I only learned about them and his association recently.” 

It released a weight to talk with somebody who could actually do something. This man was out in the world, doing what you’d tried to do for half a year. You weren’t a bounty hunter and you were barely a doctor. You needed him. 

“Is there anything else you need from me?” You said. You didn’t have much left to give, other than money and some weapons if it was fair compensation. 

“Just a way to contact you,” he said.

“My -”

“You can talk through Feitan,” Shalnark said, jumping into the conversation. “It will be the easiest way.” 

“But I haven’t seen him in a month,” you said, turning to face Shalnark. “He can reach out to me directly.” 

Shalnark chuckled and came to rest his hand on your head. He looked too much like a friend compared to the days before. Maybe your break in, triple murder, and escape had warmed you to him; proven you weren’t useless. 

“What for?” Shalnark cocked his head. “I’m dragging you back to him today.”

You sputtered. “You’re doing what?” You were definitely concussed. You’d just hallucinated. Your desire to see Feitan was overriding your sense.

“The boss is calling for you,” Shalnark said. “Don’t question it. I didn’t ask why.” He patted your head and offered you a hand to stand. “We’re meeting up with Fei and then the boss in a week or so.” 

“If you need a quiet space to talk, I can step out for a bit,” the bounty hunter said. 

Why did these criminals have to make you like them so much?

“No need,” Shalnark said. “We’ve got to get going if there’s nothing else you need from her.” 

The bounty hunter affirmed there was nothing else. Payment would be accepted at the end. 

“Do I have time to clean up first?” You said.

“Nope.” Shalnark smiled. “Don’t worry. Feitan will like it," he said, shuffling you out the door. 

You thanked your host on the way out and told him to ask for anything else he needs and that you’d send more information if you found it.

The car wasn’t dreary this time. Shalnark chatted merrily and openly. Something really had changed.

“We’ll need to get you a burner,” he said, turning to face you in the back seat. “Now that the crazy one-eyed guy and all of his group is gonna be after you, you probably want to get as off the grid as possible.” The happy lilt in his voice sounded too jovial for the implication you were going to be stalked and murdered.

You sucked in a breath. “We don’t know that they’re after me now.”

Shalnark laughed and ruffled your hair. “You killed three of them and ripped the eye out of their leader. They’re gonna want to kill you.” Shalnark turned and dug through the glove box. “Speaking of the eye.” He offered it to you still on the knife like it was a bouquet of roses. “You should keep this. Or give it to Fei.”

“I’m not keeping it or gifting it to anyone,” you said. “I’ll burn it or something.” 

“Whatever you say.” Shalnark popped it back in the glove box. “Speaking of, I was wondering about your ability. Feitan mentioned a bit but I have some clarifying questions.” 

“Feitan did?” You couldn’t quite meet Shalnark’s eyes after the wanting that seeped into your voice, so you stared everywhere else on his face instead. 

Shalnark just smiled but refrained from making fun of you. His soft face showed too much understanding. And that’s when it hit you.

“You’re the one that hid your soulmate for a year!” You said.

Shalnark laughed. “They talked about me too then.” 

“A little,” you said. “You’ll have to tell me about that later. But what were your questions about my ability?”

Whatever the world had come to was wild. Willingly sharing the intricacies of your ability with a Spider would have sounded like a death sentence a month ago. But you might as well. They were dragging you to their leader, so what more could you possibly hide that they wouldn’t discover? (If they didn’t already know).

“Why didn’t you use it in the fight?” He said. “What conditions weren’t met?”

Well, shit. He’d been paying far closer attention than his blasé dismissal early seemed. 

“To heal or kill, I have to be in the open wound.” You said. “And that wound has to be bad enough to warrant the use of my abilities.” 

“You couldn’t fight him in close combat,” Shalnark shifted his eyes up like he was thinking. “That’s why you shoved the knife in his shoulder. It’s easier to reach than right under his jaw to get the artery there.” Shalnark hummed. “But you killed the others with tools like knives and a spear. I liked that one.”

“I thought you weren’t watching,” you said.

Shalnark beamed. “I wanted to see if you’d die so I could brace Feitan.”

“Then why didn’t you go with me if you thought I’d die?” You wanted to be mad but it was almost impossible with his sunny demeanor.  

“Because Chrollo gave me my orders to get the security footage,” Shalnark said. “And as much as I’d love to help Fei, I can’t go against the boss.” 

So that was the other motive for Shalnark showing up at your door. The boss, Chrollo, asked him to do it. 

“Why are the Spiders looking into TPI?” You said.

Shalnark smirked. “Chrollo can tell you that.” 

You didn’t want to push. It sounded like his orders were clear and full transparency with the Troupe’s involvement wasn’t something he could share.

“Then tell me why you hid your soulmate for a year.” You laughed as Shalnark stiffened, his cheeks going red. 

He mumbled something and turned back to face the road. 

“Oh no.” You leaned over the front seat to make him engage. “You have to tell me now.” 

“I’m not telling you anything,” Shalnark said, turning to face the window. “Ask him if you care so much.”

“Fine,” you said, dropping back into your seat. “I will.”

Nerves vibrated through you but the bond relaxed the further you drove, confirming you were in fact driving towards him. Rolling your neck, you leaned back on the seat, covering your eyes with your arm. Your head pounded and the light burned. You should have asked Shalnark for a nice stab wound to the head to relieve the pressure. 

Bouncing with the bumps in the road, you groaned and curled in on yourself, too exhausted to bother playing tough. 

“We’re almost there,” Shalnark said. “Then you can get patched up.” 

Every fear you’d had before entering the bounty hunter’s house resurfaced. Hopefully, Feitan both knew and had asked for your presence. Showing up like an injured imposition was the last way you’d want to arrive. Alas, there was no other choice. 

“I’m gonna be sick if we keep driving like this,” you said, rolling the window down to let the whip of cold air caress your sweaty skin. 

Even with the pain and exhaustion, something deep inside you felt better than it had in a month; an elation that put you at ease. But the ache of fury lingered there too. He’d left you, he’d avoided contacting you, he didn’t want you. And fuck, you’d been naive to think the address he’d left had been his own. You wanted to see him more than almost anything, but it was slightly eclipsed by your desire for his desire. 

He didn’t want you.

What a bastard, making that decision for both of you when it came with the everlasting ache in your soul. 

You’d almost been killed over the fact you’d met him. The golden mark on your wrist left you a hair away from joining the bodies below ground. All for a man that didn’t want you. 

Shaking with rage, you blinked as the car came to a stop outside a gated community. 

“You’re joking,” you said, dropping your head back against the headrest. 

The guard’s eyes widened at the car trying to drive in, and probably the lack of response from the man actually driving. Shalnark popped up out of the car window and waved at the guard. The gate immediately opened and Shalnark sat back down.

“Thought we lived in squalor?” Shalnark asked.

Honestly, that is what you’d assumed, even though you had no reason to think that way. They’d left a year’s worth of rent on your dining table, of course they’d have money. “I guess I did. But crime of your scale is lucrative, isn’t it?”

“Make sure you don’t get a pre-nup,” Shalnark said, laughing as you drove through the neighborhood. 

The vague mention of Feitan made you scowl. You were here to work it seemed, if Shalnark’s mention of the boss was any indication. The Phantom Troupe was after The Parable Initiative and your link to your brother was going to be key. You and Feitan were soulmates, yes, but you were coworkers here. You couldn’t forget that, because Feitan probably wouldn't. Probably. You'd have to confirm because a small sliver of you still hoped. 

He didn’t want you.

Green grass spanned either side of the road. It took ages to pass between houses. The plots were so large and sprawling that they couldn’t see the next house from another. A good place to live if you didn’t want eyes on you. 

You’d dozed off again by the time you arrived. The car rolled to a stop on crunching gravel and you awoke. 

Someone hollered your name. You blinked and saw Phinks hovering over you, his elated smile shifted to tense concern.

“You look like shit,” Phinks said, frowning. He leaned over to examine the cuts on your face and arms. He shrouded you in shadow, soothing the tension in your eyes from the bright afternoon sun. “I thought you were supposed to fix people. Why do you look like that?” 

“Hi, Phinks,” you said softly, with a genuine smile. You clawed at the car door and he opened it for you. “I missed you.” 

And fuck, you really had.

“Is she sick?” Phinks helped you out of the car, holding you up as your legs wobbled. The loose fabric of his shirt wrinkled under your fingers as you clutched him to keep you upright. “You said she was fine!” 

“She is,” Shalnark said brightly. “She’s alive, isn’t she? That was your stipulation, right Fei?” 

Air expelled from your lungs as the bond loosened, fully content. He was here; Feitan was just behind Phinks. You wanted to run to him, yell at him, demand answers, but everything was fuzzy. Even the house itself looked like a fuzzy, brown blob. 

“Let’s get you inside,” Phinks heaved up your dead weight. The muscles in your shoulders strained as he tried to get you back up. “Alright.” Phinks lifted you with a grunt and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

“Fuck,” you said, the world spinning as you hung upside down. 

Everything quieted and you were sure you were going to pass out until you heard it. 

“What is wrong?” He said. 

His voice rang like strumming notes in a beautiful song for two.

“Hi, Feitan,” you said to the ground. “I missed you, you fucking asshole.” 

He moved beside you with the wind. 

"Hello.” His soft laugh scorched your soul. "Demanding woman."

And everything went black. 

You rested in the seating nook in the corner of the bedroom they dropped you in. Splinters gone and head somewhat clearer, you sipped your drink and looked out on the grounds with Phinks. Luscious gardens with summer vegetables and sunflowers so tall you'd get lost in them. Shalnark walked the garden, plucking food and tossing it in his sack for a meal he'd promised to make. He hummed a tune you couldn't place as he worked. 

"Shalnark seems like he can do everything," you said. 

"He can and it's annoying." Phinks said.

Feitan was close by, you could feel it, but he hadn’t been there when you woke. Phinks had been, though. Now he rested with his feet kicked up on the table, chugging more beers than you’d recommend, but who were you to tell him no when you were the guest.

Phinks had already made you relay what you’d done that morning, with his own colorful commentary mixed in. If you’d felt better, you might have stalked through the house to find Feitan. But even moving from the bed to the seating area reinvigorated your dizziness. 

“Shalnark told us what your brother did,” Phinks said. “It's fucked.”

Your brows raised at his version of condolences. “Thank you.” 

“I’d wanna kill him too.” 

You hummed and nodded. “There’s more to this, I know there is.” You said. “They were going to kill me because I’d met Feitan.” You swallowed and blinked back the tears. “My Mom had a mark, but not for my Father. I don’t understand why he killed them.” 

“You’ll get him,” Phinks said, standing to stretch. He pointed towards the door and winked. “Why don’t ya stop skulking and come in here, Fei?”

You jumped, rocking the feet of your chair as you turned to the door. Feitan spun around the frame. His slumped posture and hands in his pockets almost deflected your attention from the vibrant, wicked look in his eye. 

“I was just passing,” Feitan said.

“And I’m just leaving,” Phinks saluted you and stalked across the room. He rested his hand on Feitan’s shoulder and gave him a look you didn’t understand. 

Feitan didn’t react, his focus placed solely on you. It burned through your blood like a virus, the way he consumed you with his gaze. There was nothing but him. 

“Thank you for the tip for that bounty hunter,” you said, standing slowly, gripping the side of the chair to make sure you didn’t fall over like an idiot.

“You are concussed,” Feitan said. “Sit down.” 

“I’m fine standing,” you said as he ambled closer, so impossibly slowly. 

His brows fell further and you wished he’d remove the cowl so you could see his face. He wrinkled his nose when he scowled and dipped his chin like you were beneath him. Those little details eroded over the last month and you hadn't realized. Did he feel the same with you? What intricacies of your body language had he forgotten? Had the sound of your voice disappeared? Or the exact color of your eyes?

God, he was so pretty and your heart raced at the thought. But the bond softened, evened out the closer he got. So, so close. He stalked you until you were forced back in your chair and his arms caged you in. Just like that morning on your bed, he was the only thing you could see.  

“You killed three people,” Feitan said, eye’s wide and wild like untamed thickets. His interest was as electrifying as his touch as he clutched your jaw, caressing it. “You are covered in blood.” He dragged the back of his fingers over your cheek, sweeping dirt from below your eye.

Not completely covered; you’d cleaned up a bit. Wiping at your arms, flecks of dried blood drifted onto the rug. You spread your legs and let him step in closer. Clutching at his chest, you tried to decide whether the sudden dizziness was from your concussion or his hand sliding around your lower back to pull you closer. He smelled of the ember and ash of an unrelenting wildfire. 

“You took his eye,” he said, leaning over to graze his lips over your ear. You swallowed in lieu of whimpering and letting him see what he was doing to you. But your balled fists in his shirt gave you away. “So good.” He nipped at your ear and pulled back to face you head on. 

Taking a risk, you dragged your hand over his cheek, adjusting his cowl down so you could see his face. “Do you feel it too?” You continued when he frowned like he didn’t understand. “The change in the bond when we’re together?”

He frowned further, like the thought annoyed him. “Yes.” 

“Were you in pain this past month?” You said. Wanting oozed from your words over the magnetism of his presence. 

Air expelled from his nose and his hand on your back scrunched into a fist. “Yes.”  

“I’m so annoyed with you,” you said softly. “But I don’t want you to hurt. Even if you don’t want us, I don’t want you in pain.” 

Feitan stepped back, a strange look on his face: a mix between confusion and revulsion. 

“Do not pity me,” Feitan said. 

“I’m not,” you said. “But I want to know.” You had to ask. “Do you want me? If you don’t, I’ll respect that. But let me say that I almost died today because I’ve met you. And if this all ends because I was one of the lucky few to meet my soulmate, I will go into the darkness glad we had any time at all."

Feitan’s face shifted to something cold, something untouchable. He was entirely elsewhere. You’d lost him. 

“I do not know how to be - that,” Feitan said. 

“We can work on it,” you said, nearly overwhelmed with the realization he hadn’t said no. He also hadn’t said yes, but he hadn’t said no. 

“What good you do?” He said, his shoulders tensing. “Seems useless. A burden.” 

Okay, that one hurt, but it was a fair question. At least he was thinking it through. 

“I could barely function with you gone,” you said, hurriedly. He was uncomfortable, terribly, deeply uncomfortable. Feitan had no idea what he was doing and he was definitely about to bolt. “You felt it too. Can you imagine doing that for months or years or an entire lifetime when there’s no reason to?” 

Feitan turned away from you, but you could still see the tension in his shoulders and down his back. You’d shaken him so thoroughly, you were floored he hadn’t run. 

“It was - annoying,” Feitan said, and left without another word. 

You sat back in your chair, slowly, letting the dizziness subside before reaching back for your drink. That sounded like an ‘I’d think about it’ from him. 

Minutes passed and you wondered if Feitan would come back. You’d wait as long as necessary because imposing a time limit would just make it worse. 

Phinks ambled in, looking happier than you’d ever seen him. 

No way. 

“You sly bastard.” You laughed. “You were working on him, weren’t you?” 

There were no words to express your gratitude. Of course it had taken time. Feitan had felt the pain just like you. Maybe Phinks and Shalnark saw it. Plus, they’d know better than you what would convince him to simply consider. Maybe the infuriating ache was just enough with Phinks’ nagging.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Phinks dropped back into his chair, the smug look on his face growing. “But if I did, it probably would have taken weeks to get him to even think about it.” 

“Had you done that,” you said, nodding along.

“Had I done that,” Phinks agreed and clinked his glass with yours. “Here's to being stuck with us the rest of your life.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you said, laughing as he kept hitting the glasses together. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Now tell me where you put that eye. I wanna see it, trophy girl.” 

“I’m burning it,” you said. “Unless it will convince Feitan. If that was who we were talking about, I mean.”

“We weren’t talking about anyone,” Phinks said, standing and offering you a hand. “Let’s find food and try to avoid Feitan.” 

“Should I ask why?” 

“Better if you don’t,” Phinks said. “I shouldn't say it, but he’ll come crawling back to you, I promise.”

Chapter Text

You didn’t see Feitan over the next three days. The bond stretched again and you hoped he hadn’t gone far. But Phinks confirmed he wasn’t at the house and had likely gone off somewhere to do whatever it was he did to think. 

When you were well enough to get out of bed, you wandered the house, finding rooms and spaces you’d never expect from hardened criminals. A grand sitting room was your favorite, where you’d steal books on soulmates from the library and continue researching the bond. You itched to do something, and with the bounty hunter working on finding your brother, the only other possible activity was learning more about the bond. 

When your head ached again, you’d rest until meals. But finally, you felt well enough to spend the third day out. 

All of you, minus Feitan, sat out at the pool in the early afternoon. You’d been awake for hours, hoping for a chance to see Feitan, to feel his return, but he hadn’t showed. 

Under the shade of an umbrella, you scribbled out everything you could remember about the incident and everything you could remember about your brother. The pamphlet you’d taken was mostly gibberish, with strange terms and odd formatting, but some words you did recognize: The Parable Initiative, unsalvageable, and The Scourge. You scratched the world ‘found soulmate’ next to “The Scourge.” At least, that was your best guess. 

Gagging, you scrolled through the photos you’d taken of the body room. It was just as gruesome on film as it had been in person. Somehow more so, and you couldn’t look away. Limbs hung at strange angles, intestines sat out like a dessert plate at a dinner, and blood dotted the floor where it dripped from corpses.

“I think some of these bodies were exhumed,” you said, swallowing back the thought of TPI robbing graves. You made a note to send that tidbit to the bounty hunter. 

Phinks looked over your shoulder, barely acknowledging the varying degrees of rot. 

“Wait,” Phinks said, “go back to the last one.” 

You flipped back to a blurry shot of a body - male - who looked better preserved than some of the others. 

“See that,” Phinks pointed at the top corner of the screen. “It’s gold on his arm. It’s a name.” 

“So that’s the fourth with a gold mark,” you said, adding another tally to your notes. 

“Sounds in line with what you and Feitan learned,” Shalnark said, still playing on his phone as he spoke. “TPI bombed a church a few weeks ago that was well known for providing resources and counseling to soulmates, particularly people whose soulmates died.” Why didn’t Shalnark ever feel morose about the dreary shit he talked about? “And the security footage we found from the riot shows people getting grabbed when it started.” 

“You’re saying the riot was intentional,” you said. “And they bombed a church? Who are these people?” 

You were going to keep asking every question that came to mind when your phone rang. Phinks grumbled about you needing to get another. Cold ripped down your spine. You hadn’t bothered to tell Mai you’d gone. You really needed to get better about that. 

“Hey, Mai,” you said, the exhaustion seeping into your tone.

“Oh, thank fuck.” They panted like they’d been running. Gravel crunched on the other side of the line.

Phinks froze to listen. 

“Are you safe right now?” Mai demanded. “Tell me you’re okay.” 

You pursed your lips and put your phone on speaker. “I have you on speaker. I’m safe. Why do you ask?” 

“You haven’t been home, then?” Mai said, groaning. 

Phinks shifted.

“Not in a few days, no,” you said, your heart rate picking up with the terror in Mai’s tone. 

“Your house is wrecked,” they said. “I stopped by because I hadn’t heard from you and your door was busted open.” 

“Don’t tell me you went in,” you said, ignoring the fact your house had been broken into until you were sure Mai was also safe. “Mai, that isn’t safe.” 

“Of course I went in, bitch,” Mai said.

Phinks snorted but looked away when you scowled at him. 

“You could have been dead! Or injured and dying! How was I supposed to know you weren’t bleeding out on that rug I hate?” Mai yelled and you were glad the phone wasn’t against your ear. “The place is ransacked. Whoever got in went through everything.” 

Shit, shit, shit. Your hand shook and you flexed your fingers to keep yourself calm. You’d been so engrossed in this quiet place with a bunch of criminals, you hadn’t bothered to think about what other repercussions were coming your way. TPI had acted and you’d put Mai in danger by keeping them in the dark. That stupid, aching, yearning in your chest when Feitan was away made you lose your head again. How was Feitan even functioning wherever the heck he’d gotten off to? 

“Get as far from there as you can,” you said, fumbling to stand. “I’m coming.”

“Your brain’s an omelette,” Phinks said. “You can’t drive.”

Fine, whatever. Then you wouldn’t drive.

“Mai, I’m bringing someone,” you said.

Mai was quiet on the other side of the line. They simply breathed before saying, “Tell me when you’re almost there. I’ll meet you.” 

“Don’t go back in until we get there,” you said. 

“Whatever you say,” Mai said. “See you soon.” And they hung up.

Both you and Phinks were quiet when the phone line went dead. The terror, the same kind you’d felt when you’d landed in that wretched basement bubbled to the surface. Swallowing your hysterical laugh, you stood and looked around for something to ground you. Clutching the side of the table, you hanged your head to avoid the grating sunlight. 

It was fine; you were fine. There was nothing there you needed, per se. But the one place you could call home was defiled. The place where you'd drink hot chocolate when the stress was too high and you couldn’t sleep; where you and Mai would laugh until you cried; where your only pictures of your parents resided; where you’d sit for hours, pouring over maps and news to try and find Marco; the place you’d met him. But what scared you more wasn’t what they’d left, but what they might have taken. 

And who might have done the taking, even though you had a pretty good idea. 

Large breaths. A few large, shaky breaths and you could collect yourself. Phinks and Shalnark just seemed too damn pleasant to be violent criminals, giving you a strangely private moment without comment. Shaking the tension out of your hands, you were composed enough to turn towards the other two. Phinks watched the pool and Shalnark his phone. 

Pleasant fucks. 

“I don’t feel like going,” Shalnark said, tapping away at his phone. “Have fun!” 

“Who said you were invited?” Phinks said, rattling Shalnark’s chair. Shalnark ricocheted like a ping pong ball. 

“Who said you were invited?” You turned it around on Phinks and jumped out of the way when he playfully swung at you. 

“I’m your DD because your brains are scrambled,” Phinks said, jumping out of the way of your own swing which was interrupted by a dizzy spell. He caught you and patted your back as you recentered yourself. “You can’t even punch straight.” 

“You’re so slow, I bet I could still knock you around,” you said, even as your vision crossed strangely, creating multiple Phinks’. 

“Alright, slugger,” he said, getting you steady again. “When are we leaving?” 

“As soon as we can get a car,” you said, "and I can grab my knives.” 

“A car? I’ve got one of those,” Phinks said like it was ridiculous you would even ask. 

Phinks had a car, alright. He had a bunch of them, in fact he had a whole garage full of them. Could he have purchased them? Probably. Did he? Probably not. 

You gravitated towards a sleek sports car at the far end of the garage, next to a massive, boxy-truck probably worth more than your house. The sports car wasn’t a single color; it was iridescent, hues rippling as you circled it. He definitely wouldn’t let you drive it right now, but damn you wanted to. When your sense kicked back in, you forced yourself away to a more unassuming sedan. 

“I’ll give you a joy-ride some time,” Phinks said, holding the boring car’s door open for you. 

You dropped in the seat and buckled in. Phinks joined you inside and revved the engine. 

“I bet that sounds way better in those sports cars,” you said. You’d talk about anything right now, anything other than the break-in you didn’t know the full extent of, and the fact that Feitan had yet to return to you. 

Time. He just needed time, but it cracked your soul a little more every day. 

The garage door creaked as it opened and Phinks hit the gas. You rolled down the window and let the wind whip your face. It was freeing, flying down the road, burning out around corners, and screaming to the radio with Phinks. A very needed distraction when you were running directly to a crime scene. How often did the Spiders run towards a crime scene already in progress instead of making one themselves?

Over an hour later, you rolled into your neighborhood. The ache in your chest, the string directing you back to Feitan was calmer here. He was closer than he had been when you were at their stupid mansion. You shivered with the relief of tension. Thinking would be easier here. 

You texted Mai, letting them know you were there. Phinks parked on another road, leaving the car away from viewing distance of the house.

“If someone’s stupid enough to be here,” Phinks rolled his shoulder, “keep ‘em alive. Fei will wanna have a long chat with ‘em.”

‘Chat’ sent tingles down your spine. You were certain you knew what kind of chat he meant. But was it because Feitan was working or because whoever did this defiled you? Maybe you didn’t want to know the answer. 

The door hung on its hinges, swinging in the breeze. Feitan had been right, your locks weren’t good enough and you’d made no effort to improve them since he’d left. But something told you they would have gotten in no matter how good your security. 

Phinks offered to go in first, but you refused. This was your house and your responsibility to bear. Holding your knife at your side, you stepped inside and choked back tears. Defiled wasn’t a strong enough word, they’d desecrated your space. The blood-stained couch was torn to shreds, stuffing strewn across the room. Rugs were thrown against the walls like someone looked beneath them for something. Every picture, painting, and hanging was ripped from the walls, the glass shattered where frames landed. 

“Fuck,” you whispered and kept walking, still holding your knife in case you needed to react quickly. It was going to be impossible to sort through and figure out if anything had been taken. 

The kitchen table sat at a strange angle like one of the legs had decided to kneel. Food, now rotting and reeking, was strewn across the tile, baking in the afternoon sun. Even the faucet had been ripped free from the sink as if it had done something wrong. 

Choking back a sob, you stumbled towards your bedroom, jumping over the blankets and pictures and belongings littering the hall. The bedroom door was splintered in half down the middle, like somebody expected you to be inside and intended to ambush you. Kicking it aside, your legs wobbled at the devastation. Your blankets were ripped into ribbons, the mattress was torn to shreds, the blinds had been ripped from the wall, and everything in the closet had been thrown in the middle of the room and destroyed. 

“My brother caused this,” you said softly, sensing Phinks beside you. “My brother did this to me because apparently parricide wasn't enough. And for what? Having a fucking soulmate when I had no choice in the matter?” Your voice rose as you tried to process your grief through words. "I didn't fucking deserve this. And my parents definitely didn't deserve what they got…" You swallowed. “Sorry, I got a little carried away.” 

Phinks was kind enough not to respond, he simply nodded and turned away to amble back down the hall. 

You stepped towards the pile in the middle of the room. You’d kept the rest of your research in the closet, some of it never coming back out after you’d thrown it there the night Feitan and Phinks upended your life. 

Sitting on one of the only empty spaces on the carpet, you started sorting through the remnants. Tossing things aside, you quickly realized every piece of information on your brother, other than what you’d given the bounty hunter, was gone.

TPI knew exactly what you knew. Other than (possibly) the knowledge you were working in tandem with the Phantom Troupe. 

“You in here?” Mai called from the door. “Who are you?”

The room was quiet and you wondered if they’d just gone and killed each other on sight. So fast you wouldn’t have even heard. But this silence was charged, intentional and searching. 

“Oh,” Mai said.

“Oh, ” Phinks responded. 

The house silenced again, a deadly, unearthly silence. You stood quietly, sensing a shift you couldn’t explain. You tip-toed out the hall and back into the main living space. Mai and Phinks watched each other, saying nothing and everything with the confused understanding in their stares. If they’d heard you enter, they didn’t acknowledge you. 

“Hi there, Phinks?” Mai said airily. Their mouth hung open, bobbing like they had more words they couldn’t voice.

“Hey,” Phinks said, “Mai?” He said their name reverently. 

“Yeah,” they said. “That’s me.” 

You crossed your arms and leaned against the counter. You’d never known Mai to have no words. They always had something to say about something. 

Mai placed their bag down and rolled up the hem of their shorts. Phinks’ name glowed golden on their thigh. Your eyes widened and you almost squeaked your surprise, but kept it in at the last moment. You’d never seen Mai’s mark; they’d deemed it too personal. And you hadn’t seen Phinks’ matching one because you’d only glimpsed his chest when you treated him. 

They stared at each other’s marks and you looked around for something to do. This was too private for you to be here. It didn’t seem like they’d seen you anyways. Plus, Phinks wouldn’t do something stupid like attack Mai - hopefully. Probably.

Head already reeling, you ambled back into your room and sat down on the ruined bed. You pulled a hunk of torn blanket towards you and rested it in your lap. Staring at nothing until your eyes watered, you remembered there was another place you needed to check. 

“God damn it.” You groaned as you rolled off the bed. 

Back in the living room, Mai and Phinks sat next to the ruined couch, legs crossed, staring at one another. Their whispers were too low for you to hear them properly. But you definitely didn’t want to be there for whatever strange conversation they were having. Happiness was the appropriate response to this situation, but with it happening in your destroyed house, it was hard to feel pleased. You’d been choked when you and your soulmate met; Phinks was sliding his fingers through Mai’s and watching them move together. 

Plus, you didn’t want to think of the implications of this. It was one thing for Mai to research in secret when they had time. It was entirely different to drag them into the company of the Phantom Troupe. But it seemed fate had done it on their behalf. On both of your behalves. 

Celebrating them could come later. 

They paid you no mind as you slipped outside towards the guest house. Everything looked normal. The door was undisturbed and it gave you pause. Would they have avoided ruining your medical supplies? Maybe they’d taken them for their own use. You had enough, it would make more sense to nab it than destroy it. 

You twisted your knife in your hand for a better hold. Your neck prickled as you eased the door open. 

Unlocked.

Dark.

You held your breath and flicked the light on. 

Someone came at you from the side. You stumbled and spun to hold your knife against the man standing there. He didn’t look as put together as Jed, but just as determined. 

“Did you do that to my house?” You said and got no answer as he lunged for you again. You spun and tried to wrap your arm around his neck but your vision wobbled and you stumbled instead. He grabbed you and held you to himself, his fingers against your throat. You felt the power there, the pulse of Nen rippling below the surface. 

You tried to hit him again but you were pulled away. Somebody different held you to themselves with the caress of a lover. Their arm wrapped around your waist and their hand slipped under your shirt to press into your skin like they needed to know it was really you. 

His presence burned through your soul. 

“Fatal mistake,” Feitan said softly. The impish, wicked lilt in his voice cut like a blade. “Touching what is mine.” 

Chapter Text

Feitan moved faster than you could see. One moment, you lost your balance, only then realizing how tightly you'd clutched to him; the next, the intruder sat bound in a chair and Feitan was back at your side. 

You pressed yourself against him. The dizziness subsided but it felt more secure with his arm around you. His hand roamed your back, slipping lower until his fingers grazed your waistband. Sucking in a breath, you realized he was watching your reactions to his touch, assessing each movement and how you responded. He wasn’t watching the rabid man who’d attacked you; Feitan didn’t care at all in the moment. He watched you. 

He held a sword in the hand not exploring your skin. A sword resting directly at the man’s neck, who didn’t seem willing to struggle against his binds. The terror in the intruder’s eyes ballooned the longer you stood together ignoring him. His blond hair was lose, covered in sweat and dirt like he’d just got done destroying your home. Dressed modestly, he didn’t look like Jed the blowhard. This was a normal man with a normal face and normal clothes. A pion or a man very good at blending in. 

“What did you get into now?” Feitan’s half smile grew as he slipped a single finger under your waistband. “Need me to save you.” It wasn’t a question, more a mocking, flirtatious statement. “Kill three men last week - fine. Today - almost choked to death in your own home.” And not in a fun way lingered between you. 

It snapped you back into the present. “I was handling it.” You pressed your hands against his chest and looked back at the (unwelcome) intruder, your dizziness returning. “But shouldn’t you deal with him?” Your voice came out airier than you would have liked. Why did he always do this to you? Show up, wind you up, and then disappear. Here and gone again. And was this time any confirmation he'd thought it through, that he wanted you? Maybe not, but damn you'd revel in his attention when you had it. 

“You’re handling it,” Feitan’s grin widened, another finger slipping below your waistband. Your face and your skin and your soul burned. “Very well.” 

“Phinks told me to leave a possible intruder to you for a chat,” you said, fumbling to regain purchase in this conversation. “Said you’d be interested.” 

“Maybe,” Feitan used his grip on your back to tug you flush against him, pressing you so close you struggled to catch your breath. He slid a leg between yours like he anticipated you slipping. “You watch?” 

Your first instinct was to reject the offer, but you had so many questions. This could be your opportunity. It was more time with Feitan but you’d see something you’d likely never forget, and not in a pleasant way. 

“I get to ask some questions too,” you said against his cheek, turning to look at the man on the end of Feitan’s blade. “I have a few.” 

Feitan hummed his approval and leaned in so the intruder couldn’t hear, couldn’t read his lips, couldn’t sully the small moment, “We’ll see.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you said, shoving Feitan away. His wide smile nearly took your breath away - so genuine and wicked. And the way his eyes burned with light, with promise, it sent you reeling. “I’m asking questions. Just start however you start, I guess.” You sat back on your hip, trying to find a comfortable position to watch your soulmate torture a man.

Feitan hummed. “Since you gave permission,” he said.

“It is my house,” you said, trying to lighten the mood for yourself. The excitement mixed with something possessive, something wild in Feitan’s eyes that made you uneasy. Was it the torture or the ‘you watching him torture the guy that attacked you’ that made his face light up with malicious joy? But was this scuffle worth torturing a man over? To be fair, he had attacked you. And he was part of a cultish terrorist organization your brother seemed to have some high position in. 

Plus, Feitan could be operating under Troupe orders, since Phinks seemed to have a game plan. Or else Feitan just like torturing and Phinks deigned to indulge him. 

Maybe you'd talk with the man first. Your stomach roiled at the thought of torturing him, playing with him the way Feitan undoubtedly would. But…

You walked up to the man and he spit in your face.

“Are you serious?” You groaned, wiping mucus from your cheek. “I was just debating the ethics of torturing you since I’m sort of a doctor, you fucking asshole.”  

“I would not keep behaving that way if you like your body intact,” Feitan said, stepping between you and the intruder. He pressed his nail into the man’s Adam's apple, twisting it, making the man writhe under his touch. "Listen when I say - you go through me to get to her." Feitan slipped his fingers under the man's jaw and forced his stare. "And you will never. Touch. Again."

Feitan's declaration stole your breath. It was the most you'd ever heard him say in one go. Part of you wanted to protest, but it felt soothing in a way, to have someone watching your back. Even if Feitan hadn’t told you directly, he said it around you and that was good enough. 

“No words?” Feitan mocked, pressing his fingers into the sides of the man’s throat. His low laugh melded into his wicked smile. “Can make you speak. Or just cut out your tongue now for spitting on her.” 

The man scowled and coughed as Feitan pressed harder into the sides of his throat. But still he didn’t speak. Whoever he was, this man had a death wish. Perhaps he didn’t realize, didn’t know who Feitan was, and he hadn’t offered his identity. But anyone with a brain could sense the bloodlust oozing from Feitan. 

Feitan giggled; that crazy fucker actually giggled. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted.

You stepped back, feeling the shift in the air. He wouldn’t hurt you - probably. But that didn’t mean you wanted to get in his way needlessly. But right now he was playing, not torturing or interrogating. He was a kid on a fucking playground. 

Feitan pulled a knife from somewhere, his sword gone. He flicked it and held it gently in his hands. But not just gently - reverently. The man’s breathing sped up, his chest shuttering every moment the knife moved closer. Feitan slipped the tip of the knife under the man’s fingernail, flicking it up and down, threatening to remove it. No words were really needed. 

The man tried to pull away, but hit the back of the chair. Shaking his head, he bit down on his lip to stop himself from screaming. You shuttered and tried not to look away. Feitan pressed the knife between the nail and the skin.  

“You won’t talk yet?” Feitan said, too, too happily. 

The man shook his head and Feitan pressed the tip of the knife against the man’s lips. The blood from his fingers dripped down his mouth. He opened to scream and Feitan pressed the flat side of the metal onto his mark’s tongue. It was sharp. So sharp, a thin slice of muscle peeled away as Feitan dragged it over his tongue. It rolled like a snowball, but bled like a gaping wound. 

And the man. Terror. True, unadulterated terror. He struggled, burns ripping through his skin where he tried to escape his binds. Feitan released the knife, holding it up to his gaze to watch the blood ooze down onto his hands. 

"Still not speaking?" Feitan said. His voice so soft you had to strain to listen, just like the man. "Have time because no one is coming for you. Your tongue goes last, but it will go. Like taking my time," Feitan said, leaning down to look directly in his eyes. The knife returned to the man's hand. "Unless you talk." He flicked the knife and the man's nail flew up. Blood bubbled and seeped from the space where the full nail had been. He screamed and scrunched his eyes like he could imagine being somewhere else.

When he didn't talk, another nail went, and another, and another, until he had far fewer nails than he had fingers. And you wouldn't be surprised if fingers went next.

"Still no words?" Feitan cooed. "Can start on your toes. You will not need them."

The man’s terror seeped deep in to your bones. Feitan was so lost in his own world, you figured he’d forgotten your presence entirely. He pressed the edge of the knife against the man’s temple, dangerously close to his eyes, drawing blood. 

He wasn’t going to say shit and Feitan was having too much fun to think this through. 

“If you talk,” you said, coming to stand next to Feitan, “we’ll let you go.” 

Feitan’s head whipped around. “That defeats the purpose.” 

He wasn’t catching on. He was in too deep. 

“But what motivation does he have to talk?” You said. “If you’re just going to kill him, he might as well stay quiet forever.”

You knew, you knew deep down Feitan wouldn’t let him live. But the man didn’t know that. He’d committed the egregious sin of touching you. Feitan nearly took Phink’s hand off for the same offense, and that was his friend. 

“I know what I am doing,” Feitan said. 

“I know you do.” You said kindly, but sighed and turned away from the man so he couldn’t read your lips and mouthed: I’ll make him talk. Kill him later.  

Feitan’s strange laugh bubbled up and he rested the hand with the knife against your cheek. The man’s blood seeped down his hands onto your skin. Drops of blood coated Feitan’s face and his wild eyes burned dark as the blood he’d extracted. He looked beautiful and terrifying; the unmasked predator you’d never fully experienced. 

Feitan hummed, running his thumb over your lip. “So good for me.” He murmured, leaning in to feather a kiss against your temple. His lips burned your skin, just like they had when he’d kissed your mark. His warm breath lingered as he pulled back. 

Face burning and struggling to catch your breath, you turned back to the man. The terror in his eyes looked different when he examined you, but still potent. It was a horrifying juxtaposition, Feitan ripping his nails off and then caressing and kissing you like a cherished belonging. 

A torture unto itself.

“What’s your name?” You said gently, the way you’d speak with an injured patient. You figured soothing him would be a good first step to build some sort of rapport. If he wouldn’t talk for Feitan, maybe he’d talk for you. 

He squinted but spoke, “Emmett.” His raspy voice sounded so less soothing than Jed’s strange but inviting lilt. Maybe this really wasn’t someone of import. 

“Emmett,” you said, dragging a chair to sit in front of him. You dropped down and looked back at Feitan, holding out your hand for the knife. He tried to scowl, but you could see the flecks of approval in his eyes. 

He handed you the knife and you rested it in your lap, a reminder and somewhat of a promise if Emmett didn’t do what you needed him to. 

“Look,” you said, resting your arms on your knees, “I just want to understand what’s going on.”

Emmett scowled. “You have no right.” 

So you'd heard.

“Careful how you speak to her,” Feitan warned. 

Reaching for the knife, you flipped it in your hand. It was a crude tactic, but you could try it. “You do want to leave with both eyes, don’t you?” Emmett’s very eyes you threatened to extract widened. “So you did hear what I did to Jed.” It made your stomach churn just thinking about it. “Is that why you’re here? Some sick revenge?” 

Emmett didn’t speak so you cut a small gash down the side of his arm. He still didn’t react like he should have. He should have known you were one step away from killing him, leaving him bleeding out on the chair.  

“You did also hear about my ability, did you not?” You said, in a grotesquely kind tone for the situation. “I can kill with it, but I mostly heal. If you talk, I’ll heal all the wounds for you.”

Feitan chuckled behind you, probably because he’d realized none of the wounds he’d inflicted could be healed by your ability. Sly bastard. He’d anticipated this very thing. He knew you’d do this and he was having the time of his life watching you fumble through a psychological torture to counterbalance his physical one. He promised death, but you’d promised freedom you couldn’t and wouldn’t provide. 

When Emmett didn’t respond, you shoved your fingers in the wound, without your normal gloves. Emmett hollered as you sliced through veins and bone. His chair nearly fell back with the force of his struggling, his desperate attempt to escape. 

It would hurt terribly. Your healing was vicious, but inflicting damage with the ability scaled so aggressively, there were few you’d wish that pain on. But this was necessary. Whatever it took to get the information you needed. 

“So pretty.” Feitan’s breath caught like he was watching something beautiful and alluring. He slipped his hand behind your head and rested it in your hair like he was going to force your head up for a kiss. But his hand stayed in place and he let you work. 

“Fine, stop!” Emmett hollered, watching the blood seep from his wound. “Stop and I'll talk. Just don’t do that to me again.” 

You healed the spot, ignoring his hollers of pain, and ripped your hand away. “Sounds good!” 

Standing, you needed a moment to compose yourself. You rushed to wash the blood from your hands, and try to control the shaking so Emmett wouldn’t see. This was probably its own form of torture: making him wait for what came next. But you had to get the blood off; It coated your skin and nauseated you. It had been ages since you’d harmed someone with your ability, and it felt too natural, to correct to think about at the moment. There was nothing right about this, but there was nothing right about what your brother and this group had done; what they were doing; what they would do. Starting riots, bombing churches. Fucking bastards. Clutching the edge of the sink, you pushed yourself off and settled your face back into the controlled smile of a semi-physician. 

Even though your heart raced, you composed yourself on the outside and sat back down.

“Who told you to break into my house?” You said, hoping you’d encourage him to speak by deflecting the blame from him. Snapping your mouth closed, you kept yourself from leading him to the answer of Jed or that fucker named Marco. 

“It came from the top,” Emmett said. “I don’t know who.” 

“Liar,” Feitan’s gentle voice hovered over your shoulder. “Who told you?”

You could have kissed him for backing you up.

Emmett’s face shifted like he didn’t want to say. It only took you reaching for his arm again for him to crack. 

“Marco,” Emmett said. “It came from a guy named Marco.” 

So Marco was considered someone at the top. Good to know. You’d suspected, but this was confirmation enough. Your brother was somebody of significance, and you were going to kill him, thus further inciting the wrath of TPI. Fantastic. 

“Do you know who I am?” You cocked your head, blinked as you realized what you’d asked. 

“He said you were unsalvageable,” Emmett said. “Somebody they tried to recruit who has the mark.” He shook as he spoke, watching Feitan over your shoulder more than watching you. “Somebody trying to hurt Marco. Somebody who hurt Jed.” 

“You’ve never seen Marco in person, have you?” You said, cocking your head. Too many people had mentioned the similarities in your features with your brother. How did a fanatic, somebody so enamored, so enthralled with Marco, not see the resemblance? 

“N - no,” Emmett said, his face contorting like he didn’t understand the purpose of the question. 

“I didn’t think so,” you said, not wanting to belabor the point. It was probably good that few people knew you were related. It could be a liability for your brother to be related to somebody his own group deemed unsalvageable and worthy of death. “You stole my research and gave it to TPI,” you said. 

Emmett scowled. “You’re sick if you think we’d let you hurt them.” 

“Why store bodies?” Feitan interjected, resting his hands on your shoulders to watch Emmett over your head. “What do you do to them?” His voice rang silky smooth as he questioned Emmett. But his hand sent you reeling as he slipped it under your shirt collar, effectively wrapping his hand around your neck to caress it. 

Emmett looked at you and you nodded, pretending a murderer wasn’t stroking your neck. And to distract you from not wanting him to stop. 

“To understand," he said. "To find out what's wrong with them. Discover how they're different from us."

You watched him, unimpressed. You were enough of a doctor to know the bodies weren't different if they had marks or even activated marks. Everyone bled the same, cried the same, screamed the same. You just happened to have something that wasn’t always presented in others, like blonde hair or large noses. 

"What kind of differences?" You said, humoring him. You shouldn’t have been interested, but you definitely were. This felt like it dug deep into the undercurrents of their beliefs. 

Emmett scowled, looking down at your wrist. You shifted and pulled your sleeve down to cover the mark. 

“There’s so much more you can do,” Emmett said, the disgust clear in his voice, “and you don’t even know. And it’s good you don’t. We’ll find the source first and exterminate the problem.” 

Your breath caught.

“What else can we do?” Feitan said, real interest in his voice. “For you to try killing us?” 

Emmett smirked. “I don’t know the specifics. It’s not my job.” 

So they were trying to kill you on some sort of faith alone. Some sort of belief that you were able to do unidentified things that warranted murdering every single one of you. This guy was fucked. 

“How many of you are there?” Feitan said, dragging his hand up and down your neck until you swallowed to keep yourself together. It’s like he wanted you to focus on his touch and not the ledge of terror you lingered on. The one you’d barely washed away when you cleaned your hands. 

“Too many to count,” Emmett said, like he was proud of that fact. 

Feitan leaned over and wrapped his hand around Emmett’s throat. “How. Many. Are. There?” His voice was clipped, dangerous, unyielding. “Will not ask again.” 

“A couple thousand, at least,” Emmett said, gasping for breath when Feitan let him go. 

God, you were glad Feitan was here. He was so much better at this than you. And you were thankful he’d bothered distracting you enough to keep you focused. 

“Where are Marco and Jed,” you asked. It seemed like a long-shot since this man was a pion, but it was worth a shot.

Emmett shook his head. “I don’t know.” 

“One more question. Then you can - go,” Feitan said, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple. You shivered under his touch, a touch of promise. “Where is TPI going next?” 

Emmett stiffened, like this was the one question he hoped you wouldn't ask. “If I tell you, you’ll let me go?” He looked at you, not Feitan.

“Of course,” you said, almost sadly. Knowing what “go” meant. You swallowed back the guilt, the pain of knowing what would happen. But Feitan wouldn’t listen if you told him to show mercy. 

Emmett nodded. "They're going to the Gordeau Desert at the end of next month."

That couldn’t be right. 

“There’s basically nothing until Yorknew,” you said. 

Emmett smirked. “So you think. There’s a small outpost somewhere out there. I don’t know where. I haven’t gotten the location.” 

You looked to Feitan to see if Emmett was lying, but Feitan seemed content with that answer. 

“Thank you for all your help. I really do appreciate it, even if you tried to kill me.” You stood, trying to keep your legs steady. You turned and headed for the door.

“Wait!” Emmett called as you reached for the doorknob. “You said you’d let me go.” 

You closed your eyes and collected yourself. Turning around, you said, “I said you could go, not that you could leave.” Emmett’s eyes widened. “I’m so, so sorry.”  

“You will not watch?” Feitan smiled.

“I’m going to go talk to Phinks and Mai,” you said. 

Emmett struggled against his binds again, knocking his chair over. Feitan crouched to hover over him.

“I told you,” Feitan stroked Emmett’s face with his knife, “you touched what is mine.” Feitan looked back at you. “She might be kind and merciful, but I am slow and thorough.” You swallowed at the implication of his words. He meant them both as a warning for Emmett and a promise to you. 

You hurried outside and slammed the door. Legs shaking, you rushed past the side of the house, hoping to escape, hoping to breathe. It was too much to take in, so much information. But you didn’t make it in time. 

You crouched and covered your ears when you heard the screams. 

Chapter Text

When your wobbly legs could stand, you rushed back to the front of the house. The sound of Emmett's screams lingered, pulsing through you in waves. But they silenced once you threw yourself inside. 

Leaning against the door, you dragged your hands over your eyes. With a strangled breath, you shook away the stress and composed yourself. You’d have to forget what happened in that room, but you couldn’t yet. You needed the information. 

Someone moaned and your head snapped to the destroyed couch. Mai sat in Phinks’ lap, their hands dragging through his hair as they made out in your fucking house. Phinks’ arms wrapped around Mai’s hips, caging them against him. 

“Really?” your voice came out strained. 

Feitan was torturing somebody who dared touch you in the guest house and Mai and Phinks’ were two steps away from fucking in your main house. Nowhere was safe. 

“Do not fuck Mai in my living room,” you said.

Mai turned to look at you, keeping their hands in Phinks’ hair. “Why'd you assume Phinks is the one fucking me?” 

Phinks snorted and grabbed Mai’s chin to force them to look at him again. “Presumptuous.” 

“You can have the guest house when Feitan is done torturing that guy,” you said, waving your hand dismissively as you walked past. 

“Hold on there,” Phinks said, grabbing your leg and making you stumble. “Fei’s doing what now?”

Guess they hadn’t heard the screams over doing things you didn’t want to think about to each other. “Some TPI guy ambushed me and Feitan got all possessive. We got some info out of him and now Feitan’s playing before he guts the guy for daring to touch me.” 

“Damn,” Mai said, turning to Phinks. “Would you do that for me?”

“Sure as shit would.” Phinks clutched the back of Mai’s neck and pulled them back into a kiss.

“Alright,” you said, “just keep it down.” 

You stumbled into your room and slammed what was left of the broken door, hoping you wouldn’t hear whatever Mai and Phinks would get up to. 

Maybe Feitan would walk in on it and get traumatized. 

Hours passed and you took the time to write down everything you’d learned from Emmett on whatever scraps you could find. Every minute that danced on without Feitan’s return only boded worse for Emmett, who really wasn’t the kind of person you should be going after. He was a pion, a toy for your brother. And you’d helped end his life, reinforcing the wickedness of the kind of people he’d decided to despise. But this is what you’d wanted, this is what you’d agreed to do in the hunt for your brother. You just hadn’t imagined how many people you’d step on along the way. 

It was supposed to be you versus him, but it was shaping up to be you and the Phantom Troupe versus Marco and TPI. You were taking them all down with you. The world had both grown and shrunk so quickly.   

When the papers were full, you turned the pen on yourself. You couldn't forget their names. Even if you didn't know three of the four you'd killed. 

Pressing the pen into your thigh you wrote: Watcher 1, Watcher 2, Watcher 3, and Emmett. You almost scribbled in an eye, but fuck Jed. Maybe Shalnark knew how to tattoo since he was good at everything. There had to be a way to remember these people, to keep them with you. 

And then you sat in silence, accepting the shock numbing you until the only thing you felt was the pulse of the bond. There was a rage there, a fury that felt different, hotter, wilder than your own. 

Feitan. 

The dry throat and shock shifted into clarity and tears. Likely brought on by the vicious one-mindedness of the bond emitting from Feitan. 

But the tears stopped by the time you heard a gentle knock on your door. The bond was content, convinced you'd accomplished something. That Feitan had accomplished something. 

“We are leaving,” Feitan said, opening the door just enough to slip inside.

Good. You weren't sure you wanted to stay in this place. The thoughts of the horrors you’d help inflict, the wounds you couldn’t scrub free no matter how many times you’d wash your hands raw, was too much a reminder of the road ahead.  

“Is the body gone?” your voice warbled with hours of disuse. Somehow, you mustered the courage to look him in the eye. 

“There is no trace,” Feitan said, stepping towards you slowly. He towered over you as you sat on the floor. Funny, considering his stature. But something about him had changed, like you’d seen something personal in that guest house, something uncomfortably real. 

The evening shadows cut across his beautiful, terrifying face as he watched you with no emotion. Like torturing a man had evened him out, calmed him, in a way.  

“Can you get these notes to the bounty hunter?” you said, handing Feitan your scraps of paper with information he probably had burned into his mind by way of being an expert at what you’d just done together. “It’s everything we got from Emmett.” 

He nodded and dropped the scraps in his pocket. 

Feitan slipped a hand through your hair and dragged his fingers down your cheek. He nudged your chin up to make sure you’d watch him. 

“What is wrong?” Feitan asked. And somehow, he sounded distantly interested. 

Great question, Feitan. 

“My home is destroyed,” you said, waving at the space around you. “I killed three people, I’m concussed, and I helped torture a man.” You acquiesced to his touch and slipped your fingers through his free hand hanging at his side. He flexed his hand before lightly wrapping his fingers around yours, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to do what you’d initiated. “I’m tired.” 

Feitan’s soft smile grew malicious and he squeezed your hand tighter. His thumb dragged down the mark on your wrist like he could memorize the letters with his fingerprints. “You are a natural.” 

“That’s not the kind of compliment I want to hear right now,” you said, groaning as you stood and dislodged from his touch. But he latched onto your side and dug his hand in, holding you in place. You swallowed and your next words strained. “Let’s get the love birds and leave. I just want to grab a few things first.” You stepped out of Feitan’s not so gentle hold. “I imagine we aren’t coming back here.” 

Feitan’s arm hung between you like he would try to grab you again. Instead, it dropped back to his side and into his pocket. 

“You like this place?” Feitan said, like it confused him. But at least he didn’t explicitly say you’d never return. Not that it was his choice. But once the leader of the Phantom Troupe got their talons in you, you probably wouldn’t be free to roam the way you had. 

The unyielding price of better information, better execution. 

“Well enough.” You couldn’t help a soft laugh. A month ago you would have said you adored it. But anywhere Feitan wasn't could never feel like home anymore. A gift and a curse from the bond. “Give me an hour. I’ll get some medical supplies and personal things.”

You puttered, tossing junk willy-nilly, looking for a bag when he spoke. 

“You do not like what I did,” Feitan said with an edge in his voice.  

“Emmett was just a pawn,” you said, swallowing back the emotion to keep your voice even. “But I understand why you did what you did. He's still a dangerous fanatic and letting him live risked TPI learning I've allied myself with the Phantom Troupe.” You snatched a bag from the pile of broken shit in the middle of the room. “I killed three people last week so I can’t complain.” 

Feitan didn’t react immediately, instead he cocked his head like he was thinking. 

“What if it was your brother?” Feitan didn't blink as you focused on his tense lips and squinting eyes. A predator tracking the reaction of his prey. 

You couldn’t stop the smile. “You can do everything short of killing him.”

"Careful, now. 'Everything' is a dangerous agreement." Feitan's lip quirked and eyes brightened like he was considering the possibilities. He ambled towards you, gaze shifting from joy to something darker. 

Your breath shuttered when Feitan pressed against you. He slipped his hand under your shirt to clasp your waist, his fingers digging in deeper this time like you'd slip away again. His breath ghosted your face, slightly uneven like he was also affected by the closeness. 

“I get to actually kill him, though," you said, struggling to control your breathing. 

Feitan slid his hand to your stomach, memorizing the pattern of your hurried breaths from his touch. 

“I can’t wait to see it,” Feitan said as he stepped back. But not before grazing his hand down your thigh like he considered dragging you back to him again.  

So he was intending to stick around, but you didn’t want to push it by asking for confirmation.  

You really looked at him now. He was cleaned up. No blood, nothing to indicate what he’d just done. He was truly stunning; infuriatingly, unrelentingly stunning. 

Asshole. 

“I’ll pack up quickly,” you said, blinking away another dizzy spell more likely originating from his touch than your waning concussion. “Make sure Mai and Phinks don’t fuck on my couch in the meantime.” 

“They went to the guest house,” Feitan said, looking like he was trying to hide a smile. 

It almost didn’t make sense. He tortured a man an hour ago but struggled containing his joy on his friend’s behalf. A real friend, from what you’d seen of the two. 

“Then you have to go grab them when we’re leaving,” you said, turning to continue your search in your pile of junk. 

The car ride was anything but quiet. Your medical supplies and minimal personal effects had been thrown in the trunk. Then you’d stopped at Mai’s place and they’d gotten some stuff, having decided they were definitely coming along. Contesting their decision right now was useless. They’d made up their mind; they were coming and currently babbling in the front seat with Phinks. 

Damn they talked a lot, but it made it easier for you to remain quiet.

"Spiders?" Mai tapped their foot to the song playing low on the radio. "No idea."

"The Phantom Troupe?" Phinks gawked while he split focus between Mai and the road. "You've never heard of the Phantom Troupe?" He made eye contact with you from the rearview mirror like you'd done something wrong. 

You shrugged. "I never told Mai who you guys were," you said. "I don't go blabbing about shit like that."

Feitan chuckled and it sounded a hell of a lot like approval. 

"We just agreed you two were 'bad bad’ guys," Mai said, throwing their legs up on the dash. Phinks didn’t stop them.  

Phinks’ booming laugh overtook the car. "Depends on who you ask," he said. 

Trying to relax your eyes, you rested your head on the glass and dozed until you pulled back into the mansion drive. 

A calloused hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged you awake. 

“It is too loud,” Feitan said. “Let’s go.” 

You smiled and fumbled out of the car. You’d grab your junk later. For now, you wanted time with Feitan and quiet, ideally together. Certain he’d follow you, you’d just amble upstairs and find that room they’d given you, crash, and expect Feitan eventually. 

“You live here?” Mai said to Phinks who had his arm around their waist.

“Sometimes,” Phinks said, watching Mai reverently. “When we aren’t working.” 

God, you envied how easy it had been for them. Just as sudden, but somehow easier, more natural. That’s how it was supposed to be, you supposed. But it wasn’t your reality.

Feitan stepped up beside you, but kept his hands to himself. You wondered if he was just like that in groups. His possessiveness ran so deep, it surprised you he wasn’t dragging you inside to remind you exactly how much you were his. 

“Two of you left and four returned.” Shalnark leaned against the door frame. “Who’s that?” 

Mai smiled at him with so little wariness, you wondered how they hadn’t just gotten themself killed at some point. To be fair, Shalnark was very pleasant and unassuming looking, which is exactly what made him so dangerous. 

“Fei’s girl’s friend,” Phinks said, chuckling as Mai shoved him at the shitty introduction. “Found them at the house like a stray. They’re my soulmate.” 

“I’m Mai,” they said, leaping up the stairs to offer their hand. 

Shalnark watched them with detached interest. The same way he’d watched you when you’d first met. But finally he accepted their hand with a tepid smile. 

“Shalnark,” he said. With a nod, he slipped past Mai and headed for the three of you. “The boss called. We’re going tomorrow.” Shalnark paused and looked behind him. “And you too, I guess, since Phinks brought you back.” 

“Then we’re building a bonfire tonight,” Phinks said. “Celebrate our last day on our own for a while.” Phinks looked over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Fei. I’ll let you light it.” 

Feitan’s even face shifted to displeasure. “Not a pyro.” 

“Bull,” Phinks said, “shit. You’re just trying to look sane in front of your girl.”

“I have no delusions about Feitan being sane,” you said, walking up the stairs. You were tired and if they expected you at a bonfire later, you were going to rest for a while. “Good thing I’m not either,” you said just before the front door closed behind you. 

 You walked towards the stairs, making it halfway before you realized he was beside you.

“Where are you going?” Feitan asked. Without me was implied. 

“To rest,” you said.

Feitan didn’t respond but he followed, his hands shoved in his pockets.

What was he expecting? You’d be alone again, so it could be a large variety of things. Maybe seeing Mai and Phinks basking in their soulmate bliss would kick him into gear. 

You entered the room and laid down, deciding not to worry about what Feitan would do. 

It was too early to sleep, but the downy covers cradled you in gentle pressure, enough that you could easily pass out before you realized you had. You’d slept in Feitan’s presence before and he’d never done anything too untoward. Besides biting your mark like a vampire. 

But it was different this time. This time you needed it, you needed something, anything to take the pain away; proof that what you’d done, what you would do, was worth it. But the bed didn’t dip and no sheets were moved out of place. Waiting and waiting, nothing happened. 

You flipped around. 

Feitan sat at the seating area on the other side of the room, reading a book he’d pulled from nowhere. Completely relaxed, he ignored your attention. He looked almost gentle in the glow of the evening sun. Swaths of red brushed his pale skin, either from the sunset or the fact you two were here and you lounged in the bed, clearly inviting him with your parted lips and wanting eyes. 

It set off a hum in your soul, knowing he could be this way when he was around you. 

His lips flickered with a smile as he flipped to the next page. “Yes?” 

You sucked in a breath. “Tell me why you dragged it out.” 

There it was. The real question you'd meant to ask but were too scared to in your own bedroom among the carnage. 

Feitan snapped his book closed and tossed it aside. He clearly liked this topic, as his whole attention shifted to you; the kind of focus that induced shallow breaths and burning veins. 

“They talk more - when you keep going.” Feitan dropped his chin like he was looking down on you.

You scrunched into a ball under the covers. Those screams rang heavy on your mind. Emmett had attacked you, had tried to kill you, so why did it feel like shit what you’d done to him? Hopefully Feitan’s playing had amounted to something valuable. 

“Did he?” You asked. “Tell you more?” 

Feitan’s smile grew. You knew it was bad if that was the look he was giving you.

"He just screamed."

“Then why?” You said, harsher than you meant to. It was wrong what you’d done to Emmett and it was wrong to push your own sense of morality onto Feitan, who clearly had never heard of the term. You should have shut up, but you couldn’t stop pushing and pushing and pushing. 

Feitan’s comfortable teasing changed as his face tightened. You’d definitely pushed too hard, too fast. Hopefully he didn’t retreat entirely like last time. “You were there. No need to ask.” 

Fuck it. You were already in it. You wanted him to affirm it; to prove you weren’t wasting your time with him. “It’s because he touched me.” 

Feitan leaned back in his chair, like he was about to challenge you. 

“Why ask when you know?” Feitan’s teasing tone returned, probably because he didn’t need to say it himself. “Need my approval?” 

Now was not the time to lie, or the time to joke. Not every feeling and emotion could be made a mockery of when you felt them so deeply, and suspected he did too. So much, he couldn’t express them in any way that could be construed as serious without affirmation that he could. 

“Yes,” you said, honestly, “Feitan, I do.”

His brows raised. Whatever he thought you were going to say, it wasn’t that. Feitan probably assumed you’d mock the idea, make a joke of it. But not this time.

“I don’t expect you to feel the same,” you added, shifting and turning the other direction. You’d egged him on, overwhelmed him too much for one day. He’d close in on himself again, run away like he had the last time. 

Assuming the conversation was over, you closed your eyes. 

You heard Feitan move before you saw him. His feet padded across the floor. He could have done it silently if he wanted, but he didn’t. Probably not to scare you. 

“Work in private,” He said, coming around the other side of the bed to sit next to you. “Would not have asked you to watch -” Feitan said slowly. He moved the covers and shifted to cage you onto the bed with his arms on either side of your head and his legs tangled in yours. “- if I did not want - that.” He looked surprised at the thought, and that he’d vocalized it. His lips moved like he had more to say but couldn’t connect his voice with those things too difficult to speak. 

“Oh,” you said, not knowing what else to say, not wanting to risk making him feel like he was wrong for sharing. “I didn’t realize.” 

You slipped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Black hair blocked everything but the burning in his grey eyes and the brush of red on his cheeks. The weight of him pressed against you, but he held himself up just enough, probably so he could run when it got to be too much. 

But you wanted to try something, for once, when he had initiated so many times in his own, strange way. 

A kiss - a real kiss - might overwhelm him. So instead, you copied what he did from time to time and ghosted your lips over his cheek, pressing just a moment and retreating when he stiffened. 

“You have more to say,” you said, softly. There was no need to speak up when his lips were so close to yours. “And I want to hear.”

Feitan stilled, like he’d scare you away if he moved too much. 

You'd unnerved him again by asking for his real feelings, the ones he masked from even himself. Cutting too deep would make him retreat but it was too late to back down. 

He scowled like the words he'd speak would be vile on his tongue. 

“I thought showing you would …” Feitan said so softly you wondered if he even heard himself. "I do not want - your…" He pulled your marked wrist free from around his neck like he'd toss it aside in disgust. "There is no point to this." He ran his thumb over his own name with a suddenly softer, more resigned expression as he found the words. “I did not earn your approval today." 

Feitan's breath against your lips fizzled out as he pulled back.

And with that, he was gone. 

Chapter Text

You hadn’t slept. Feitan’s strange confession made you toss and turn until you had to get up and move. After wandering the halls as the nighttime lamps illuminated; after dragging your hands across old vases and the gilt frames of ornate paintings; after deep breaths to take in the crisp evening air; after counting your steps like they were sheep in the hopes it would make you sleep; after listening to the cracks and creaks of the house settling; after counting the ceiling tiles, you finally ventured back to your room. But only after turning to wave at the shadow that had been following you silently through the house. 

The shadow didn’t follow you into your room. And somehow, his silent, darkened presence evened you. It could be the bond, but it felt more like the knowledge he was here, he was staying. The weight of everything that had happened calmed, like you were home again.  

Your modest bag of belongings sat on the table in the room and you were certain you hadn’t placed it there. Someone, perhaps your shadow, left it for you while you’d been away. 

To pass the time, you looked through some of the books you had kind of stolen from the library at this point. But you’d give them back eventually. 

Sitting on the bed, you fanned out the books, scanning through the titles for something that sounded interesting. Emmett had said you ‘could do more.’ That wasn’t specific, but it was evocative enough that he’d wanted you to die over the fact. Scientific books seemed wrong in this situation. If there was science behind what Emmett had said, why hadn’t you found it over the hours you’d spent reading when you had no idea what else to do? Why weren’t soulmates doing crazy shit all the time because they’d found their person? You’d definitely have heard of it if they were. Fiction was likely out, and mostly avoided in your research. So all that was left was history and legend. (Which felt more in line with an unscientific, cultish belief system). 

You pulled an old book; purple leather covered, worn with age. Scanning through the index you found a few chapters on old legends and history about soulmates. Existence in a time when they were less accepted, and sometimes executed. Shivers cut your spine at the resemblance to TPI; rogue groups acting as judge, jury, and executioner. Maybe TPI had modeled themselves off of these old kinds of groups. But God, that was ages ago; hundreds to thousands of years. 

It was all gibberish. Strange blood rituals, sacrifices, dismemberment, and dissection. People like you were play things for people in power. Did Feitan know this? Was that why he was so possessive, so unrelenting in his punishment of Emmett and others who would dare harm you? 

You swallowed and pushed the book away. There was real precedent for what TPI was doing. And you wondered if they were using history as a north star. 

Tossing the book in your travel bag, you pushed it to the bottom so you wouldn’t accidentally find it again. But when the pain wasn’t so raw, maybe you’d look through it. Once you had more information about TPI, you might be able to guess what they’d do based on these strange histories. 

But for now, it hurt too deeply. 

Sore muscles stretched as you ambled through the halls once the sun had fully set and the moon had risen high enough that you should have been sleeping. The dizziness hadn’t returned and you felt livelier than you had in days.

The mansion was loud when you made it downstairs, and you knew who was making the noise. Mai was in the kitchen with their hands busy, prepping food while Phinks hovered no more than an arm’s length away. A sentry watching their charge. 

The kitchen was splashed with white cabinetry and golden fixtures. Bakery smells wafted from the ovens and pots bubbled on the stove. A skylight hung over the island in the center, welcoming the twinkling stars into the room in place of harsh ceiling lights. The kinds of constellations you could only see this far out in the world when city light was sparse and the expanse of land was wide. Where entire worlds and stories were crafted into the sky if you dared look. 

“You’re not cutting it right,” Mai said, waving the knife at the vegetables they diced. “You’re stabbing, not slicing.” 

“I’m just killing it more,” Phinks said. He snorted and couldn’t keep a straight face. 

"They're vegetables, not bodies." Mai dropped the knife and turned to push Phinks out of the kitchen. They just didn’t have the strength to move him until he agreed to be moved. “Out, out, out. Go do something useful like helping Feitan with the fire. Or make Shalnark do something other than play on his phone.” 

“I love it when you tell me what to do.” Phinks leaned over to kiss Mai, smiling his way through it. “And keep me busy because I -"

"Hate waiting," Mai finished for him. "I know, you useless fuck. Now go play 'kids setting fires in their backyard' with Feitan."

"Fine, fine!" Phinks waved his hands as he walked out of the room. "Enjoy the chest pain when I'm too far away."

"You're ten seconds away. I'll live," Mai said as the door to the backyard clicked shut. "Welcome to the land of the living." Mai waved their knife in greeting and went back to work prepping. 

You dropped into a bar stool across from them. It was your first moment alone and you need to try and talk reason into them. You had a horse in this race, you had something on the line. But Mai had so much more they could do than this. And the risk - you couldn't put your friend through it. 

"These guys are dangerous, Mai." You pulled a cutting board towards yourself and grabbed a knife from the block beside you. "How are you so relaxed about this?"

"There's no reason to panic," Mai said  "It's my soulmate, so I don't see the problem."

Ah, yes. The optimism of someone who wasn't choked by their soulmate upon introduction. The optimism of someone who had real reciprocation, no strings attached. The optimism of someone who was far enough separated from the underworld that they didn't understand what this all meant for them. 

"I don't just mean Phinks," you said, "I mean all of them. The Phantom Troupe."

"Phinks has been great," they said, pushing a stack of diced onions to the side, "and I mean great . Yours could do to get the stick out of his ass and Shalnark's brain is just melting from always being on that phone. But they've been so welcoming. Why should I dislike them for that?"

God, you wished you could argue with that. 

You surveyed the room before speaking. "There's nobody out there that rivals the Spiders," you said, still softly in case somebody walked up. "If your affiliation gets out, you're going to be in danger the rest of your life."

Mai snorted. "Fuck off. I saw the husk you became when Feitan was gone. I'd rather die young than live as a ghost of my former self. I've made up my mind. I'm staying with Phinks and the Phantom Troupe and you."

Another thing to envy them for: you wanted to live and they were willing to die. 

You craned your neck to look around the room again, ensuring your shadow wasn't present before speaking. 

“Fine,” you said, resting your head on the counter. “Just tell me you didn’t tell them about your abil -”

“Shush,” Mai said, thwacking you on the head with a spatula “I didn’t tell anyone shit about that.” 

Your shoulders slacked with relief. At least when you both were dragged in front of the leader of the Phantom Troupe, they wouldn’t be inclined to use Mai for their own gain. 

“Good,” you said, groaning as you stretched. Hopping from the stool, you said, “we’ll pretend you can’t use Nen. That’s our story, no matter what.”

“Deal,” Mai said, “Now - you go do something useful too. You’re as bad as Shalnark.” 

You were almost out of the kitchen when you turned back. Mai cut more vegetables on their cutting board and was moving onto the meat. All they ever did was take care of other people, and part of you glowed at the fact they had another half to watch over them. But your other half, the ugly half, the jealous half, decided not to understand in lieu of having to deconstruct your own feelings about your strange relationship with Feitan. 

Not that it could really be called a relationship as nothing had really happened and nobody had declared anything of the sort.   

It wasn’t your place to ask, but Mai was your friend. 

“Why is it so easy for you and Phinks?” You shifted and crossed your arms around yourself. 

The scent of smoke permeated the kitchen from the outside. Phinks was hollering something and Feitan’s light cackle could just barely be heard over the hiss of the pots on the stove and the roaring in your ears. 

Mai dropped their knife and smiled sadly. “It’s fate,” they said. “It wasn’t meant to be difficult; it was meant to be right.” 

Such lovely words for something so complex. 

“Sure,” you said, trying to sound positive. “I’m happy for you.”

Mai turned back to their cutting. “I’m happy for you too. I’m sorry Feitan is so difficult, but you two’ll figure it out.” 

You wanted to tell them it wasn’t their fault, that it was what it was, but damn you didn’t want it to be what it was. And you didn’t know how to change that other than continuing to push Feitan, encouraging him into a relationship. 

“I hope so,” you said quietly.

“If you ever need to talk,” Mai said, wariness on their face, “about what’s happened the past few days, I can handle it.” 

You simply nodded and slipped out the backdoor. 

A gentle wind calmed the rushing in your veins from the strange conversation with Mai. Grass and sunflowers from the gardens swayed in the breeze, whistling along with the humming bugs and hooting owls. A lush, green forest surrounded the edge of the property, like the Spiders bought a home on the edge of the world, just for them. Large and private - everything they’d ever need. Straight across, flames crackled twenty feet in the air, dispersing the smells of a summer campfire. 

You felt him beside you before you saw him. 

“Did you rest?” Feitan said, gentle mockery in his words.

“I couldn’t relax,” you said, pushing a piece of hair out of his face, “a shadow was following me.” Watching over you, making sure you were safe. It was soothing, having someone there with you, even if they moved through shadows and spoke few words. And even if you told him it was silly, you were certain he knew you appreciated it. 

“Shame,” Feitan said, nipping at your wrist as you tried to pull it back. 

He reached for you but you leapt down the cobblestone stairs. 

Feitan was faster. You stumbled into him at the bottom of the steps, clutching his shoulders to keep yourself upright. He smelled of ash and smoke. Not much different than normal, but it felt more wild, more free when there was nothing but greenery ahead to explore. 

“Do not run from me,” Feitan said, clutching your sides and tugging you against him. "Don't like it."

Said the man who ran from you the moment things got heavy and deep and real. 

“I wasn’t running,” you said, nearly against his lips, silently begging him to close the gap, “I was flirting.” 

“Making me chase you is not flirting,” he said. 

‘I’m pretty sure it is,” you said, slipping out of his hold again. “But if it isn’t, you should show me what constitutes flirting.” 

You walked backwards, egging him on, but Feitan’s frown deepened like you’d confused him. He hadn’t moved from his spot at the base of the stairs beyond turning to face you.

“What’s wrong?” You said, stopping so he could catch up. “I’m sorry, I know -”

“I do,” Feitan said, "flirt." He said the word like it poisoned his tongue. Like you were teenagers trying to figure out how all of this worked. 

"I know," you said. "You have since the beginning, in your own Feitan kind of way." 

You gasped as he grabbed you again. One arm clutched your side and the other ran up your arm, landing on your neck where he caressed your raging pulse. 

"So, are we trying to figure this out this soul bond stuff together?" You said, freezing when his lips grazed your neck, then your cheek, until he pulled back and watched you head on. “You can have more time to think, if you need it.” 

There it was again - the brush of red on his face. 

"It is frustrating when you are gone," he said, softly. 

"I don't like it when you're gone either," you said.

Feitan stepped back and slipped his hands in his pockets. "Disappointed you. You want that?"

You smiled sadly. "Seeing who you are isn't necessarily a bad thing," you said. "I can't make you be something you're not. And I don't want you to be, either." The stars shone in his dark eyes as he consumed every word. "Either I accept you or I don't."

Feitan's shoulders tensed. "Don't want your acceptance." 

"So, yes?" you said, trying to contain your smile. Last time you'd discussed this, he'd said the feeling he got when you were gone was annoying. But this sounded ever so slightly different. It included you, not just him.

"Demanding.” Feitan huffed, but added, "Yes."

You threw yourself at him for a hug, catching him so off guard he stumbled back a step. But he kept you both from falling by wrapping you in his arms. 

Feitan slipped his fingers under your shirt, dragging them up and down your spine until you shivered at his touch. He moved lower, letting his fingers cut below your waistband. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck to keep the sound of your gentle moan down when he dug into your skin. 

But he didn’t let you stay hidden. Feitan gripped your hair at the roots and gently tugged your face away from his neck. 

His warm breath tingled against your lips as he spoke. “Do not hide your pretty sounds from me.”

Fuck, he looked so good. And the gravelly voice made you melt against him. Feitan massaged your scalp for just a moment before tugging harder when he didn’t get a response. 

“You want me to moan louder on your back porch with people around?” you said, breathlessly.

“For the love of God, get a fucking room,” Mai said as they walked past, carrying way too much food for five people. “I don’t want to hear that shit.” 

“Go away,” Feitan said with a warning in his voice. 

Mai’s dishes wobbled like they’d fall over. The smell of breads and desserts and perfectly cooked meats overtook the crisp evening air.  

Extracting yourself from Feitan’s hold, you hurried to catch up with Mai. “Give me some of those. I’ll carry them.” 

Were you running? Maybe. But if you didn’t you might let Feitan fuck you on his porch. 

Mai bent over so you could grab some of the higher stacked items. You hissed at the hot serving dishes but kept walking when Mai looked at you like you were being a baby. 

“You made all this shit in the last few hours?” you said, following them the direction of the massive fire. They’d made a feast, a fucking five course meal for a bonfire. 

“Sure did,” they said, “while you were doing that on the porch. So not helpful.” 

“We’re never talking about that again,” you said, placing the food down on a folding table near the fire. 

Warm flames tickled your skin against the cool night air. It crackled as Phinks tossed in more kindling, forcing the flames higher. Apparently they wanted it to burn all night. 

“We’re not sleeping tonight, are we?” you said, grabbing a pile of sticks beside Phinks and tossing them in as well. 

“We never sleep when Phinks does this,” Feitan said beside you. He slipped a hand around your side and dragged you towards a blanket with mismatched pillows on the other side of the fire. 

“You’re the one that built the fire, asshole,” Phinks called after you both. 

Feitan ignored him to instead toss you down onto the blanket. You landed harder than you would have liked and glared at him. 

“Are you going to have an attitude all night because I helped Mai out?” you said, rubbing your side as Feitan sat beside you. He at least had the courtesy to pull you against him and rub the space on your hip you’d hit when you landed.

“They interrupted,” he said against your ear. You could hear the implication in his voice, the promise. His hand wandered until it landed on your waist. But Feitan’s thumb explored higher, swiping just below your breast. You gasped and he removed his thumb. “They do not get to hear that,” he said.

“Alright,” you said, turning your head to rest it against his, “just for you then.” 

Feitan’s breath stalled.

Shalnark appeared from nowhere and dropped down on the blanket beside you both, already holding a plate of food. Feitan glared at him but Shalnark didn’t seem to notice. 

“Mai’s useful after all,” Shalnark chuckled as he shoved a piece of cake in his mouth.

“Shocking,” you said. 

Phinks happily ate his cake and you couldn’t stop yourself from asking something you’d been wondering now that your concussion abated and your head was clearer. 

“Why isn’t your soulmate here?” you asked. 

Shalnark chuckled. “I had no idea what Feitan’s soulmate would be like. You could have been crazy!” He reached over and slapped Feitan’s shoulder, jostling him. “Didn’t want to risk putting him in that situation.” 

“But you must feel sick,” you said. There were those moments he’d been colder, less engaged. And you wondered if that wasn’t his personality as much as the bond tugging on him the way it tugged on you when Feitan was too far. 

“Constantly,” he said too happily. He’d be reunited tomorrow. There was finally an expiration date on the unyielding pain. 

But you didn’t really know what to say to that. You knew that pain too well. 

The fire crackled, sparks flying off the burn into the dirt surrounding. The bugs were getting louder now that you sat closer to the forest. And the rustling and calls of creatures you hadn’t been able to hear from the house felt like they were right behind you. 

“Did you know Mai couldn’t use Nen?” Shalnark sucked on a fork as he thought through something. 

Fuck. How had he figured that out in half a day? 

“Yeah,” you said, “I did.” 

Saying more could give Mai away. If you started rambling, it would look suspicious, like you were trying to hide something. Which you were, but still. 

“I wouldn’t have thought Phinks’ soulmate wouldn’t be a Nen user,” Shalnark said, stabbing the fork back into his cake and taking another bite. “Anyway, what were you up to this afternoon?” 

Your back relaxed and only then did you realize it had tensed. There was no need to look at Feitan because he had felt it too, with his hand on you. 

“I was researching,” you said, not wanting to admit that you’d spent most of the afternoon wandering and getting stalked by Feitan in the shadows. 

“What kind of research?” Mai took a seat at the blanket next to Shalnark and was quickly joined by Phinks. These men seemed to like following you and Mai around wherever you went. “I thought you had a bounty hunter now.” 

They’d brought all the food too, and started spreading the dishes out across the three blankets so everyone could share. You saw the cake Shalnark had been eating, a vanilla cake topped with light frosting and strawberries, multiple kinds of breads, some laden with fruits and spices, meats perfectly grilled, and greens to go with it all. 

“I do,” you said, “but I was thinking about something Emmett said.” You clarified at the blank looks. “The guy Feitan and I - fucked up.” That was easier than using the other word. “He mentioned that soulmates could ‘do so much more’ and I started looking into it.”

“No,” Phinks whined, “we’re not even working yet.”

“Let her speak,” Feitan said, removing his hands from your side like he was pushing you into the spotlight.

When they settled, you continued. “I found an old book on rituals and dismemberment and stuff.” Mai gagged and you couldn’t help but agree. “Lots of old information on soul bonds from ages ago. Weird legends, traditions, that kind of thing. Would any of you happen to know anything about that?” 

Everyone shared some form of ‘no’ except Shalnark. 

“Of course I do,” Shalnark said. “Part of the research I’ve been doing has looked into forgotten information about soul bonds.” Shalnark crossed his legs and leaned back on his blanket, putting his food aside. “Rituals, you say?” 

You nodded.

“I know of a few,” Shalnark said brightly, “and a few that are in line with the kind of thing you found under that building.”

You really didn’t want to think about that. At least you weren’t eating yet. Mai had pushed their food away already.  

“But do you know any that relate back to what Emmett mentioned?” you said. “Anything about enhanced abilities?”

Shalnark nodded. “It’s old, and likely doesn’t work. It’s one of those traditions that people believe at the time that falls out of fashion. And it’s gross, so people stopped doing it a millennium ago.” Shalnark rubbed his face like he was thinking. “I don’t even know how you’d do it, to be honest. I’ve just seen fleeting references.”

“What is it?” you pushed. “What’s it called?”

Maybe you’d seen it in the books and passed over it. If you had a name, you could dig more. 

“A Blood Bind,” Shalnark said.

Wind blew through as the group quieted. Like everyone knew that words were too loud in the presence of something so old. The raucous sounds of night disappeared: The owls silenced, the bugs disappeared, and the rustling of the trees settled. Even leaves ceased falling onto the dewy earth. The world stalled at the mention of the name.

You shifted closer to Feitan, who sensed your discomfort and slipped an arm around your waist to hold you against him. 

“Sounds disgusting,” Mai said, chewing on the food they’d just pushed away and now had brought back to their lap. 

“It does sound pretty disgusting,” Shalnark said, “but I have no clue how it’s done or what’s involved. I just know the name and the idea behind it.”

“And that idea is…?” you prompted. 

You needed more information, anything you could go on. While the bounty hunter looked for your brother, you could start understanding why he’d done what he did. Which, for some reason, you hadn’t really considered before. An act of brutality was all you had seen. But from what you’d learned the past few days, there was something far darker, more insidious surrounding his actions. As if murdering parents wasn't dark enough. 

“The purpose,” Shalnark said, rubbing his hand over his mark like just speaking the name had an effect on him, “is unlocking power.”  

Feitan gripped you harder as you stared into nothing. The book was in your room, you could look now that you had a name. But something stopped you from getting up and going immediately. 

“Don’t ask what kind of power,” Shalnark said, “because I have no clue.” 

“Seems stupid,” Phinks said, speaking up for the first time in a while. “If that’s the kind of shit TPI’s worried about, they’re crazy.” 

The rational side of you was inclined to agree, but just the name itself sent something through you, lighting up a dark part of your soul you'd never felt before. And it had done something similar to Feitan, who looked strangely - contemplative, maybe intrigued. 

“Oh!” Shalnark snapped his fingers. “I forgot the funniest part.” 

No, you didn’t ask this time. He was going to tell you.

“If you do it wrong,” Shalnark chuckled, “your soul shatters.”

Only you and Feitan didn’t laugh. 

“Not that we could try it anyways since nobody knows how,” Mai said, turning back towards Phinks and disengaging from the conversation, like this strange wariness that overcame half the group was disinteresting to them. What was interesting to Mai was Phinks’ reaction to them trying to feed him food. 

“And it’s bullshit,” Phinks said, letting Mai drop the fruit in his mouth.

“Definitely bullshit,” Mai agreed. 

Shalnark also went back to his food like you all hadn’t just had a lovely chat about some weird ritual that probably involved bodily fluids.

You shifted to face Feitan. His full focus sat on you, like he was looking at you for the first time. 

“A Blood Bind,” you said softly. 

Feitan’s eyes burned and you knew - if it was real, if it was possible, he wanted to do it too. 

Chapter Text

A gold-dipped chandelier hung in the center of the hotel lobby. Intricate, sparkling tiles traced the way to the elevators, like gemstones carved and caged in glass. Bursts of bright flowers popped across the hall, sitting atop end tables, brightening the dark woods complimenting the gold accents. 

This was not where you’d expected to meet the leader of the Phantom Troupe. But you supposed you’d said the same about the stupid fucking mansion you’d been staying in. Hiding in plain sight seemed like a keystone of this group. Cocky assholes, yes. But effective. 

Patrons rushed in and out, mostly in suits. A business hotel, then. And you supposed the Phantom Troupe was its own kind of business anyway. 

Feitan rested his hand on your lower back. He hadn’t stopped touching you since last night. Beyond sleeping, where he’d walked you to your door as the morning sun peeked above the forest and disappeared without a word. He was being cautious, which you could work with. But he was there again, a few hours after he’d left you. And he was there now, with the rest of the group, his hand stuck to you like he could grab you and pull you out of harm's way if necessary. 

You rode the elevator up and up to the top floor. There was only one hall on that level. And ornate, gilt double doors lead to the best suite in the hotel. 

Phinks knocked and you remembered where you were, what you were doing. Feitan was already watching you when you looked at him. His hand tightened on your back and he pulled you closer, if that had even been possible. But he said nothing, so you followed his lead. You’d show no weakness, no fear. This man could be just as terrifying as Feitan and Phinks, more so if he was the leader. And the worst thing you could do was show fear and embarrass Feitan in the process.

Mai picked at their nails, entirely unperturbed with where they stood. Phinks tapped his foot like it was taking too long, and Shalnark typed away on his phone, probably waiting for word he could meet up with his soulmate. 

The door creaked and you were ready for the terror of seeing what a man who lead a group like the Phantom Troupe looked like. 

Chrollo opened the door. His gentle smile complimented a relaxed posture that sent you to the edge of terror. True danger lurked under the skin of a beautiful man. 

Adjusting his cufflinks, Chrollo acknowledged each person with a nod. 

“Hey boss,” Shalnark said and scooted past him to get inside, leaving the four of you to fend for yourselves. 

“Boss,” Phinks said, tugging Mai close to him. “This is Mai.”

You shouldn't have let Mai come. They looked too comfortable with this situation. You should have pushed harder last night when you had the opportunity. Because of you, Mai stood face to face with the most dangerous man you'd ever met and might ever meet. 

“It’s a pleasure, Mai.” Chrollo smiled softly, and stepped aside for the two to walk through the door. “And who is this, Feitan?”

Were you supposed to speak when spoken to? What were the boundaries here? Phinks had spoken on Mai’s behalf, but was that indicative of Chrollo’s expectations? And also, why the fuck did you care so much?

Feitan said your name and you nodded, mimicking the way Chrollo had addressed you all when he opened the door. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said. The terror just simmered instead of boiled, but the way Chrollo looked at you, looked through you like he knew everything about you made you shove you hands behind your back so you could flex your fingers to relieve the tension. 

“You as well,” Chrollo said, stepping aside once more to let you both in like some sort of club bouncer. He smiled at Feitan as he passed. Feitan showed no emotion, just a blank slate you hadn’t seen in a while. 

Plush, cream chairs sat with massive couches, overflowing with embroidered pillows. Snack foods and handmade pastries sat on the coffee table, beside pitures of varying colored liquids and sparkling glasses. Windows covered every wall except the entrance, opening the room up to the warm, mid-day sun and the movement of the world so, so far below. A fully functional kitchen sat at the far end of the room, beside the doors that likely led to the bedroom.

Shalnark, Mai, and Phinks dropped onto the couches and began passing the amenities between themselves like it was their house. 

You were about to whisper to Feitan when Chrollo spoke again.

“Where are you from?” he said. 

You didn’t dare look at Feitan for confirmation on how to respond. If this was a test, you couldn’t risk failing. “A lot of places,” you said honestly. “My family traveled often.” 

Chrollo seemed pleased enough with that answer. “It must be difficult, having no roots; no place to call home.” His wide, doe eyes begged you to trust him, to confide in him, but it shot your heartrate higher until it pulsed in your ears. 

Feitan’s hand tightened on your back in warning. Of what, you couldn’t guess. 

“I didn’t,” you said, “for a while. Until this guy broke into my house.” 

Chrollo wasn’t as pleased with that answer. You’d said something wrong. “No living family, then?” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Your hands shook and you strained to keep them from fidgeting. What was it about this man that made you need to run, to flee somewhere you’d never see him again? You should have known; this was the kind of man Feitan would follow. 

There was no telling how much Chrollo knew, so it was best to assume everything.

“My brother,” you said, almost phrasing it like a question, “the one who joined a cult.”

“Yes,” Chrollo said, waving for you to join the group at the seating area, “so you … aren’t in contact.” 

Chrollo stepped past you and you took the moment to shoot a glance at Feitan. You knew the terror seeped through your gaze because his brows raised as he tugged you closer to him.

“Breathe,” he whispered against your ear like he was enjoying the show. “I am here with you.” 

You nodded and continued. “Not since he murdered our parents, no. I don’t claim him as family.” 

You must have been in range for the larger group to hear because Mai and Phinks turned around to watch you and Shalnark stopped typing. 

Chrollo took a chair between the group, and crossed his legs, grabbing a cup of steaming tea sitting on the end table. 

You let Feitan guide you to the couch with Shalnark. At least he had the decency to sit you between them, one person away from Chrollo. 

“That’s good to hear,” Chrollo said, watching you over his tea cup. “It is - unfortunate timing that you come to us now.” Chrollo shifted to face the other side of the group. “And you too, Mai.” Their eyes widened. “Fate is a tricky overlord and it’s only so often we find what we need, just when we need it. So it's wise to question those moments, which is why I mention it at all.”  

Mai’s mouth hung open like they were trying to formulate some response. Even you didn’t know how to respond. Was it a threat? A warning? A confirmation you were safe? God, you didn’t fucking know. Chrollo thought you could be infiltrators, spies for some crazy cult who showed up just when TPI was ramping up. 

“I vouch for her,” Feitan said, staring Chrollo down while keeping his arm tight around you. “They almost killed her.” 

“Oh yes,” Chrollo said with a smile and a sip of tea. “I saw the footage.” 

“They’re not fucking spies,” Phinks said, adjusting in his seat. “They didn’t ask for any of this shit to happen to them.” 

Your breath caught at Phinks and Feitan's unflinching support in the face of the man they followed. There was no question that you and Mai were who you said you were. 

“I know, Phinks,” Chrollo said. “I’m sorry to have implied it. You too, Feitan. I apologize.” Chrollo took another sip of tea. “They are yours, after all. They are as welcome as any of us.” 

But you and Mai didn’t get apologies. Maybe you had to prove yourself, the way you’d done (accidentally) for Shalnark. 

Speaking of, Shalnark jumped into an expertly organized summation of everything the group had discovered. But you tuned it out because you’d rather be anywhere else. Even with Feitan slipping a hand under your shirt and caressing your side, it didn’t help.

Fuck, you didn’t want to be here. You didn’t feel welcomed; you felt trapped. It should be freeing, sitting so high into the clouds as they misted past. But it felt like a prison with nowhere to escape. You swallowed and reached for a glass of some dark liquid. You hoped it was liquor when you poured it, but alas, it was iced tea. 

You clutched Feitan’s free hand and pulled it between your knees. He froze at the gesture but didn’t protest. Instead, he rubbed his thumb over your hand and picked up massaging your side again. Feitan’s searching gaze burned your skin as he watched you, but you focused on Shalnark, even though you weren’t listening. 

In and out; you went in and out of the conversation until someone called your name. 

“So you’ll go?” Shalnark smiled and blinked like he had no idea you hadn’t been paying attention.

“Sure,” you said before you could stop yourself. Anything to get you out of this situation and away from Chrollo. “When do we leave?” You hoped you didn’t sound too eager. And you must have, because Chrollo chuckled. 

“Before you go,” Chrollo said, “I’d like to speak with you.”

Tension rolled down your neck as you turned to Chrollo and then Feitan to see if he’d save you. Feitan and the rest of the group stood like they’d been prepped for this. 

“Fei,” you whispered. 

He shook his head so slightly, you would have missed it if you weren’t paying attention. Feitan disappeared like the rest, like a fucking traitor. 

So, you learned the boss’ final word was absolute. But even so, you couldn’t show fear, you couldn’t embarrass Feitan. 

The room was quieter without Phinks lumbering around, Shalnark tapping on his phone, and Feitan's controlled breaths. A part of you felt lost without it when Chrollo made no sound.

“What did you want to talk about?” Your voice was cooler, more collected than you’d expected. If this was going to be some strange parent-like ‘don’t break my child’s heart’ conversation, you wanted nothing to do with it. If anyone was breaking anyone’s heart, it would be Feitan breaking yours. “Are you telling me not to hurt Feitan or you’ll come after me?” 

To your surprise, Chrollo laughed and leaned back in his chair, seemingly more at ease than before. 

“Feitan can handle himself,” Chrollo said, dipping his chin, “even with you involved.” You cocked your head and he continued. “He always wanted to find you and I’m glad he has.” 

What a load of shit. 

“No, he didn’t,” you said, leaning back in your own seat, daring to contradict him, challenge him like Phinks and Feitan had done. “He told me I was useless and choked me the first time we met. Then disappeared for a month.” 

That same smile flickered on Chrollo’s lips. “He has been known to do that, yes.”

You blinked. Chrollo was making a joke. The leader of the fucking Phantom Troupe. 

But even in jest, he held the room with a control that transcended two people. It wasn’t just you listening to his words, it was the light and the shadows and the breath bringing life into the room. He commanded it all. 

Which is why you waited for him to speak again.

“Feitan has very few tells,” Chrollo said, “but they are there, if he will let you close enough to notice.” He poured himself another cup of tea from a teapot on the coffee table and spoke more at the drink than at you, which you very much did not appreciate. “He would watch myself and Shalnark and the others with their soulmates. He wanted it. I know he did, even though he never said it.” Then his eyes flicked back to meet yours. “And you were particularly tricky to find.” 

What the fuck did that mean? You’re weren’t something to procure, something to use. That was the same way TPI thought of you; the same way your brother though of you. 

“Did you…?” You couldn’t get the words out properly. 

“Of course not,” Chrollo said, and it sounded a hell of a lot more like a yes. “That is not my specialty.” 

Dear lord, did this man ever get to the point? If he wouldn’t, you would. 

“There’s something else you want to say to me,” you prompted before the conversation could derail and he did something stupid like ask about your feelings. If he was trying to butter you up to make you talk, you wouldn't participate. 

“You didn’t know your brother well.” Chrollo said like a statement. And fuck it hurt like a solid truth. Clearly you hadn’t because the brother you knew wouldn’t join or start some insane cult and murder your parents. Maybe one, but not both.

“Not like I thought I did,” you said. 

Until now, nobody had really asked about your brother or your parents. They had in passing, but beyond Shalnark getting the bare minimum, they hadn’t asked like they wanted the whole story. Maybe because it didn’t matter. 

“Then it may be fruitless to ask,” Chrollo said, “but what did he want from murdering your parents but not you?”

You choked on your own words. It cut to the core of the pain, the confusion, the lack of understanding. 

Why didn’t he kill you too? 

“I don’t know,” you said, throat dry enough that the words came out coarse. “Maybe to recruit me. You saw what happened that day with Jed.” 

It was difficult to determine why he asked at all. Chrollo surely knew more than you, so he wanted to know what you’d do and say. But you knew so little, especially in comparison to a group like the Phantom Troupe, with multiple agents and connections. You were a one-person show fumbling through it that probably couldn’t provide anything they wouldn’t discover in time on their own. (If they hadn’t discovered those things already).  

Chrollo kept going like he hadn’t heard you respond at all. 

“And you’ve been looking for him for months,” Chrollo said. “But was he really looking for you?” 

This rat-bastard. What was the fucking point of riling you like this?

“I mean -”

You cracked your fingers to relieve some of the tension. De-escalation was required here, but not on pretty-boy Chrollo - on you so you wouldn’t do something irreparably stupid. 

“Why send this - Jed?” Chrollo wasn’t even looking at you now. He gazed out the windows, so far beyond the confines of his hotel, of the city. His eyes glazed as he considered something. “I don’t think he’s really looking for you.”

That was a little much for him to assume when you’d known him all of an hour. Your hands shook as you smelled it again: the phantom scent of the rotting bodies underground, Jed’s over-applied cologne, and the scent of so much blood you could taste it bubbling in your mouth. 

You were trapped here too. Just like you had been with Jed. Jed, Chrollo - what was the difference really? 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” you said, standing and locking your knees so they wouldn’t shake. “But I don’t know what other information I can provide beyond what you already know.”

Chrollo didn’t respond as you walked towards the exit. This was the moment you’d discover if you were allowed to leave. But you had to get out before it started feeling anymore like that day with Jed. That time you were on the first floor; here you were a hundred stories high, with a slow, creaking elevator between you and your escape. 

“You don’t want to know who I think he’s looking for?” Chrollo’s voice stopped you in your tracks. 

Bastard. 

He saw right through you, knew what you wanted above all else and promised it (in moderation, most likely, to keep you coming back). 

Chrollo had information. There must have been something you were missing that he could fill in. Perhaps his outsider status gave him a unique view on the situation. Except the Spiders had taken on this strange hunt along with you, which meant he did have something at stake. 

Hand on the door handle, you turned to face him. “Enlighten me.” 

So you weren’t exactly trapped, just expected to stay until Chrollo was done with his sweet little sermon. 

Dear God, you were going to need to tell Feitan one day his boss was terrifying and you wanted to stay away. 

Chrollo only turned his head, and it did something strange to the angles of his body. You nearly ran at the site. The beautiful, off-putting nature of a man with such strong command of the space he was in sent a shiver down your spine.

“I think,” Chrollo said, watching you over his cup of tea as he took a sip, “He’s not looking for you. He’s looking for Feitan.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you said before you could censor yourself. The Spiders had a stake in this - in theory. If TPI threatened to remove the very concept of soulmates from existence, it threatened them, yes. But again, only in theory. But now they claimed TPI targeted one of their own. 

People tried to kill them all the time. What was different now? There was something else, something you weren’t seeing here. 

Chrollo hummed like he was considering the possibility of what you said. “Your friend Jed said he was surprised by your golden mark.”

Gross. You scowled. You still hated that.

“I try not to think about that too much,” you said. But you understood the implication, that you were supposed to be found in a different state than you were. 

“What was the one way to ensure you would never be tainted further by your mark?” Chrollo stood and placed his tea cup aside. He really was beautiful and terrifying as he ambled towards you. “You were a good The Parable Initiative and your brother could use. They wanted to protect their merchandise.” 

You didn’t particularly like being referred to as a product. You were a fucking human and TPI was insane. The way Chrollo spoke sounded like the cult's intentions were reasonable instead of batshit crazy. 

But then it hit you and you closed your eyes to keep yourself from succumbing to the dizzy spell it brought on. “The only way to protect me from myself would be …” God you didn’t even want to say it. “Killing Feitan.” 

“Precisely,” Chrollo said, now standing beside you at the door. “Not that they could do it - yet,” he said. “But what a lovely way to find out more about your current state. Compelling you out of hiding and prompting Feitan to act if you two had become - what did they call it, again?” Chrollo sighed and it sounded more like he was mocking you than anything else. “Oh yes. Unsalvageable.” 

“But he didn’t act,” you said. “He wasn’t even there.” 

Feitan had been nowhere in sight. He hadn’t even been in the same damn city. 

“A strange sort of blessing, in its own way,” Chrollo said, “for them to think you’re estranged.” Chrollo shuffled you aside and opened the door. “Use this small advantage wisely.”

Mai and Phinks stumbled back as the door swung wide, like they’d been listening in. Feitan was sulking down the hall, glaring at Phinks and Mai like he disapproved of their antics. 

“Mai,” Chrollo said, “you’re next.” 

You shuffled out of the room and hurried towards Feitan. Half to ask why he fucking left you alone with that freak, and half to understand why he looked like he was about to murder someone. 

“What’s wrong?” you said, resting your hand on the side of Feitan’s neck. “You look extra murderous all of a sudden.” 

Feitan simply scowled and handed you his phone. “Heard back from bounty hunter.”

He was right to be pissed. The bounty hunter had sent a picture of a poster with your face in the middle. The date of an event sat under your photo with the promise of retribution written in curling font, like you were some sort of sacrificial lamb to be given to the Gods. TPI’s strange, arching logo hid just below the photo, small enough you could miss it if you didn’t know what you were looking for. 

“What the fuck is this?” you couldn’t keep the waver from your voice. God only knew how many posters had been made. Lovely, little journalist Jed was written all over it. He had the means, the time, and freedom to do it. That fucking bastard. 

You could concede, begrudgingly, that he was probably worse than Chrollo. 

“You did fuck up their city and take their golden boy’s eye,” Phinks said, peeking over your shoulder to look at the picture. “Seems like they want you as the guest of honor at their event so they can pay you back.” 

“Do not joke about this,” Feitan said, like he was personally offended by the wanted poster. You would have thought he’d be proud, excited even at the prospect you were integrating into this strange world he lived in. But Feitan looked like he'd sentence the world to fire and ash if it meant TPI could never get you. Funny, considering Chrollo thought they also wanted Feitan dead. 

Feitan clutched at your sides, like you’d disappear if he didn’t. Like he could stop this from ever happening. 

“Looks like you’re really one of us now,” Shalnark said, smacking your shoulder. Feitan shoved it away. “Congrats on people wanting you dead!” 

Chapter Text

“This sucks,” you said, handing Feitan his phone. “Do they actually think I’ll show up?” 

Would it be insane to go? You needed time to think, and probably the Troupe’s collective brain to work through it. Chrollo had insisted you use the small advantage you had, that TPI was unaware you were with Feitan, and the larger advantage that you were with the Phantom Troupe, which meant Feitan or any Troupe Member couldn’t be there or couldn’t be seen.  

“Maybe you should crash your own celebration,” Phinks said, while watching the door like he was waiting for Mai to come out. "Kill a few more of 'em while you're at it."

“Stop talking,” Feitan said, tugging your arm to pull you back with him. Fire burned in his eyes, a fury that made you want to both slink away and sooth him from it. That fury buried deep in your soul, shifting your own mood more sour than before. 

“He’s right,” Shalnark said, “that’s talk for later.”

Feitan still looked like he was going to burn the building down, so you said to him, “Hey, I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What?” Feitan snapped.

You closed your eyes to stop them from rolling. Now he was just being needlessly difficult. He was smart enough to know you were trying to get him away from the group.

“It’s personal,” you said, glaring at Feitan, hoping it would covey that you needed him to move his fucking ass so he didn’t accidently commit a felony. (As if he didn’t have a hundred of those under his belt already).

“Gross,” Phinks said, “go downstairs or something. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Not your business, anyway,” Feitan said. 

Feitan seethed in the elevator but he never once let you go. His hands were everywhere, like he was memorizing the shape of you in the few minutes he’d have between the middle of the sky and the ground floor. 

His hands dragged up and around your back, tugged through your hair, clasped the back of your thighs below your ass, and traced your neck, guiding your head like he meant to kiss you. 

Your breath caught as he flipped you, caging you between himself and the wall. Feitan’s hands wandered towards your hips as he positioned a leg between yours. 

“Do. Not. Do. Something. Stupid,” he said, tugging you down. His thigh pressed into you hard enough to make you whimper. 

He gripped your hips and rolled you against him. Heat rampaged through you from the way he touched, the way he maneuvered you against him like you were his missing piece. 

How beautifully you fit against each other. 

Feitan’s fingers dug divots into your skin to mark you, remind you of what you were as if the lettering on your wrist wasn’t even close to enough. 

“Fuck,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder as he rolled you again and again. "I get it. I’m not going to run in blind. We’re all gonna work on this together and figure it out.”

"Good girl," Feitan said, chuckling as you released an uneven breath. 

You matched the intensity of his hold, clutching his arms to keep you up, to mark him too. Feitan hummed as you gripped harder. 

His muscles shifted as he guided you. You dragged your hands up the peaks of his shoulders and down the planes of his back to explore more. 

Breath, warm and soothing, ran up your neck as he kissed towards your pounding pulse. He moved slowly and effortlessly, kissing and then grazing his teeth like he wanted to break skin. You wriggled back and he smacked your thigh. 

You gasped.  

"Ride my thigh or stay still," Feitan said in a coaxing, demanding voice that made you comply without a second thought. 

You tried to move like he'd requested but Feitan tugged you higher until you pressed against him, feeling everything you were doing to him. A strong hand gripped your hair and tugged your head back, giving him better access to your throat. 

Now you grinded against him on your own, testing how he'd react. He hissed against your throat like he didn't want you to hear. Hypocrite. He told you yesterday not to be quiet. So you moved again and again and reveled in his small sounds and uneven breath. 

Feitan kissed from your collarbone, up until he could laugh at your pounding pulse against his lips, like he'd expected as much but remained pleasantly surprised. He nipped at your pulse and sucked the skin until you were moving against him unevenly, trying to get closer when there was nowhere closer to move with clothes and nowhere near enough time to properly accomplish what you both wanted. Even with the heat in your veins and the sensations from his thigh and chest and hands, it wasn't enough. 

"Need to come?" he teased, oh so innocently, as if he wasn't the one who started this. "In an elevator. A pretty, little whore for me."

"I'm not begging you in an elevator," you said, gasping as he smacked your thigh again, slightly harder than before. 

"You are riding me in one. Beg," he ordered. Fucking asshole. He knew that time was up. "And I might let you." His voice was so airy and playful and so vile and wicked. 

The elevator dinged. 

Feitan released his hold, and it was just in time because the elevator doors opened. 

He walked without looking back as you stumbled to stay upright. 

You approached Feitan like he might bite. Slowly and methodically, you joined his personal space. His shoulders were tense and his face stony. The elevator had been a momentary reprieve, but now his fury returned. 

You were about to speak when his phone went off. 

“Mai is done,” Feitan said. “We’re leaving.” 

That was fine. The lobby wasn’t the right place to talk either, where anything you said could be overheard. Anyone could be anywhere, especially with that flyer circulating the region. 

Focus evaded you as you pictured what Feitan just did with you and what he could have done if you'd had more time. And how desperately you would have begged him if you'd had the chance. You swallowed at the memory of him against you, where there was nowhere to hide that you also had an effect on him, even if he talked a big game. His hands moved so well. If they were on other places on your body - 

Fuck. You needed to focus; needed to do something useful.

You shifted and gazed around the room, breezing over each face to catch glimpses of an expression. Were they watching? If not, you’d move to the next. Until you hit the final person standing at the concierge desk. The concierge typed, but the woman in front of the desk rested back on her elbows, not bothering to hide how she devoured you with her stare. Like you were something she could claim. 

The sickly sweet scent of flowers clogged your throat, along with the hodgepodge of cologne and bath products both musky and floral from guests and staff. People whipped across your path like they moved faster than the moments it took for you to lock eyes with the woman across the room. She raised a brow at your unflinching focus.   

Feitan’s head turned; the slow, methodical movement of a predator wanting their prey to know they were aiming to strike. The watcher’s brow dropped and she turned back to the concierge. His clothes scratched against your skin where goosebumps prickled your arms. Your neck burned with tension, like the woman engaged you still. But she just slouched on the concierge desk like nothing had happened. Her perfect nails tapped a paper on the desk as she smiled at the staff. Feitan guided you through the lobby, unbothered and calm in the way he walked. Like you were nothing more than guests on a casual stroll. 

His hand slipped into your pocket, locking you against him. 

You could blend in. You could be a guest. Yes, guests; you were both meant to be here. But Feitan was much better at the act than you. His only tell was the slight squint of his eyes, and the way his hand gripped your thigh inside your pocket. 

You couldn’t focus on anything specific. You just heard the click of shoes against tile, the mumbling of inane chatter from other guests, and the reek you couldn’t differentiate from the scent of the bodies Jed desecrated. 

Before you could even consider what the woman would have done if you’d stayed any longer, or if you’d been alone, Feitan coaxed you out of the front doors and onto the street. 

You hurried towards the parking lot but stopped, nearly falling as Feitan kept walking. Dislodging from his hold, you searched around again to make sure nobody watched you. And ensure the woman hadn’t followed. 

The wanted poster slash event invite you’d seen on Feitan’s phone was stapled to a telephone pole, flapping in the wind like party streamers. Swiping it down, you crinkled it up and shoved it in your pocket. 

The flyers made it out this far. TPI had more engagement than you’d imagined, which meant shit was about to get a lot worse for you if you’d have to watch your back everywhere you went. And look for stupid fucking posters with your face plastered on them. Feitan was a good deterrent. Most of the Spiders probably were. But if this meant you could never be alone in public again, you’d scream. 

“Walk,” Feitan ordered, dragging you back to the car. 

The ride back to the estate was silent beyond the hum and rumble of the car; so quiet compared to the usual commotion of a small space packed with these five people. Mai rested their legs on the dash, eyes wide and arms wrapped around themselves. Chrollo’s words must have dug claws into their chest and tugged so hard they couldn’t craft the pain into words. Phinks checked them every few minutes and returned back to driving without a word. He clutched the steering wheel so hard, small cracks formed on the leather. Shalnark had announced his soulmate was meeting them at the house but said nothing else. Feitan stewed so deep in his head, you weren’t sure he was breathing. And you fiddled with the flyer in your pocket to keep you occupied and forget about the loaded silence pressing on your lungs. And forgetting the claustrophobia, the feeling of being trapped. Because at the moment you were trapped in a small car with four other people.  

You could tell them what happened and what you’d found; you should tell them. But you couldn’t. Not with everyone apoplectic and Phinks looking like he’d drive the car into a ditch. 

And worst of all, you didn’t even know what you had agreed to do when you’d spaced out in Chrollo’s suite. Trusting Shalnark was your only choice now, and it had come easier than you would have expected. The terror you should have felt wasn’t there - either because Shalnark was dependable or because you’d drifted so far into your head you couldn’t feel anything. 

The mansion was as resplendent as ever, and you hummed at the realization that it felt nice to be back. You hadn’t been gone long, but too much had happened. You just wanted to sleep until Shalnark dragged you into his next scheme. (And it would be a scheme because that guy did some crazy shit with a smile).

Phinks practically carried Mai back inside and mumbled something about getting them to lie down. Shalnark said that he was off to find his soulmate whose name he had conveniently never mentioned in case ‘Feitan’s soulmate was crazy or something.’ 

So it was just you and Feitan in the entryway. Until he dragged you into a side room and stood sulking by a window.

Plush, muted-toned chairs circled an empty, marble fireplace. Paintings dotted the walls, wrapped in gilt frames, bringing the flecks of gold and silver out of the artist’s strokes. Serving carts sat in the corner of the room like servants and staff had once existed and lived here, but had disappeared as the Spiders spun their web. 

You followed Feitan, perching yourself against the window to try and see what he saw, see the world the way he saw it. Like there was so much darkness, it diluted the light of day and the burning of stars when midnight struck the grandfather clock beside the fireplace. But you couldn’t see it that way. Everything before you was swaying grass and the rush of birds as they flew past, bugs humming and petals flipping across gardens where the wind collected and relocated them.

"Hey," you said, running your hands through Feitan's hair. You swallowed as his eyes fluttered at your touch, struck you elicited such a gentle response when he embodied chilly winds on the blackest, starless night. But even with the gentleness, the tightness on his face remained. "It was bound to happen eventually. I've made powerful enemies."

You figured you’d ignore what happened in the elevator for now. 

"Yes," Feitan said, pressing you against him, his hands gripping your back like you were his barrier between himself and the darkness he saw through the foggy window. "I was not there."

The warmth of his breath ghosted your lips as you smiled sadly. He frowned but leaned closer, pressing a kiss to the side of your lips. You adjusted your head for a real kiss but he retreated enough you didn’t bother chasing to keep his skittishness at bay. 

"What happened with Jed isn't your fault," you said, barely believing he'd think that way. A maniac was after you and you went to him, walking right into his sticky, little fly trap. Feitan couldn't have changed your mind or stopped you from going, anyway. 

"Could have handled it," Feitan said, his cheek grazing yours as he tugged you into something akin to a hug. Like a kiss was too much, but this was okay. A cage to keep you still and against him, skin to skin, the way he seemed most able to communicate. 

You wrapped your arms around his waist to lightly hold him in place, to force him to engage a little longer. He stiffened as you slipped your hands under his shirt, the way he had done to you so many times. Sculpted back muscles shifted as you touched, but there was something else there too as you moved higher. Scars cut across his back, a ragged weaving of history and pain and injuries you might never learn about. He huffed like he would push you away. Instead, he stilled like death, letting you trace the pads of your fingers over his marred skin. 

"I know I should have killed Jed," you said, not wanting to be reminded again of your carelessness. Of course you should have killed him. "You don't have to -"

"Not that," Feitan clarified, resting his lips against your ear to speak softly enough that it felt like you’d miss it if you dared breathe. "I am the Class A bounty. Should be me on the flyer." Feitan's hands grazed up your spine, slipping under the fabric of your bra. Something told you he was comparing your skin to his own, a marker of the different lives you had lived. “Not you." 

You jerked at how aggressively he’d ended his statement, but he held you tighter as you shifted to get comfortable in his arms again. His hands slid around the side, grazing your breasts before he retreated like he’d overstepped. Your own hands fell away as he moved and you nearly threw yourself at him to touch him again, making him understand you wanted to see him. Speak to him in the language that spoke to his soul. 

Adjusting your shirt you said, “I appreciate you wanting to protect me, but I accepted whatever consequences would come from doing this months ago. The moment I decided to go after my brother, I accepted the unknown and the danger that came with it.” 

And you had. You’d embraced the fear, learned to contain it, wield it, and think clearly in moments you had nothing but instinct in your veins. There was no other choice. And the twisted, sick part of your brain knew that if you hadn’t taken this road, you may never have crossed paths with the man in front of you. 

“Is that danger worse now because of what I did to Jed? Probably. But I can’t stop.” Stopping would mean defeat, it would mean letting your brother get away with the life he stole from you and your parents. “I am a Hunter.” You’d earned that title. “Just because I don’t go around killing people for fun or for a criminal organization doesn’t mean I’m not capable.” You stepped up to Feitan and rested your hand on his cheek. He pressed his face into your palm as you rubbed your thumb under his eye. “So don’t try to get in my way. Either help me or don’t. But I’m doing it, whether you like it or not.” 

Feitan’s eyes widened with something akin to admiration. “Did not say you were not capable.” His lips thinned like he wanted to keep the next words in. Maybe he should if they hurt so much he paled white as moonlight.

“You can tell me,” you whispered. “What do you need to say?” 

There was so much Feitan needed to say. But his few words limited how deep he could and would go. But you hoped a little encouragement, a little proof you wanted to hear it would help. 

Feitan squinted and huffed like the words were useless. “What is the point if you die?”

The words crashed into you so hard you stepped back. 

“The point of what?” you said gently, hoping to massage a clarifying response from him. 

Living, being happy, having something you had one shot at ripped away with only the knowledge of its fleeting existence? 

Feitan scowled and looked away. “Stupid question.” 

Shalnark called both your names.

“Really?” You scoffed, checking to the door to make sure Shalnark hadn’t yet arrived. Focusing back on Feitan, you said, “You can talk to me. I won’t make you feel wrong or stupid for how you feel. That’s what we’re supposed to do for each other; what I want to do for you.” You released a breath and stepped into Feitan’s line of vision. He dodged and you moved again. “I don’t know what the point is if I lose you either.”

Shalnark’s voice was gaining on you and you only had moments of privacy left. You opened your mouth to speak but Feitan jumped in.  

“Talk later,” Feitan said, turning away from you and crossing his arms. “Working now.” 

“Sure,” you said, swallowing the discomfort in your throat. “Later’s fine.” 

Shalnark popped his head into the room and called you both over. Feitan didn’t move, instead he stared out the window again, which was probably fine since he was presumably listening at Chrollo’s and knew what was happening. 

Shalnark and one of the tallest men you’d ever seen greeted you in the hall. His willowy frame was only exacerbated by his baggy clothes and curly black hair resting just past his shoulders. His ice blue eyes shone in contrast with his deep-toned skin, making them burn bright. They traced your every movement and you couldn’t look away from his hypnotizing presence. 

This didn’t seem like the type of person who would need protecting from you, as Shalnark had said.

“This is Gareth.” Shalnark motioned towards him.

Gareth didn’t speak; he waved, gave you a once over, and walked away. It shattered the unearthly trance you’d felt staring into his eyes. 

Your mouth hung open with ‘nice to meet you’ on the tip of your tongue, but Gareth was disappearing. Even though he was large, his gait was light; he stepped like a phantom, slow and ethereal.  

“He’s shy,” Shalnark whispered, “and doesn’t like new people. It took ages to convince him to meet you.” 

You could relate, especially because you hadn’t wanted new people until Feitan and Phinks showed up at your door. Mai was enough until that day. But did Gareth also yearn for the large family you’d started forming? Or was he happy on the sidelines, watching everything happen? 

“Chrollo’s approval means something,” you said, “doesn’t it?” 

Some rite of passage you hadn’t expected. Maybe they weren’t able to tell you before to keep the meeting as authentic as possible. 

Shalnark pursed his lips, trying to contain his smile. “He interrogated you, didn’t he?” 

Your face fell. He had, he really had, and you didn’t feel right sharing the specifics with anyone but Feitan, who hadn’t asked. But Feitan didn’t seem the type to ask, rather the type to let you share what you saw fit. It was nice in a way, how private he allowed you to be without sacrificing his trust in you. 

“I think Mai got it worse,” you said. “They looked shell shocked.” 

Whatever Chrollo said to them made them ashen, shaken enough to stay quiet. A feat of its own with Mai. You couldn’t even begin to fathom what Chrollo would have told them. Especially when your interrogation centered around your relationship with your brother and Chrollo’s view on the situation with TPI

“Phinks asked what the boss said and Mai refused to answer,” Shalnark said. 

Then it was bad.

“We shouldn’t push them to share,” you said. Whatever it was, Mai wanted to keep it to themselves, and you would push to make sure they could. 

“Fine by me,” Shalnark shrugged and pivoted topics. “I’m looking for some historical ties with TPI and soul bonds. And you’re interested in some of those rituals, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” you said, nothing bothering to be coy about it. “I couldn’t find anything by name in my books. But I’m wondering if books with the information reside somewhere else like libraries, museums, or something like that.”  

“Glad you’re curious because I know just the person to help us.” Shalnark said. “Do your ground work over the next few days and we’ll reconvene. They might not be available for a while, anyway.”

“To do what, exactly?” 

“Thought you were spacing out at the boss’ place,” Shalnark said. “We’re going to meet with a historian, curator, and underworld tradesman,” Shalnark said. “If anyone knows where to find information, it’s her.” 

"That will wait," Feitan said, blowing in beside you like the wind. His hand found you back and he maneuvered you closer. "Just heard. Bounty hunter knows where your brother was yesterday." 

Chapter Text

“We’re leaving,” you said, pushing past Shalnark to get upstairs. Waiting for them to follow was useless. You needed to move immediately. There was barely time to think; you needed to act and figure it out as you went. “Give me twenty minutes and -”

“Wait,” Feitan said as you were halfway up the stairs. Clutching the bannisters, you turned and slipped down a step. “Plan first. You agreed nothing stupid.” 

Feitan scowled with his hands in his pockets. Shalnark stood pleasantly, like he was enjoying the sudden strife. 

“That was before you said they know where my brother is,” you said, pleading, knowing you were pleading with him and knowing it would be useless. Feitan was a sentry in the sea, moving only when instructed by forces more powerful than you. 

“Feitan’s right,” Shalnark said. “Moving before we have the full context would be stupid.” 

God you hated it when they ganged up on you. This must have been what it was like for Feitan when you and Phinks teased him so mercilessly when you’d first met. It was a different world than the one you lived in now. 

“We don’t need more context, we need action,” you said, pulsating sounds roaring in your ears. You could wrap your hands around Marco’s throat and strangle him today. 

“Know where he was yesterday,” Feitan said, approaching you slowly, like you’d bite if he moved too quickly, “not today.” 

“Fei,” you whispered as he stepped up to meet you on the stairs, “this is the first real lead I’ve had in seven months.” You swallowed back the lump in your throat. Feitan gripped your hip and dragged you against him. The crash of adrenaline slowed and the buzzing in your ears settled as you felt the bond snap, like his emotions were impacting yours. “I can’t lose this opportunity.” 

“Acting rash will lose our opportunity,” Feitan said in a more reasonable tone than he could have. 

“They took my research, my notes, my family, my whole fucking life.” You shook, your emotions wavering between calm and so furious that you felt calm. He’d agreed - kind of - not to get in your way. And now he was at the earliest opportunity. Possessive asshole. “They took everything from me. I have nothing left,” you whispered and you swore you saw a level of sadness in his eyes, like he thought he didn’t qualify as anything to you. “I can’t let this go.” 

“Don’t want you to,” Feitan said, pressing his nails into your side like he was setting you in place.

“Then get the fuck out of my way,” you said, gripping his shoulders to keep you up as your knees wavered like they’d drop if you weren’t holding him. Oscillating between the urge to yell and the urge to cry, you just pressed into Feitan harder, hoping it would abate the pain. Maybe if you tried to move, he wouldn’t let you and you could relinquish the decision to act. But now moving felt too difficult, anyway. The sharp pain of loss and visceral hatred pried open your chest and you could do nothing but let Feitan hold you. 

“Threat to you is threat to me,” Feitan said like it was obvious. He gripped a hand in your hair, forcing you to watch him for what he said next. His gray eyes smoldered so dark, you could drown in them. “I protect what is mine.” 

Now you really wanted to cry. Especially because Feitan was right. Asshole. Why did he have to be so reasonable? Wasn’t he a murderer? He should be wild and crazy and free; not reasonable. 

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you said softly, resting your chin on his shoulder, and he didn’t stop you, “but thank you.” 

“You are as bad as Phinks.” Feitan tried to sound angry but you caught the teasing undercurrents in his voice. “Run into things blind.”

“Hey,” you said, without the venom you intended. “Don’t compare me to Phinks.”

“You are right,” Feitan said against your cheek so Shalnark couldn’t hear. “Much prettier than him.” His lips grazed your skin and you struggled to keep your breath even.  

"Pretty enough you tried to fuck me in an elevator because you couldn't wait," you said, knowing it would elicit a reaction from him. But your tone lacked the sweet teasing bite you intended. 

Feitan gripped your jaw and squished your cheeks. "Watch it."

"Yeah?" you said, voice warbled from the way his fingers pressed into you. "Then follow through and make me." 

Feitan chuckled. "That is how badly you want it?" 

"Don't play coy when you started it," you said, gripping his hands to push them off your face, "and now we're wasting time." You leapt up a few steps and looked back at Feitan and Shalnark who hadn't moved. "What's the plan?"

The town was smaller than you would have liked for blending in, but this week it was packed person to person like goods in a shipping container. A festival rolled in with the tides crashing against the ports lining the far side of the town. Quaint businesses selling boating supplies, non-perishable foods for sea-farers, and fishing gear were overrun by carts selling ripe, exotic fruits, tables hocking fresh confections uncommon to the region, and even more frivolous and joyous things like games and hand-crafted art pieces that should have sold for far more than their going price. 

Children barreled through the streets, tossing toys between themselves, snatching purses when they could, and screaming all the way through. Vendors hollered over one another, waving arms and wafting the smells of their foods and perfumes towards the willing customers. Even on the second and third floors of buildings, people reclined out on their balconies, enjoying the festivities, tossing confetti and small amounts of money into the crowd. 

You didn’t know what they were celebrating, but your throat tightened at the thought they’d welcomed you without question and brought you in like you belonged. 

Your weapon holsters sat under your shirt, thin enough that people bumping against you could feel them. It felt so wrong now seeing the joyous occasion, the smiles, the frivolity people got so little of. You couldn’t harm the experience, if you could help it, so you’d purchased bags of food and artisan goods to hold at your sides to ensure nobody grew suspicious if they collided with you. Especially when you tore bright posters with your face on it down from every other store you passed. But nobody recognized you when there were a thousand other faces to blend in with.

You gravitated towards a jewelry stand. A rickety, molding sign wobbled on the two sticks holding it on above the cart. But while the stand was derelict, the jewelry was not. Whether real or fake, it was stunning, glowing in the afternoon sun, begging you to buy it. Running your fingers through the dainty chain of a fire opal necklace, you let it slide through your fingers. The stones burned inside, like magma sloshing through mountains and fire burning through forests. 

And there were six stones, all uniquely shaped, sharp and cut at un-designed angles. The lack of design was the design, and it made it beautiful.  

You couldn’t give yourself such a luxury. It was too much, and entirely unnecessary. So before the vendor could lure you in, you slipped back into the crowd. 

Something ruffled and you clutched your side, feeling the boy before you saw him. His hand rested just under your shirt, where your money lay. He couldn’t be more than ten years old. His sallow face sank with hunger and the strain of the elements.

The boy stuttered, waving his arms, trying to defend himself. But who were you to scold him when you were soul bonded to the person you were? And there was so much when you didn’t have rent and the Spiders had yet to make you pay for anything. But, once you stopped for the night, you’d insist you would pay an inn you’d found with space, because you refused to sleep in some old shipping yard if that was what the Spiders thought was reasonable accommodations when out on the road. 

“Are you hungry?” you said, pulling more money out than necessary. “You friends look hungry too.” A group of children huddled near a fruits vendor, watching with wide eyes, unsure if you’d call authorities or cut off their friend’s hand for stealing. “Go buy sweets. Something you’ve never tried before. Split it evenly so everyone gets some.” You shoved the money in his direction but he shook his head like it would molt his skin on contact. “I’m serious.” you said, gently, “take it.” 

The boy eyed you but ripped the money from your hand and snaked between the adults legs, never to be seen again. 

After almost an hour of wandering, you sat down at a small dessert parlor packed with people coming and going with their sweets. You flipped open your phone to go back over what you knew and log what you’d seen of the town so far. 

The Bounty Hunter had come back with even more, confirming the last few locations your brother appeared. Each town shared similarities in size, remoteness, and festivities that were only common to the region. Marco spent a few days to a week in each place, likely proselytizing or wrecking havoc; whichever suited him at the time. Which meant he was probably still in town, waiting for a moment to strike. But first, you had to find him, and that was the real challenge, the one you couldn’t plan for but had to do on the fly (to Feitan’s dismay). Especially because they couldn’t be with you. No Spiders or Spider-affiliated people could be seen with you in public. But your chest didn’t ache as it should, making you think Feitan was near, but he was clever enough to stay well hidden. 

And there was one other thing in common with the towns you weren’t ready to think about: riots. Riots at every last one.

Clearly a riot hadn’t yet happened, but there were still a few days of celebration remaining, which gave Marco ample time to ruin it like he ruined everything. The fucking bastard. These people were innocent, joyous, and free. And he was ready to take it from them. 

You watched the evening sun crest over the waterline, above the hoards of people now carrying candles to light their way in the growing darkness. What you’d thought was garland in the daylight were revealed as fairy lights that clicked on one by one as the sun set. Shadows grew, alcohol flowed, and couples danced as street bands made home beside the trees and the sloshing water displaced by pleasure barges leaving the harbor. And you wanted to be there, be a part of it, but not alone. It felt too sad that way.

You sent a message to the group, letting them know where you were headed. 

The inn was on the far side of town, away from the bustling of the festival. But looking up at how large it was, you’d likely be able to see the festivities. Especially because the sign boasted ‘sea views.’ 

But best of all, it was only open to Hunters. And not a lot were in the region at the moment, or else they’d found other accommodations. You made a mental note to look into whether that could impact your brother’s movements. It would be easier to move around, incite riots, etc., if Hunters weren’t around. 

The door tinkled as you entered. 

The scale of the hotel hadn’t prepared you for the décor. It was decorated like a cabin in the woods. Logs cut down the middle lined every wall to give it a rounded shape. A fire flickered in the center of the room in a rock-laden fireplace, warming the room. You wanted to go sit on the hearth when you were done checking in. Cozy chairs circled one another, giving some privacy to the people sitting in them. But at the moment, there were none. Just glasses and full pitchers of what looked like alcohol ready for anyone who wanted it. 

A woman smiled at you from the front desk, meant to look like some sort of table made out of logs. But the façade was somewhat ruined by her computer and the earpiece she wore. 

“Can I help you?” She said, in a unique, light accent you had never heard in-person before. 

“I was looking to rent a room for a few nights,” you said, “until the festival is over.”

She looked at you with a blank smile. “You have your license?” 

“Oh, sorry,” you said, shuffling your bags around to reach into your backpack. You grabbed your license and handed it to her across the table. “Here you go.” She looked at it and then back at you before her smile changed from tepid to beaming. 

After handing it back to you she turned to type. “How many?” 

“Four,” you said, wondering if the Spiders plus Gareth would walk through the front door or scale the walls to enter through the window like heathens. Phinks and Mai had elected to stay behind. They said they had something they had to do. It probably meant each other instead of some task they wanted to complete. 

“Can’t do,” she said, happily. “Two to a room and one has to be a Hunter.”

Well, shit. You were the only Hunter and it was unlikely you’d find another place to stay for the next few days. Maybe it was an old shipping yard for you. That really put a damper on your plans, having to sleep in puddles of sea water on the ground in some old warehouse. 

“I’m a Hunter,” Shalnark said from beside you, holding out his license. 

You jumped out of your skin and banged your elbow on the desk. “My God, you scared the shit out of me.”

Shalnark looked over and smiled. “Clearly.” 

As you composed yourself, you wondered how wise it was for Shalnark to be showing himself in the open. Weren’t these guys very wanted criminals? Maybe Shalnark’s happy façade really was enough to get away with it. 

“Here you go.” The lady handed each of you a key. “Top floor, doors are on the opposite sides of the hall. Only two rules: no murder inside the hotel and clean up after yourself.”

“Thanks!” Shalnark said and ambled off down the hall, looking for the elevators. 

You looked back at the woman at the desk and opened your mouth to speak.

“It’s quiet out this way,” she said. “We get all types. No questions.”

“Appreciate it,” you said, softly. “Put both rooms on my tab. Don’t let him pay anything.” 

“Will do,” she said, and went back to her computer.

Trying to smile, you nodded and followed Shalnark down the hall. 

“Wanna piss off Feitan and tell him we’re bunking together?” Shalnark said, pressing the elevator button and sitting back on his hip to wait. “He might try to kill me. It’ll be fun!”

“If you feel like dying, sure,” you said, feeling lighter now that you had a quiet place to stay on the far side of town. You just hoped the front desk woman would be true to her word. But you’d seen nothing about them turning people in, so you shook the tension out and tried to relax more. 

“Wouldn’t be fun if there wasn’t a little mortal peril every once in a while,” Shalnark said, holding the elevator door for you to step through. 

“However you get your kicks is your business,” you said, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “You’re a Hunter…?” You let the question linger, allowing Shalnark the opportunity to only share what he felt like.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Shalnark said. “It’s useful.”

“I just didn’t think any of you would have time for stuff like that,” you said. “You’re always so busy.”

Shalnark laughed like you were a small child who didn’t understand anything of the world. “We aren’t. Most of our work is optional, unless we all get called in; then it’s mandatory.” 

That didn’t sound right. Wouldn’t it make sense to run them into the ground, get as much out of them as you could? Especially when the number was so small. Or you assumed the number was small; nobody ever confirmed for you how many Spiders there actually were. 

“So this - project - is optional, then?” you said. That was strange since it seemed like quite a few of the Spiders had soulmates. 

“This isn’t usually what we do,” Shalnark said as the elevator stopped on the top floor. “This is personal, you know?” 

Your face softened. Feitan had chosen this job, even though he said in the beginning that he didn’t want you. He’d been working this, even when you weren’t together. And even when he was insistent that you were useless to him, he’d been working for the future possibility you could be together. 

You didn’t have time to speak. 

“Hey, Fei!” Shalnark waved and bounded out of the elevator. “Your girl and I decided we’re bunking together. She doesn’t want to deal with y-”

Shalnark’s huffed and you heard him slam against the wall. Barreling out of the elevator, you found them. Shalnark was laughing so hard he looked like he might be crying while pressed up against the wall. Feitan looked like he was going to kill him with his arm on Shalnark’s neck and a knife at his jugular. 

“You will not,” Feitan said softly, but his voice travelled in the empty hall. 

Shalnark pretended to struggle. “You can share a room with Gareth. It’s no big deal.” 

“Try it,” Feitan said. “See what happens.” 

“Who said I wanted to bunk with you?” you said to Feitan, stumbling up to them faster than you probably needed to. But you didn’t put it past Feitan to nick a vital artery or do something that would inconvenience Shalnark. 

Feitan sighed and let Shalnark drop from his hold. 

Shalnark rubbed his neck and ambled to the other side of the hall, to his room he always intended to take with Gareth. 

“You are not funny,” Feitan said, which made you sputter at how quickly you laughed. 

“Are you gonna be in a shitty mood all evening now?” you said, shoving the key into the door and tossing it open. 

“No,” Feitan said, like he would be in a shitty mood all evening. 

You held the door for him and he looked at you like you’d shot him. But the moment the door closed, he tugged you against him and kissed the side of your lips.

God, why wouldn’t he just kiss you properly?

“Do not,” he said, the venom in his voice not directly targeted at you, instead targeting everyone but you. "Forget you are mine."

“Your name’s branded on my wrist,” you said. “And my name’s on yours too.” You relaxed against him. There was something soothing about being in his arms, even when he was being vaguely (or explicitly) threatening. “I don’t want to forget.” 

“Then don’t,” he said sweetly, breaking away from you sooner than you wanted him to.

The moon rose high by the time you’d put away your maps (one you’d swiped off the ground) and hid notes you wanted to keep top of mind away in your pocket. A moment of quiet was all you needed to clear your head before you acted in support of, but out of the bounds of the plan.

You’d cracked the balcony door and slipped outside. A rickety table sat off to the side with two chairs that rocked when you tried to sit. It felt nice, shifting back and forth as you let your mind wander to the world down below. 

Smoke from cooking stations and fireworks and probably normal fires that caught during the day twisted up with the wind. And mingled with the salty sea air. The hotel hadn’t lied; you caught boats drifting out to sea from your seat, and heard the call of birds before watching them dive into the darkness of the ocean, reappearing with fish and seaweed and muscles in their beaks. 

Voices travelled too, but were much fainter this far out than when you’d been packed beside a thousand people. The fairy lights you’d admired were eclipsed by floating lanterns and bursts of fireworks fizzling out over the ocean.

“You want to go,” Feitan said, appearing from nothing. 

He’d been quiet the last hour or so, leaving you to work. But just because he was quiet, didn’t mean he hid his presence. He’d wanted your neck to burn with his stare and your chest to ache with the pulse of the bond trying to force you closer together. 

He rested against the railing and looked down at you, apparently displeased with the idea you wanted to go. Probably while you were tasked with doing something he deemed more important. 

“We’re working,” you said, mimicking Feitan’s favorite line and not bothering to look at him. Besides, you didn’t want to when you could watch pure expressions of joy and community down by the water. But it felt too cruel to watch from behind the bars of the balcony like you were caged. 

Feitan didn’t respond, so you continued. 

“Did you know they go for days, never stopping?” you said, finally looking up at him. The fireworks reflected in his eyes, like the internal fire you saw there so often. “I’d like to come back here one day when we can join.”

“We are here now,” Feitan said, slipping his hands in his pockets. He gazed over his shoulder at the festival with so little interest, you weren’t sure what he was really saying. 

“I’m not stupid enough to go down there alone at night when Marco’s here,” you said to cover the words you really wanted to say. “I shouldn’t have even gone during the day to look for clues I couldn't find. I don’t want my brother to take this from them.”

Feitan appeared to consider what you’d said. “But you want it.”

You didn’t want to say the words, so you settled on a nod. “I have a better use of our time, if you aren’t too tired.” 

Feitan scoffed like it was offensive you’d even suggest it. He probably stayed up doing weird shit for days at a time. This would be an adventure for you, but a Tuesday for him. 

“Great, you’re never tired and you’re super-human,” you said, with your own exhaustion permeating your voice and reflecting in the way you slouched in your chair. “What do you say to a good old-fashioned scavenger hunt?” 

Chapter Text

“Want to play a children’s game?” Feitan said, clutching your jaw but massaging your face with his thumb. 

“First of all,” you said, pointing in his face, “children’s games are great.” He shook your head lightly like he thought you were stupid. “What if I told you breaking and entering and working was involved.”

Feitan raised his brows. “I am listening.”

You were about to speak when there was a faint knock at your door. You would have missed it if the wind had been any louder. Trying to get up, you were pushed back down by Feitan.

“Wait here,” he said as he went back inside to answer the door. 

“I’m not a dog,” you said, ignoring his directive and following. 

Besides, It was most likely Shalnark. But to be honest, you were surprised that Shalnark didn’t just walk right in. 

And surprise - it was Shalnark! 

He pushed past Feitan into the room, carrying his own map. As the door closed, you caught sight of Gareth watching you. He waved and slipped back into his own room. You’d have to try and get that guy to talk to you. 

“Gareth just got back,” Shalnark said, splaying the map out on the bed and jumping on it himself, which Feitan didn’t look too happy about. “He’s grabbing supplies and heading out again.” Shalnark scratched a note on his map. “A ship came into the harbor carrying explosives that weren’t routed to the fireworks storage location,” he said. “And there were people on board too who were moving the goods and dropping them around the city. Those locations are here, here, here, and here.” He pointed to all the cardinal directions of the city. “It’s amazing what people don’t notice when they don’t care to look.” 

You heard the door to the other room open and close, and you hoped it was Gareth heading out. 

“What’s Gareth doing now?” you said. He had to be disabling them or marking them or warning people. You had no idea what he could do, but clearly it must be something useful if he was the one out and about. 

“Tracking where else they’re dropping explosives,” Shalnark said brightly. 

“Where else?” Your voice cracked. “For fucks sake, why aren’t we out there helping him? Or telling people that there are explosives getting dropped all over town.” 

Shalnark scrunched his face, like the idea had never occurred to him. 

“I think you’re confused. This is for our safety,” Shalnark said. “We’ll know where we can and can’t move.” 

“That’s cruel,” you said. “There are families in town; people have lives here.” 

You’d spent an entire day among them, seen their joy, basked in the way they celebrated themselves and their lives. And now the Spiders didn’t want to do shit to make sure the entire town didn’t die. 

Shalnark placed his pen down and gave you his full attention. “Do you know how to defuse explosives?” 

You sputtered. “No, but I feel like you would.” 

And if this asshole really wanted to, he could stick his stupid antennae into their backs and make them diffuse the bombs. No actual skill on anyone's part was needed. Unless the people detonating were smart enough to wait until the last minute. And if that were the case, you could only stop one location from detonating – the one with Shalnark. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Shalnark said. With everything he could do, the thing he couldn’t do was defuse bombs? “We’re here to get information out of as many TPI members as we can and kill the rest.” You glared at him, both for forgetting why you were here and for not given a shit about the people around you. If TPI struck successfully, what was to stop them from escalating next time? First it was riot, now it was full on domestic terrorism. But you supposed the Spiders were well acquainted with that kind of thing. “And to kill your brother, of course,” Shalnark added. “Anything else that happens is secondary.” 

“At the cost of an entire town,” you said. “What did they even do to piss off TPI so badly they’d blow up the entire place? Is a riot not enough?” And why didn’t Shalnark want to know? He was so desensitized to the violence he hadn’t considered that maybe there was something this city could offer. 

“I don’t know,” Shalnark said, “and I don’t really care.” 

“Fuck,” you said, letting the implied ‘you’ hang in the air. 

Feitan appeared at your side and rested a hand on the back of your neck like he thought he’d need to grab you if you attacked Shalnark. But you weren’t stupid enough to try something like that. You’d never really seen the extent of what these people could do, but you knew without having to ask, it far outpaced your own capabilities. You were pissed at Shalnark, but trying to kill somebody else when the whole town was already in danger felt excessive. 

“How many people are in the way?” Shalnark looked up at you. You didn’t particularly like the way he described these people as if they were canon fodder, but if that’s the language he was using, so be it. There was no getting through to him. You’d have to find a way around him or a way to convince him to act. 

“Approximately a thousand,” you said, “probably more. Likely around twenty percent of them being children or elderly. I wasn’t able to find a location that seemed appropriate for the kind of fanfare Jed and TPI seem to prize.” Which is how you’d come up with the idea you weren’t sure you wanted to share with Shalnark when he was willing to let the whole city burn to the ground. Would he disagree with the idea? Because Feitan hadn’t said no, but you hadn’t exactly explained to him what it was you wanted to do. “All the performances were popping up wherever there was space. There weren’t stages or meeting places or anywhere I would think fits.”

“But the people are still blow up-able,” Shalnark tapped his pen against the map. “And flying body parts will get in our way.” 

“Yes, because they are people,” you hissed. “We need to stop them before they do anything.”

Feitan’s hand slipped into your hair and tugged. A warning to watch it before you escalated needlessly. 

“What’s the point?” Shalnark cocked his head. “You couldn’t find a meeting location and explosives are all over the city. So, we need to make sure the four of us stay alive. That requires caution and calculated risks.” 

“I can find the location,” you snapped. “Feitan.” You looked over your shoulder and he raised his brows at you. “You’re coming with me.” 

Shalnark smiled pleasantly. “Don’t be gone too long. Can’t kill your brother if you’re sleep-deprived.” 

“I’ll murder him in whatever state I please, thank you,” you said, grabbing a weapon, map, and then Feitan’s wrist to drag him out the door. Like fuck you wouldn’t keep trying. Gareth hadn’t given up, so why should you?

Besides, they couldn’t blow up the city if there was no one to detonate the explosives. And luckily, you had a very effective murderer on your side. You had three, technically, plus yourself – if you could get them all to act. And that was exactly the right amount of people when there were four stations of bombs around the city. 

You rushed outside and Feitan pulled you into the shadows. You struggled to keep moving but he held you, caressing your arms like it was some sort of consolation. But he wasn’t pleased, you could see that in the dim light. He scowled and held tighter the longer you watched each other. 

This was his way of stopping you, or at least delaying you. 

The cool night air felt empty without tourists and locals on the streets. The crash of ocean waves were impossible to hear over the sound of celebration at the pier. Leaves rustled and owls hooted to one another. There were no cars, no people, nothing in the world except you and Feitan. 

Your mind felt more clear as you stood out under the light of the moon and the shadows it cast on the world. But it almost didn’t feel like you, it felt like Feitan across the bond with clear intent to keep you in place. 

It felt almost too easy to give in.  

Feitan spun you to force you against the wall, locking you in place. Brick drove grooves into your back and you wriggled as he pushed harder against you, forcing every part of you against every part of him. 

Damn it, his distraction was effective. 

You swallowed as he kissed up your jaw and lightly wrapped a hand around your throat. His uneven breath ghosted over your skin as you grazed your fingers over his sides, shifting his shirt so you could touch his skin. 

Feitan’s free hand slipped under your shirt too. You whimpered as he dug into your skin with his nails, marking you row after row, up the divots of your spine until you were sure your back would be red tomorrow. It made you arch more against him with every touch. 

Feitan kissed you everywhere except where you both knew you wanted it; he avoided your lips as he nipped and kissed and breathed warm breath against your chilly skin. His movements were unruly, entirely unrestrained, like this was how he acted out when he felt out of control. It reminded you so much of how he’d behaved in the elevator at the hotel. A moment he’d felt like he’d lost ownership of the world around you. 

This was a way to ground himself again. 

“Pretty thing,” he said, skimming his nails down your chest and over your stomach, “but so much trouble.” 

Feitan’s hand paused at your hip for a painful moment. You swallowed. He watched you, waiting for something.  

You whispered his name and it fluttered away with the wind. 

Feitan slipped his hand between your legs and he pressed two fingers against you, humming at the way you whimpered and wriggled against him. Even over your clothes, his touch burned, your mind blurred, and all you needed was more, more, more. Whatever he’d give you, you’d take. His thumb moved up and you clutched his wrist to help guide him. His thumb circled and you gasped. He repeated the movement over and over and it was then you realized he was watching your reaction: your lips part, your eyes widen, your face flush in the moonlight. And if you’d been of better mind, you would have taken in the full effect of Feitan’s face doing the exact same; watching you reverently.  

“So needy,” he cooed, pressing his thumb against you, stopping the movement. You arched against his hand like you could replicate the pattern you wanted him to do again and again. “Filthy,” he whispered against your lips. “Want me to fuck you here?”  

Yes, yes, absolutely. Why would he even bother asking like he didn’t know? 

“Feitan,” you pleaded. For what exactly, you didn’t know beyond this touch, but you needed it. And worst of all, he knew you needed it and he wasn’t going to give it; that much was clear. “I know you won’t. You’re just distracting me.” 

“Me?” Feitan said, leaning over to nip at your pulse that felt like it would burst from your neck. “Never.” 

“You can’t stop me,” you said weakly, knowing he could and he would. You couldn’t physically get away from him, so you’d have to get him on board.  

“From playing hero?” he said against your ear. Feitan’s gentle teasing suddenly felt so out of place in the darkness, when death was just around the corner. He ground your hips against him and your breath stalled. “Can’t kill your brother if you are dead.” It was meant to sound like mocking, but you could feel the fury, and the confusion at that fury, the thought elicited. 

You chuckled softly and rested your head on his shoulder. “Now you sound like Shalnark.” 

Feitan sighed and rested his hands against your hips. “Give me the plan.” 

“How do you know I have one?”

You could have sworn he’d have rolled his eyes if you’d been able to see them. “Too smart to try convincing me without one again.” You were about to speak but Feitan continued. “Leave my side tonight,” he warned, his voice as dark as the night around you, “city will burn to find you.” 

Every step was planned out, every location notated. And it all sat in your pocket on the map you’d swiped off the ground earlier in the day. You strode confidently, like you were meant to be there. But you didn’t look it. 

“It’s every place I think Marco could go, based on where he’s been in other towns,” you had explained to Feitan, who looked mildly impressed you’d bothered to think it through at all. 

Searching, you stumbled across a tattered jacket and struggled to get it on. It tugged at the armpits and couldn’t zip all the way, but that just gave it more believability. 

This part of town was nothing compared to the splendor beside the pier. It was quiet, dark, and derelict. Mangy dogs skirted you and other strays as they shuffled by in search of food or entertainment. Foundations and buildings creaked with every gust of wind, sending shutters and unlocked doors slamming against the walls. Trash littered the streets and you hopped over scraps of metal and other risky items as you pretended to blend in. But there was no way to blend in when there was nobody present. Either this area was abandoned or all the residents were at the festival. You hoped it was the latter. 

Location after location had proved fruitless. It was nice having someone who could pick the locks and slip inside. But it didn’t matter when his antics yielded nothing other than Feitan getting to have a nice time. 

Churches, venues, large houses, fucking anything. You’d spent hours wandering the city, and Feitan had indulged you. But you started to think this was more a lesson from him than him actually humoring you and thinking it would work. Since over a dozen locations had proven useless, you had to go back to Shalnark with your tail between you legs and tell him he was right, that you fucked up. But not just yet, you wanted to keep walking a while. The sea breeze wasn’t quite as potent this far out, but the winds caught your cheeks and the salt tingled your nose. 

Feitan couldn’t be seen beside you, in fact, you couldn’t see him at all, but you knew he was there. The stupid fucking bond never lied in that regard. Apparently the condition was that you couldn’t leave his sight, not that he couldn’t leave yours. 

At least he could never really sneak up on you again. 

There was something disconcerting about the way the bond had mutated over time. It was raw in the beginning, painful and unruly – now it felt potent in a way it hadn’t before. Like every moment spent in the other’s company molded your souls like clay. Which, if you took the metaphor further – which you were wont to do wandering dark streets in the middle of the night with nothing to do until you reached your destination – would assume that the bond, like clay, would eventually be fired; only separated if shattered and unable to regain its original form. 

“It just occurred to me,” you said softly into the wind, knowing the sound would get to him with the way it spread across the empty street. He deserved a strike back after what he’d done to you against the inn. “That I can talk to you and you can’t say shit back.” You made a show of looking around like you’d find Feitan scowling. You were sure he was, but you wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to see it if you could. “It really fucking sucked when you left, you know that?” There was no answer but you imagined Feitan’s look of derision. “It hurt. I’m not even talking about the weird physical and metaphysical pain in the bond. I mean the knowledge that we were made for each other and you just tossed it in the trash, told me I was useless to you.” You spit the last words, the exhaustion finally taking its toll. The days and weeks that it had been building, somehow needed to come out in the cover of night when you alone together in a foreign city where you only kind of knew what you were doing. 

“But then in roll Phinks and Mai – everything is perfect and easy and cute and sexy.” You could have sworn you heard a scoff on the wind. “It’s so easy for them. So why is it so hard for us?” Mai had been right; it wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. “You know, I thought that address you gave me for that bounty hunter was your address.” This time the wind was silent. “I thought ‘maybe he rejected me but he’ll give me another chance' for some reason.” You shook your head. “Like a fucking idi –”

But your words fell away with the gust of wind that blew in the boy. The same boy you’d seen at the market earlier in the day, the one you’d offered money for food. 

The friends weren’t with him. He stood alone in the middle of the road, no parents or guardians in sight. 

“Are you lost?” you said, even softer than you’d spoken to Feitan. “I can walk you home.” 

You had the time now that you’d exhausted your locations. But the boy certainly didn’t look lost; he stood confidently by himself, nothing like the withering boy you’d seen before. What you’d seen was an act, a cover to give him the best shot of not getting in trouble. He’d played on your heartstrings; played you like you’d never met another conniving human before. 

The boy held up the wanted poster with your face on it. “This you?” 

Well, shit. 

“It is,” you said, not bothering to deny it. You couldn’t feel anyone else around, other than Feitan, and you’d seen no sign of life in any of the houses. What was he going to do? Scream? Who would come when the world was centered on the port, when alcohol flowed freely and fireworks lit the sky. “Why do you ask?” 

Feitan was moving closer, you could feel it, but he hadn’t shown himself. 

“I have –” the boy gasped as Feitan wrapped an arm around his neck, holding a knife to his throat. 

Feitan looked up at you for permission.

The boy struggled, grasping at Feitan’s arm to release him so he could breathe. The wanted poster fluttered down along with something else that landed harder. 

Feitan pressed the tip of the knife into the boy’s cheek and a drop of blood slid down his face.

“Wait!” you called and it echoed through the streets, bouncing off the walls, eclipsing the sounds of night. “What is that?” You pointed to the strange shape at the boy’s feet. 

Whatever it was didn’t feel dangerous. But Feitan paid it no mind, instead, he watched you like you were the one at risk here, not the boy who had a knife to his face. 

“A letter for you,” he said, gasping as he tried to breathe. “He wanted me to deliver it.” 

“For fucks sake, Feitan.” You rushed forward. “Don’t choke the kid to death.”

“Do not know what he wants,” Feitan took a step back from you with the boy in his arms. “Could hurt you.”

“He’s a child,” you said, following Feitan as he moved. “I met him today already and he didn’t hurt me. He’s just a kid!”

"Could kill at his age," Feitan said with a wild look in his eye. 

Not everyone was a damn adversary. Sometimes it was just a stupid kid someone hired to deliver a letter. 

"Well most don't, so I think we're fine," you said. 

Feitan's hold slackened and you shoved his arm away from the boy. The kid stumbled into your arms, clutching his throat, gasping for the air he’d been denied. You rubbed his back as you scowled at Feitan with the promise of retribution in your eyes. 

“It’s okay,” you said, wrapping your arms around the kid. “Are you hurt?” 

“A little,” he said, leaning in to you like he hadn’t had somebody to hold him in a long while. His body was so small and breakable. Malnourishment had tightened his skin against his bones and he felt more skeletal than any child should have to. 

“You’re shivering,” you said, rushing to remove your stolen jacket and put it on him. It fit much better around him than it did on you. Groaning, you stood and hoisted the boy up, resting him on your hip. Poor thing looked even more malnourished and wan by moonlight than he had during the day. “Are you hungry?” 

“No." The boy rubbed his nose and looked away.

“Well, let’s feed you anyway,” you said. There was no way somebody had made this poor kid a currier and you were going to let him leave your sight hungry. Whoever thought it was a good idea to bring a kid into this was insane. There were only a few people in the world you’d imagine would send you a letter while you skulked around the city looking for Marco and TPI. So this kid could be in danger if you weren’t careful with him. 

“No time for this,” Feitan said with a scowl, watching the child like it was a rodent that had gotten into the house. “Let him go and we go back.” 

“I’m not asking you for permission,” you said firmly. Nowhere in your deal did you agree you couldn’t collect a hitchhiker along the way. “Get the letter. He needs help.” You rubbed the blood from his face and wiped it away on your pants. “And needs his cut cleaned that someone thought was reasonable to give an eight year old child.”

“I’m nine,” he mumbled. 

“You’re right,” you said, patting his leg as you shifted to hoist him up higher on your hip. His dusty brown hair hung in his eyes and you debated cutting it for him later, but all you could do now was push it behind his ear so he could see. “You’re much older than eight. Eight’s a baby, but nine’s all grown up.”

Feitan watched your interaction with the child like it was a strange game of chess, his gaze shifting from you to the child and back again, like it annoyed him he didn’t understand. And his scowl reinforced that, but he also squinted like he often did when he was thinking. Something was there he was trying to comprehend, but you realized in that moment, you didn’t know enough about him to guess at what it could be. 

You’d need to fix that soon. You’d agreed together you would try. But you’d been so focused on your brother since that conversation, you hadn’t made the effort Feitan deserved. In fact, you’d been mostly focused on your brother since the moment you met the Spiders, and they’d done nothing but accommodate you, help you on this goal. Even though it coincided with their goal, they still helped more than needed and you’d not really tried to get to know them. A pang of guilt hit you when you realized what it looked like from the outside: it looked like you were using them. 

“Can you walk like a big nine year old?” you asked the boy. It felt nice to talk to somebody like they were a patient again. “We’re not too far from the place we’re staying.” 

He nodded and you plopped him on the ground. He didn’t let go of your hand and you swore you saw Feitan's twitch like he wanted to rip the kid away from you. 

"The letter?" you said.

Feitan finally looked away. He took his time with the letter. Maybe he was assessing it, maybe he was just being an ass and taking his damn time.

Most likely it was both. 

“Demanding,” Feitan said with a light in his eyes, and picked up the letter with no further complaint. He tore the poster to pieces and tossed it into the wind. 

If it ended up that you couldn’t help the whole town, at least you could help one kid in need who’d risked himself to get you a letter you were more scared than excited to open. 

You started walking and the boy paused. Something rustled down the street. 

“I need to go now,” the boy said, ripping his hand out of yours. 

He ran before you could stop him.

You reached for the knife at your side and peeked at Feitan for how concerned you should be. He just stood with his hands in his pockets, entirely unperturbed by the figure who would reveal themselves soon.

“Hello,” somebody said beside you and you screamed. They placed a hand on your shoulder and you froze. 

“Hands off,” Feitan ordered, smacking the hand on your shoulder away, “Gareth.”

Clearly too many people had touched you tonight other than Fei and he'd had enough. 

“Gareth?” you squeaked. As you followed the tall figure up to his face, it was absolutely Gareth. And he was willingly speaking to you for some reason. Maybe because Feitan was here. “You found us out here?" 

He tapped the soft skin beside his eyes. “Tracked you.” 

You smiled. “Actually, this is perfect. Why don’t we go somewhere quiet to talk.” 

The church you’d somehow missed on your search was small, just like so much in this town: one story, a single steeple, and a single bell. But the beauty lay in the details. Stained glass windows lined the outside, casting a kaleidoscope of colored light onto the street. Figures of deities were carved into the stone walls like they’d been there first and the church was built around them. Vines slithered up the walls, somehow missing the figures and circling them out of respect. The heavy wooden doors creaked as you pushed them in. 

Stepping inside, you almost choked at the beauty. What the outside lacked, the inside made up for. Ageless, masterful paintings lined the walls, speckled with more stained glass windows in between. Swirling carvings lined the pews, making them look like they moved with the shifting light from the glass as you wandered down the aisle. It was ironic you landed yourself here when you’d long refused any form of salvation. You were lost in your quest. 

The dais sat above the congregation. Purple velvet lined the steps leading to the pulpit. A mural, matching the style of the artwork, cut from floor to ceiling. And an organ sat on the far side of the stage, which looked too worn for the splendor of the room. 

Feitan and Gareth slipped inside behind you and you heard the doors lock, and other doors you hadn’t seen, but they must have, as lock after lock went down. 

You plopped down on the dais, holding the letter in your hands. Whoever it was from needed you to have it in the middle of the night and had thought making a child deliver it was the best idea. It was also possible the child had not been pickpocketing you earlier in the day, but instead trying to place the letter when you’d caught him.

Popping it open, you read as quickly as you could. 

The note was short. The rally and bombing would happen tomorrow afternoon – well, that afternoon; it was well into the early hours of the morning. There was no signature or clue indicating who'd sent it. You didn’t know if you could trust them, but you were betting on the idea that you could, because your other choice was no action at all. It outlined the location – a small shop a few blocks north of the pier. At least it was close enough TPI wasn’t looking to bomb the pier itself. If they did, they would bomb themselves too. And the southernmost location Shalnark had outlined was too far away from the pier for the blast to hit. 

The letter gave a similar map to Shalnark’s, but here it circled where the bombs could reach: most of the town with the exception of the pier. Meaning your inn and yourselves were right in the way. There was nowhere safe in the city except the pier.

Fucking hell.

Your only options were to stay and stop them or leave with nothing learned. 

You gripped the paper so hard it crinkled. As you turned it in your hand, a final piece fell out of the pile. With shaking hands, you admired the pamphlet. Thick, swirling, black lettering covered the front page: The Parable Initiative Manifesto. 

Feitan and Gareth appeared on either side of you, bending over to examine the pamphlet. Feitan's rested his hand on the back of your neck.

You’d had no idea TPI even had something like this. They seemed so disorganized beyond their rallies made for riots. But they had a whole entire manifesto which weighed more than the rest of the letter combined. And why on earth had somebody bothered to give you this information at all? It had to be somebody on the inside. 

You cracked the first page open and stopped. There was no time. TPI was bombing the city in a few hours and you needed to plan before you sated your curiosity. 

“Gareth,” you said, looking up at him. Feitan huffed like he didn’t like that you weren’t addressing him. “I have confirmation when the rally is going to happen.” You handed the letter to him so he could read it. “Shalnark said his goals were keeping the four of us alive, getting more information, and killing as many TPI freaks as possible. It looks like the only safe place in town is the pier.”

“Yes,” Gareth crouched to look at the map outlining the blast radius. “This makes sense with what I’ve seen.” 

“Good,” you said, suddenly relieved. If you couldn’t make Shalnark listen, maybe Gareth could. “But it won’t be safe anymore after the explosions. People will be terrified and it will devolve into madness.” You reached your hands up and grabbed Feitan’s free hand. He tensed by let you lock your fingers. The calluses on his hands against your own felt so much like home. “I don’t think the people setting off the bombs are the kind of people who would have useful information.”

Gareth nodded.

“We need to stop the bombs before they go off,” you said. “I can’t convince Shalnark. I tried earlier.” You smiled softly. “But you can, Gareth.” 

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging. 

‘Maybe’ wasn’t good enough, you needed confirmation Gareth could make this work. 

“If these bombs go off, we go home possibly dead or with nothing learned, no people to interrogate, and no information to work through other than this stupid manifesto.” You bristled as you considered your next thought. Once the offer was made, you couldn't take it back. “My brother is here somewhere. He’s who will have information. We need to get to him, but we won’t be able to find him in the chaos.” Feitan’s hand tightened around yours. “He will be at the pier because I don't think TPI will risk him, but we can’t search properly if bombs go off.”  

It felt like a stab to the heart offering your brother up for the Spider’s use before you could kill him. It was one thing to let your soulmate, who Marco also wanted dead, to have fun before you killed him. But offering Marco up as a sacrifice to the Spiders felt heavier. It took the control out of your hands, but it meant maybe the people in this town wouldn’t die. 

“Convince Shalnark that stopping the bombs will both keep us safe and allow us to get more information. It meets his conditions.” 

Gareth smiled gently and it felt so genuine, you couldn't help but match it. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

By the time you made it back to your room, Gareth had successfully convinced Shalnark, and a plan was agreed upon, the sun was peeking over the horizon. The celebrations hadn’t stopped, and you were going to make sure they didn’t end today either when TPI moved. 

Your head pounded and your legs were heavy as you dropped into the bed. Nestling under the covers, you pulled them to your nose and curled into a ball. 

It was okay, everything was going to be fine. You’d stop the people so the bombs wouldn’t detonate. Only downside is you had to be as far away as possible from the other three in your party; worst of all, directly across town from Feitan. And in direct line of the bomb blast if you were unsuccessful. But if you failed, at least it wouldn’t be your problem anymore.

You’d think about that later, after everything ended, because failure was not an option. 

Blinking, you remembered you weren’t in the room alone. Feitan stood on the other side of the bed, watching you. 

The heavy silence rushed your breathing. Heart pounding, you swallowed as Feitan took an experimental step, resting his knee on the mattress like you’d kick him off. When you stayed silent, he moved again, joining you on the bed. He laid down slowly, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to participate in whatever tension was happening. But you couldn’t stop watching him, even as he laid down, as he stretched out, as his hands rested on his chest like they’d wander if he didn’t. His hair fanned out against the pillow and you ran a finger through it. His breathing stalled and you pulled your hand back. 

“Fei?” you whispered. 

Fleks of shimmering morning light trickled in through the curtains, dotting his figure. Feitan started at the ceiling but his lip quirked and he moved his head just enough to show you he was listening.

“Yes?” he said in his cocky, sing-song voice. 

You had to ask eventually. It had been alluded to, but you wanted to know for sure before you thew yourself in the deep end. 

“Did you really not want me,” you said, “in the beginning?” 

The air conditioner unit hummed along with the morning birds singing outside. The ceiling creaked as the building settled. A few voices echoed outside from the parking lot where a car door slammed and wheels squeaked. 

Feitan shifted but didn’t look at you. He kept his focus up.

This was the first time you’d really been alone. No Phinks or Shalnark or Mai skulking around the mansion; no injured Spider in the guest house barging in whenever he felt like it; no tourists and locals crowding the streets; no tight car rides where you could hardly breathe. 

“Want me to say you are perfect for me?” Feitan’s mocking made you frown. “How much – “

“I’m serious,” you said, shifting so you could drag a hand up his chest and slip your fingers between his. 

He didn’t respond for a moment, like you’d provided him with an impossible choice. 

“Okay,” Feitan said, his voice strained, like this topic hurt. Or the thoughts and feelings and implications behind the words hurt too much. “Always wanted you,” he said softly. His fingers twitched like he wanted to squeeze your hand, but refrained. “From the beginning.”

“Oh,” you said, breath catching. “Then why did you leave?” 

The blankets warmed your skin, a kind of barrier between yourself and this conversation. 

“Want and deserve not the same,” Feitan said, turning his head away from you. You wanted to chase his stare, but if the conversation was easier if he wasn’t looking, then you’d take it. “It would hurt, but did it anyway.” His words were cutting out again, his sentences choppier like they tended to become when he was overwhelmed. 

“You’re a thief,” you said, pushing away the covers. You scooted closer to him to rest your head against his chest. He stilled but his heart pounded against you, giving him away. He was scared of this conversation. “You take everything you want so I don’t know why I was any different.” 

Feitan chuckled and turned his head to look down at you. He slipped a hand out of your hold and ran it through your hair, massaging your scalp and tugging at uneven intervals. You groaned and he said, “Cannot take you. Only earn you.” 

“You can take me,” you said, before you could think better of it. 

“No.” His eyes alighted with mischief. “Squirm so pretty when I tease.” He punctuated his point by positioning you on top of him so he could grab your hip and roll you against him. You did exactly what he’d anticipated and wriggled.

Somehow, you could be laying on him and it still feel like Feitan was the one in control. Something told you no matter what you did, you’d still feel like he was the one leading. He did it again and you gripped his hair, tugging it like he did yours. 

Feitan only chuckled. “I don’t break so easy.” 

Bullshit. It was total bullshit. You could feel it. 

“Can we talk about the elevator and what happened a few hours ago?” you said against his cheek. 

Feitan tossed you off and crawled on top of you. You blinked in surprise, your train of thought evaporating. His legs tangled in yours and he rested on his forearms so he hovered over you. Everything was him and you didn't want it to end. 

This time, he didn't hold your hands down. Tracing his skin, you grazed over the curve of his nose, the pleased smirk on his lips, and the tightness in his jaw. Feitan let you explore until you were satisfied. 

"You could fuck me now, but you aren't," you said it with more curiosity than anything else. 

Feitan's smirk grew. "Not here." he gripped your wrist and massaged your mark. “Want to fuck you the right way,” Feitan said, his breath mingling with your own, “my way.” 

So he didn't feel this was place for it. 

Interesting. 

You let your mind wander to what that could possibly imply but you couldn't lose focus now. The exhaustion was peaking and you didn't have much conversation left in you before you had to sleep. 

“Then what happened those two times?” You tried not to sound breathless, but you couldn’t help remembering what he’d promised that day in your guest house. Feitan was slow and thorough, and that is not what he’d done in the elevator or on the side of the building. 

His face scrunched. “Worried about you.” 

“Worried?” you said, “you practically mauled me.” 

He’d jumped you twice now and the man hadn’t even kissed you, for fuck’s sake. 

“Was mad.” Feitan huffed. “What good if I can’t protect you?” 

Your face softened. “I’m yours, I promise. Even if you can’t control it all, you can control enough.” You weren’t sure if that’s what he was getting at, that he’d felt so out of control, he had to act out in a way that made him feel like he could get some control back. It’s what you had guessed before, and with the way his face settled, you figured that was it. He was just glad to not have to say it. 

“Did Chrollo tell you he thinks Marco’s looking for you, not me?” you asked. You hadn’t told him yet. It hadn’t felt like there had been time.

“All of them are looking for us,” Feitan said, skimming his hands over your side. “Chrollo tell you why?” 

“No,” you said, shaking your head. Chrollo hadn’t really said much at all. “I thought the Spiders were trying to get ahead of this on principle.”

“It is personal." Feitan crawled off and pushed you onto your side of the bed. Apparently he was serious that he wasn't going to make good on his promise to ‘fuck you the right way.’ Even though this was the perfect opportunity to do something. “TPI has a defector.” Feitan’s face scrunched again like he wasn’t sure he should share. 

He went quiet for a while, and you thought he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t exactly clarified what kind of defector and from where. Maybe it wasn’t your business to know. You weren’t a Spider, you were Spider-adjacent. 

“A defector,” Feitan whispered with so much vitriol you were sure he could kill with it, “from the Spiders.” 

Chapter Text

“You’re certain they’re not remotely detonated?” you asked Gareth.

You didn’t know when you’d decided to trust them implicitly. You’d put your life in the Spiders’ hands; there was no coming back. 

Gareth nodded. “I heard them discussing it.” 

Feitan had said nothing else before he fell asleep that morning, and you hadn’t pushed; he’d shared enough information already. Now you all sat together in your room like you had the night before arguing with Shalnark. But this time there were no quarrels. Only a little while until everything blew and there was no time to contest. 

“You're sure they didn't know you were there?” Shalnark said.

“Positive,” Gareth said, and Shalnark took his word for it.

“If anything goes wrong,” Shalnark said, “run first, think second, and get to the extraction point.” He flicked his head to you, a seriousness on his face you weren’t accustomed to seeing. To be fair, anything that happened now was on you. “If all goes well, we’ll meet at the pier and split up for our tasks after the explosives are stopped, or at least delayed.”

“So we’re just leaving the explosives where they are?” you said. To be honest, you hadn’t considered what you’d do with them.

Shalnark smiled. “You can tell the authorities if you want. But they might arrest you for knowing the locations.” 

“Not if you run fast,” Feitan said, very unhelpfully. You snorted at his comment. 

“I’ll do what I can,” you said, promising it to the universe. 

 You closed your eyes and begged the forgiveness of the people you might not be able to help because you’d let Marco rampage. If you’d found him sooner, this could have been avoided and you wouldn’t be risking so many people in the process, including two people you considered friends plus your soulmate. 

And you had so many questions for the people in the room, but you’d ask them after you all made it back. There was no reason to wish ill on the situation. 

“Everyone ready?” Shalnark said, brightly. 

When everyone affirmed they were, the group packed up what little they had and prepared their departure. 

You lingered behind the rest of the group in the lobby. They chatted casually like they weren’t about to put their lives on the line. One day, you might have that kind of grit, but today, your stomach roiled and your hands shook, even as you balled your fists to keep them in check. 

Feitan was back in his cowl and you didn’t like it. It meant this was serious. You also couldn’t see his face for a full understanding of his emotions which was a barrier you only now realized when he was covered. 

Turning to the lady at the front desk you said, “Thanks for hosting us.” You paused, debating whether you should even broach the topic, but the Spiders were outside and only Feitan had bothered looking back as the door closed. “We’re here to stop TPI from attacking the city.” The woman’s eyes widened. “They planted explosives around town.” Digging through your pockets, you pulled your map free where you’d made note of these locations and handed it to the woman. You had another copy on your phone anyway. “We’re going to stop them from going off, but we can’t neutralize them; we just don’t know how.” You were surprised that the woman looked relieved. “We’re moving in at three. We only need a few minutes to stop them, but then we need the authorities to diffuse the bombs and we can’t really call them – for obvious reasons. Can you tell them this right before three?”

Feitan slipped back in and called your name with the enticing lilt of a lover. 

“I’m coming,” you called to him but he stayed, watching you. “Can you?” you nearly pleaded with the woman. 

“I can,” she said, nodding with a stoic face. She peeked at Feitan and then leaned over the desk to whisper, "Thank you for doing this. TPI tried to get in the city a few months ago. We ran them out and we’re trying to do it again, but it looks like they’re more prepared this time.” 

So that’s why TPI escalated. The city wanted them gone so they were going to remove the city's existence; punish them for the crime of wanting to live a normal life unsullied by cult fanatics. 

“Be safe,” you reached over and squeezed her hand. 

“You too,” she said, and you wished, for the first time in a long time, that there were more people you could call friends. 

Feitan said your name again, with more bite this time. You were keeping them waiting. 

You didn’t bother looking back at the woman as you jogged to get outside. Shalnark was whispering something to Gareth who leaned down to listen. He adjusted Gareth’s collar like he wanted him to look good when he killed people. 

Feitan skimmed his fingers down your arm, burning your skin so beautifully. You couldn’t help wondering what his hands felt like everywhere on you, how you’d burn so brightly. He cradled your hand in his, running the pads of his fingers over yours like your fingerprints would coalesce and bring you back together when this was all over.

“Don’t die,” Feitan cooed as he brought your fingers up to kiss them. “So much left for us to do.” A beautiful threat and promise; motivation not to be riskier than needed. A reminder there were things worth living for. And that, in a way you hadn’t considered beyond Marco, there were things worth dying for. 

You laughed softly. “You don’t die,” you said. “I’ll never forgive myself if you get hurt doing something I wanted.” 

“They can try,” Feitan said, tugging you against him and running his lips over your cheek. “I will not go down that easy.” 

“Ready?” Shalnark said, adjusting his top. 

"Set," Gareth said.

And with a final, longing look your way, Feitan said, "Go." 

You blinked, and the Spiders were gone.

Crisp afternoon air cooled your face. Voices of revelers and vendors alike swirled in from the pier. At least they were safe there. You were safe nowhere now, but especially not where you were headed. 

You jogged through the city, biting your tongue to keep your face even. Looking suspicious could delay you and possibly alert authorities before you needed them. 

The bond strained the farther you ran. Acute chest pain reminded you Feitan ran the opposite direction: he headed West and you headed East. 

There was no getting around it; nothing could feel right if Feitan wasn’t by your side. 

The dark, intrusive thoughts that burrowed in the back of your mind clawed to the surface as you ran. What would your world look like without Feitan? If he died, would you too? You hadn't heard of that before but it felt possible. Did you want to live if he wasn’t here with you? Goosebumps prickled your skin at the thought, your body rebelling against the idea on every level.

Closed shops and deserted streets curved along your path. Colorful, brick buildings bookended the roads, brightening what otherwise would be small, dreary lanes. But there was nothing dreary about the people in this place, about the joy of them living happy lives in their small community.

They had something you never had before. But it would be vile to wish they would lose it, just because you never had it. Marco on the other hand – he had a different idea of what these people were and what they deserved.

How could two siblings turn out so differently? 

You checked the time: thirty minutes until the bombs went off. 

You were moving too slowly. 

Running harder, your chest ached and your core burned with every smack of your feet against the uneven roads. Those Spider bastards had based the go time off their speed, not yours. But you couldn’t fault them for it. Either you'd keep up or you couldn’t. They’d never implied you couldn’t, so you had nothing to do but trust that they believed you could do this. If you didn’t believe it, they could for you. 

As you barreled what you thought was East. The sounds of people rose higher than you'd expected. You slid to a halt when they reached a crescendo. People packed the streets. Children and elderly and everyone in between laughed and smiled, played games in the streets, or sold their wares. 

You must have curved too far South towards the pier. You pulled your phone and reviewed pictures of the map. Cross-checking it with the street name, your chest shuttered. 

You were exactly where you needed to be. 

And you’d never hated that fact more. 

“Shit,” you whispered and started running. 

Why did they take a break now? Sure, they’d been going for days, but did they need to rest this very moment? No, they sure as hell didn’t. 

Throwing yourself through the crowds, people complained, others shoved you, almost knocking you off balance. They yelled as you stumbled over boxes and children and wares for sale. You were the disruptive one here, but there was no time to think or apologize. These people were in the direct line of fire and nobody would listen if you tried to convince them all to go back to the pier. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket but you kept moving. Chest heaving and arms pumping, you angled around corners, sliding as rain started falling, slicking the ground. Mud flew as you ran, catching your clothes and weighing you down. At least your medical supplies were in your backpack and (hopefully) wouldn’t get ruined by the oncoming downpour. 

You guessed you had twenty minutes. 

If you’d run faster, you could have already been inside. The rain poured and thunder crashed. Your clothes clung to your skin as mud slid down your body like oil in water. The downpour obscured almost everything in front of you.

It had to be close. 

Ten minutes when you checked the time.

Your phone buzzed again and again but you couldn’t stop. What did they want? What was happening? There was supposed to be as little communication as possible. You released a hysterical laugh as you almost knocked over an old man hauling towards the edge of the city. 

Eight minutes. 

You threw yourself towards the location Gareth had described. Panting and choking on your own breath, you ripped a knife from your pocket. There was no time to think or strategize. You apologized to no one and everyone again.

Throwing the door open you stumbled into the warehouse. Rows of discolored shipping containers towered over you on the floor, blocking your view. All the glass windows were intact, rising high into the sky; perfect for piercing skin when it blew. And trash, so much uncategorizable trash; everything from tires to shipping and moving equipment that looked more dangerous the longer you stared. 

The warehouse was nothing but a lovely mix of possible shrapnel. And you'd be lucky to make it out alive if you failed. You'd guessed those administering the blast knew they wouldn't either. 

The sounds of the city silenced as the door slammed behind you. 

First floor – that’s where Gareth said they would be.

Seven minutes. 

You shuttered as you reached out to feel for people. If you could sense them, you could find them faster than going row by row through containers. 

Waves crashed against the other side of the warehouse where it met the ocean. The building creaked and birds stuck in the rafters squawked as you moved. Rain pounded the tin roof like drums and the building rumbled with the impact. More than once you'd thought you were dead because of it. 

Running the perimeter, you bounded around shipping containers and boxes and tools strewn across the floor. 

There was nothing there that could be considered a bomb or a person. 

Throwing open the door to the stairs, you slipped and slid as you ran up,  clutching the bar like a life vest. 

Maybe Gareth had been wrong about it being downstairs. But the second floor was just an overhang with a few, bland offices looking down on the floor. 

It was too late to think about it. You threw open door after door. They crashed and shook as they flew open and slammed shut.  

After wasted minutes, you didn’t want to admit it, but you had to. Nothing was there – absolutely fucking nothing. 

You had to have missed it. That’s what was happening. In your panic, you’d missed something. So you started a pass again, even faster this time as the seconds ticked by in your mind. You hoped you counted them well. 

By the end of the second pass you accepted there was no one. You were well and truly alone. 

You struggled down the stairs, moving so fast you slipped and hit the bottom step. Shaking it off, you ran back to the middle of the hall. 

You spun around and around for one final check before your phone buzzed again. 

“There’s no one. No one’s here!” You could barely get the words out between the tears that dried your throat and wetted your face. 

You’d been wrong; Gareth had been wrong. And now everyone was in more danger than before.

One minute to three.

You pulled your phone out and read the most recent message on the screen. The worst words you’d ever read. 

Nothing at mine either.

“Either?” You groaned and devolved into panting, hysterical laughter. It rippled out of your throat, echoing through the hall like the world was mocking you for thinking you could do this, that you could help. 

The bombs were missing. All four of you and the entire town could be in the blast radius. It was about to be chaos – pure, rampant, unending chaos. 

Crouching, you covered your face with your hands, struggling to keep yourself from panicking any more.

“Breathe. Come on. You can breathe.” You shuttered through a few breaths and shook your hands out as they vibrated. “Think, think, you have to think!” 

Your knees wobbled as you dropped onto the floor, your stomach roiling like you were going to vomit. Mud and tears dripped onto the floor around you, along with blood from some injury you’d sustained but hadn’t noticed. 

Where were they? Where did they go? 

If the bombs weren’t here than they were –

Oh, God.

You should have known; you should have seen it coming. 

Then you heard it. A blast so loud and vibrant your ears rang and your vision whitened.

The building groaned and wobbled as the blast ignited.

And then you heard the screams. 

Three o'clock had come and you had failed. 

Chaos and fire and destruction raised from Hell itself. Smoke burned your eyes and coated your throat. Coughing, you stumbled out of the warehouse and towards the pier. The rain had stopped but that left the slick, muddy terrain. 

Your plan hadn’t worked; it hadn’t mattered. So now you needed to move; to think; to scream; to cry. But more than anything, you had to keep your head. And you had to get to –

Feitan.

You needed to get to Feitan.

The bond jolted like he’d had the identical thought: he needed to get to you. You hoped it meant he was alive because your chest crumbled at the thought of him lost in the debris. 

You had an idea, but you’d never tested it when seconds mattered. Now it needed to work: following the bond like a string back to him. Twisting and turning and flying, you’d use it like fate had brought you both to this moment, like it was your only goal to return to him. 

There was nothing before and nothing after, just this moment and what you chose to do. 

Sprinting through the streets, you wheezed as the smoke and ash coated your lungs and the smell of burning flesh and spilled blood unsettled your stomach. Bile raged in your throat and you gagged. 

But you had to keep moving. If you stopped, you’d die. If you stopped, Feitan would die. 

Scorching fires leapt between buildings with the wind, racing you through the world towards your destination. The people's screams and cries consumed you with the terror and fear and confusion. You couldn’t help them all now. All you could give them were the tears that blinded your vision in the already smoky air.  

You dodged and scaled and avoided limbs and shrapnel. 

Cultists in their regalia preached in the street, throwing their arms to the sky and dropping to their knees, like the world they’d created wasn’t burning around them. Maybe they reveled in it. Their light blue robes contrasted with the dark colors of destruction, making them look like shimmering salvation in a newly born purgatory. 

You’d kill them all. You’d kill every last one of them. Burn them for what they’d done. 

The bond shuttered like you were getting close, rattling as you moved the right direction or redirected at the wrong one. Feitan had been on the other side of town. If he wasn’t also moving towards you – well, you prayed your legs would hold out. 

You hooked a corner. The chaos was all the same, but there was something else there. A ripple of tension shot down your neck. Searching wildly as you ran, you tried to place the eyes watching you. 

You stumbled through a heavy plume of smoke and barely kept upright when you saw him. 

The world slowed; the screams and crackling flames silenced; the smoke swirled free of your gaze, giving you more room to see his face among the massacre he’d created. 

Your same eyes; your same nose; your same build.

It could only be him. 

It was him. 

Marco. 

He was so young and so, so old. He had morphed into something you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t just the billowing robes and determination, it was the lines of his face, the way the bags hung heavy under his eyes. 

He called to you, pointing, running with an urgency you couldn't understand. Until he stopped, mouth wide. 

Your shuddering breath and quivering hands made it hard to focus. He was here; you could end it. Now. No one else would die at Marco’s hands. Enough already had. 

You pulled your knife and hunted for the monster behind his eyes, the proof this was what he'd always been. It would be easier to kill him if he wasn't the boy you grew up with. But all you saw was Marco and the life you’d shared together. Sneaking frozen treats during hot summer nights after your parents fell asleep. Playing games where you’d argue for hours about who'd play what role that meant you never played what you’d intended. Obstacle courses created out of furniture on stormy nights when you couldn't sleep. 

It was done with one cut and your fingers in the wound.

Times he'd nursed you back to health when your parents couldn't leave work.

You were free.

The guy that broke the neighbor kid's nose after he wouldn't stop begging you to date him.

The tears came harder and your throat felt like it was ripping at the feeling.  

Sharing stories about stupid childhood crushes over steaming hot chocolate and melting marshmallows.

Your hands shook with the knife. Everything you’d worked towards was in front of you for you to take. One cut; one little cut was all you needed. 

Doing each other's homework after dinner because your skills were exact opposites. 

You stepped forward and Marco stepped back. 

There was the scar on his temple he'd gotten when you’d shoved him after a stupid argument you couldn't recall.

His arms flailed and his lips moved so quickly you couldn’t read them. You cocked your head – he was speaking nonsense. Or the adrenaline pumping in your veins blocked you from hearing him over the rush in your ears. 

Marco – the person you'd cut off, stopped talking to after you left home. Not because of hate, but simply because of distance and lack of shared interest. 

Marco screamed your name and the world came back in focus long enough to hear the next blast ignite. 

The roar of the explosion blew your ears out and you hit the ground with everyone else. 

Pain seared your chest, but it barely registered as you watched Marco. You’d rather die before losing sight of him. 

Your entire body vibrated. Bones rang with the impact and muscles strained to keep you from passing out. And it felt like part of your flesh was torn free. You were woozy and faint, like you’d been shot through. 

On all fours, you dragged a hand over your body, searching for the source of your strange pain. 

“What?” you tried to say, but the ash in your throat made it come out as a cough. There was nothing beyond the bleeding cut from earlier. Nothing that would cause so much pain. 

Your heart rammed in your chest like someone heaving the rope of a chapel bell. Like a calling. But to what? 

Everything from your mind to the world around you fogged. The world looked like glass, like you could separate yourself from the mayhem if you tried. Now that you were aware, you felt the sorrow in the air, shivered at how hot the flames burned, and choked at the feeling of ash settling in your eyes and mouth and throat. People wailed while dragging bodies of friends and family from the rubble. You covered your mouth to keep the sobs at bay. 

Your body creaked as you stumbled to your feet along with your brother. He was the terror at the center of this madness. 

“I can’t let you leave.” You were barely able to speak, but you and Marco were so close, he understood. If you took a few more steps, you'd caress his face before killing him. Had he done that to your parents? Held them as he cut them to shreds like they were nothing but pieces in his sick game? 

“I know,” he said with a gentle smile, like the world wasn’t burning around you. It was so out of place here and now. It was the smile of a brother who’d accepted his sister could not be deterred. Maybe he really did want to die for what he’d done. You would have wanted to. 

“I –” you needed to ask, to understand before he died. “Why did you do it?”

The searing pain ripped through your chest again and you stumbled. Everything hurt now. Your back ached like bones had shattered and your skin felt hot to the touch. 

It was pain, yes. 

So much pain. 

But not yours. 

No, definitely not yours. 

It was his. 

The terror of that realization bubbled into maniacal laughter. 

You looked behind you, the way the bond demanded you run, and then back at Marco who watched with unbridled horror as you laughed. Your fear and pain and fury bubbled up in hysterics you couldn’t contain. 

Either Marco could die or Feitan would die.

Feitan’s stalled breaths rattled the bond, begging you to find him.

Too slow. His breath was fading. He only had minutes left at best if he kept fighting. And you felt it in your soul. The rope that bound you and Feitan together frayed, peeling away with every breath until it was hanging in tatters, held by weak strands ready to snap. You weren’t sure you could survive it. You would split with the rope when it fragmented.

Feitan was dying.

Your soulmate was dying. 

You had to make a choice and make it then. 

Everything you’d ever wanted, everything you’d ever need was in two different directions. The worst decision you would ever need to make. 

But there was only one right answer. 

With a final look at Marco, a promise that this would not be the last time you met, you turned and ran like nothing else in the world mattered but Feitan.

Chapter Text

All you knew was wind and fire and running until you couldn’t breathe. No wrong turns, no confusion about where you needed to be. The bond latched on to the pits of your soul, clutching for purchase before it fell into the depths of darkness. There was no you and Feitan, just one being that would surely die if you stopped. 

You couldn’t rationalize where you ended and Feitan began. Foreign thoughts and rampant fear co-mingled with pain and words in a language you couldn’t understand. A language of death itself, so other-worldly in how it begged you for salvation. It all struck down the bond, screaming and thrashing, demanding release. 

Feitan wanted to die. 

You needed him to live.  

The fear was yours but the surety of death was him. But you couldn’t be sure when you weren’t two entities any longer. If he died, you would gladly fall into eternity with him at your side; a part of your soul in life and death.

Throwing yourself around corners, you slipped and slid, but never fell. 

Bodies littered the ground – too many people, but none were him. And you were sure you’d know the moment you closed in.

The bond hit you like a firecracker when you landed in a semi-deserted road. People screamed and thunder crashed, but it never got to you when there was nothing but him on your mind and in your soul. 

“Fei,” you yelled, hitting the ground harder than intended. “You fucking bastard.” But there was no bite through your choking tears; an unspoken prayer to whatever deity would listen. 

He was just as covered in blood and mud as you, but worse off with a gaping wound on the side of his chest. 

Feitan was yelling – or his version of yelling – in the language you’d heard in your head, like death-incarnate had its own language between lovers. 

“Shut up,” you said, tossing your bag to the side and leaning over him. Body shaking, you tried to keep yourself up. “I have no idea what you’re saying so shut up and save your breath.” Still there was no anger in your words, they were said between tears and your own breath to keep you steady.

You ripped off your sleeve and bunched it up. “This is going to hurt so badly. I’m so sorry.” You’d never pleaded with a patient before, begging their forgiveness for what you were going to do. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault." You shoved the gag in Feitan’s mouth but he spit it out, spewing words you guessed were curses for daring to think him weak for needing something to bite down on.

“You are so difficult,” you said with so much kindness, resting a hand on his cheek. He was cold. So deathly cold and parchment pale. "You and your friends are the biggest assholes I've ever met." You pressed your hand into the wound and Feitan bucked at the pain, groaning, but not crying out. Mud splashed your face and fresh rain washed it away. "But I've never felt more at home." His ribs snapped back in place and he yelped this time as golden light rampaged through his veins. If you kept talking, distracting him, maybe you could keep his thoughts from the pain. "You promised me you wouldn't die, so you're not going to unless I'm going with you." 

Your voice felt so small against the now falling rain and rolling thunder. And even smaller against the wails of those who hadn't been able to reach their loved ones in time. 

Hovering over Feitan, you kissed his cheek as the pain built, protecting him from the rain. 

This wasn't sanitary, this wasn't safe, but it was your only chance.

You felt it now, the pain down the bond. You'd never felt your own ability before. It ripped like a beast and burned like a star so deep you weren't sure you'd stay conscious. And you didn't know how Feitan still was. You kissed his forehead as you twisted your fingers, forcing veins and tendons to reconnect. Your veins burned where fresh blood flowed through Feitan's and your bones ached where they'd reformed. Body shaking, you held off your inevitable collapse onto his chest, where you'd jostle the wound. 

"Fuck." Feitan hissed. And then threw a string of expletives in the language you never knew he could speak. The language you'd so aptly associated with death. 

Feitan's eyes fluttered and you patted his face. 

"No, no, no, no. Come on, Fei," you whispered in his ear, "I need you to stay awake for me, okay?"

You gasped as his hand clutched your side. He was speaking again, in the language you didn't understand. 

"I need you to say it in our common language," your voice shook as you pressed back up to hover over his face. His skin was reforming under your hand in a way it never had before, healing more than you thought possible. But your migraine hit worse than ever too. The rush of adrenaline and excessive use of your ability drove you down towards darkness. You only had moments of consciousness left. "What do you need?"

Feitan's hand flew to the back of your neck, guiding you towards him. It was the caress of a lover, the way he cradled your neck like you were something precious. 

He breathed against your lips, somehow smiling through the excruciating, soul-cracking pain. 

"So perfect for me," he whispered, adjusting your face just so.

Then, among ash and death and unending chaos, he kissed you like you ruled it all, like nothing in the world could touch you now. He was cold but the bond burned, braiding you together like everything had changed. There was a beauty in the chaos when you lived it together. Feitan nipped at your lips, whispering something that sounded sickly sweet and so alluring in his other language. You gasped against his lips as he tugged you closer and kissed you deeper.  

Your vision blurred as the skies darkened. Until all that was left was the feeling of his lips moving so perfectly against yours and the promise they embedded.

You fell into nothing, not caring if you lived or died, because either fate would be with him. 

It was dark, but you knew you weren't alone.

The void, the swirling darkness of more blues than blacks, was dotted in the center with sparkling, vivid light in a color you’d never seen. The bond in its purest physical form. It wasn’t possible, but it was real. The light swirled like a vortex, consuming the darkness and the stars that appeared in your vision, like they’d always been and always would be. 

Galaxies rippled at your fingertips, twisting and curling when you strummed light and stars like strings. But they still swirled, engulfed by the shimmering light. 

You could stay here, rest, let it consume you. But if there was a chance you were alive, you had to go back. Because you knew now, Feitan was no longer here, and anywhere he wasn't could never be right. 

You opened your eyes and immediately covered them to block the light. 

Gasping for air, you only then realized – the place you'd gone had none. You'd have suffocated in a lovely prison of fading darkness. 

You covered your eyes to block the light. Rain ran up your back and through your hair as you swayed. Your side hit metal and you hissed. 

"Watch it," a voice said. Feitan's voice. It was pretty. He was vicious and cruel and so inexplicably perfect. You wished, in your migraine-dazed state, that he'd kiss you again instead of speaking and worsening the pulsing in your head. 

Oh, right.

Feitan had kissed you – but you weren't sure if it had been in this world of ember and ash or as you'd fallen through the swirling galaxy. He’d been there in the beginning, you were sure of it, but you couldn’t prove it; you couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. 

"Sorry," Gareth said. 

You tried to flip over but a solid body blocked your path. You didn't want to uncover your eyes, but you swayed so badly, you needed to know who to address when you told them you were about to vomit.

Peeking out from the cover of your arm, you choked when the ground was closer to your head than your feet. 

Upside-down, you hung from Gareth's shoulder. He hiked you up and gently placed you in the back of a black SUV. If you didn’t trust them so much, you’d think they were kidnapping you. 

You vaguely recognized that there was another row of bench seats in front of you, and you swore you saw Feitan and Gareth moving to crawl in. 

“You’re not dead!” Shalnark cheered from the front passenger seat. “I’m honestly glad to hear it. I’d hate for you to just disappear one day.” 

“Fuck off,” you groaned, pressing your face into the seat to keep the light down. Even with the heavy window tinting, it felt too bright. “But thank you both for getting us. You didn’t need to.” A heavy coat hit your back and you wrapped yourself in it. “I thought we were –” you couldn’t finish. “Thank you for tracking us, Gareth.”

Gareth made a non-committal sound but mumbled, “Glad you’re back.” 

The car took off at a normal pace. You didn’t know where you were but you figured you were out of the city. 

A woman you didn’t recognize was driving. Her wispy, blonde hair blew around her from the cracked windows. Her heavy blue cloak hung from her body as she clutched the wheel, but she didn’t acknowledge your presence. Likely this new chauffeur was Shalnark’s doing. 

“You got one,” Feitan said, sounding pleased.

How was he up? His head lolled against the seat, but he was up. You hoped he wasn’t messing with his side. You hadn’t gotten to see what it looked like. It could be infected; it could still be open. There was so much that could have gone wrong but you were certain if you tried to move, you’d vomit. 

The words and light hurt too much so you covered your face with Gareth’s jacket to black out everyting around you. 

 “I think it’s a good one, too,” Shalnark said. “She seemed like the ringleader down at the pier.” Shalnark huffed like he was frustrated. “What you two pulled was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.” Great, Shalnark of all people was scolding you now. “I’d expect it of you, but not Fei. That was the most reckless thing you’ve ever done.” He was quiet for a moment but you could tell he wasn’t done talking. “When you didn’t end up at the extraction point – Gareth agreed to track you. You would have been dead if we hadn’t come for you. TPI was rounding up bodies and I’m sure they would have been pleased to find yours. If you hadn’t been dead before, you would have been then.” 

“Are you done?” Feitan said softly. It was posed as a question, but it didn’t sound like one. 

“No, I’m not,” Shalnark said. “You two almost got yourselves blown up and it nearly cost us the job.” 

You didn’t particularly give a shit about the job when an entire town had been sacrificed in the process and you’d let Marco get away. But as you listened to how Feitan sulked, and imagined how differently this car ride could have gone had you not made the choice you did, you couldn’t regret it.

“That is enough,” Feitan said. “Get the point.”  

"I don't care what you say," you mumbled, hoping they could hear you from under the jacket. "I made the right choice, and I'd do it again."

You shivered at the stroke of approval coursing down the bond. The new link between you and Feitan that surpassed words and expressions, lies and half-truths. Hopefully, he felt your approval too. 

You were thankful for the silence that permeated the rest of the trip home. 

The world felt cold as you laid alone in your bed. You’d checked Feitan’s wounds when you arrived home and then disappeared. After what felt like an unending shower, you slipped into your room. There were no words, no supplications to be made that could change what had happened. Having vomited twice already, you felt the acid in your stomach roiling with nothing left to expel. 

You’d called the inn, just to see that the woman you’d met was okay, but there’s been no answer. 

The boys all sat in the backyard, bickering as they played cards. But Mai sat in the room with you, scribbling on the side of a notebook. It was likely notes they’d taken, but you hadn’t asked. And they hadn’t shared what they’d been up to while you’d been away. 

“I can make dinner tonight,” they said. Hopefully they wouldn’t ask what they could do to help, because you didn’t know and you didn’t want to admit it. “I’ll bring it up here so you don’t have to eat with the guys.”

“Sure,” you said, your voice distant in your ears. 

“I could bring Feitan up here too,” they said. “I’m sure he’d like to see you.” 

“That’s fine,” you said, now not really understanding what Mai was saying or what you were agreeing to. Your body was in bed, but every other thing about you was stuck in the city. 

Feitan joined you that night and didn't leave your side as you slept through the following day. He said nothing, just sitting at the table, reading something you couldn’t make out in the crisp moonlight. If he'd slept, you didn't see it through your own fits of sleep that eventually lessened the migraine. Your throat burned from the smoke inhalation but you barely registered that pain over the strange numbness you were worried only Feitan could cure.  

Eyeing him, you debated what you had done that there was no sign of shrapnel injury, or throat pain from the smoke, or a fucking scar where his body had been blown to bits. Feitan looked better than he had before you left. And if you focused on him, you wouldn’t have to focus on what you’d seen or what you’d done. 

You searched for the link the bond had created and you stilled when you found it. It was softer now, hiding under the rocks below the currents for you to discover at your leisure, instead of riding the frothing waves, forcing you under. 

“Feels – strange.” Feitan leaned back in his chair, his gaze tracking every adjustment of your legs under the covers and shift of your arms as you moved the blankets around you. The silky pillowcase scraped against the cuts on your face and you winced as it caught.

Swallowing, you said, “Is this a normal thing to happen?” Your voice cracked and you reached for the water at your bedside. “My parents weren’t soulmates and I didn’t really know many. So, I don’t know what is and isn’t normal and I didn’t see much about this kind of phenomenon in my research.”

You gulped down the water to abate the sting from speaking. 

Feitan squinted and readjusted in his chair. “Would tell you if I knew.” 

You smiled softly into your pillow at the particularly fluffy response in Feitan-speak. He was so evasive for someone who spoke so little. But you liked it – the strange and unique charm in the way he used words, especially since you guessed your common language was not his first. 

“What do you think about it?” you said. There was no reason not to ask. You’d put this asshole’s entire body back together, he could answer a few hard questions to distract you from whatever wave of sorrow would hit you the moment you were alone again. 

“It is –” Feitan turned away, watching the trees sway outside the window, “invasive.” 

“It felt like it was screaming," you said, hoping to draw his attention back to you, "and then when I got to you it felt like it was trying to drown me."

Feitan just hummed his agreement. That would probably be all you got out of him about it for now. He'd said his piece and he was done.

"I didn't know you spoke multiple languages." You sat up and tugged your knees to yourself, wrapping your arms around your legs into a ball.

Feitan looked over now. "You did not ask." 

And that's when it hit you – what Feitan had been trying to say to you since the moment you met him. Offering up information was not something he would often do, but he would answer (if only evasively) if you did the one thing you hadn't been doing enough of – asking.

"I'm sorry," you said, struggling to meet the sudden intensity in his stare. 

"Nothing to apologize for," Feitan said, frowning. You swallowed. You'd said something wrong in his eyes and you needed to defend it.

"But it's my fault," you said. "If I'd –" you said, finally looking his way again. He stared like you were the only thing in the world worthy of his attention. "I found Marco yesterday." Feitan's eyes widened. "But the bond was – I had to pick. You were dying and I let Marco go so I could save –" You cleared your throat. "I’m so confused because Marco was going to let me kill him. And I think he tried to warn me about the second blast,” you said. “But I felt you dying. The bond was fraying and I thought I’d break with it if I lost you." Feitan's face had gone blank. "I wasn’t scared of the fire or the death at that moment, or even scared of letting Marco go – I was scared for you and nothing else mattered.” 

“Don’t need to be scared for me,” Feitan said, glossing over everything else you had said. 

You smiled softly. “You’re so full of shit. You were dying and I’d never been more terrified in my life.” 

“I said -”

“I know what you said.” You rested your head on your knees and swallowed away the pain in your throat from speaking. “You must have been terrified. You were looking for me too – I could feel it.” He just raised a brow and quirked his lip like he was challenging your assessment. “I don't know how I healed you so well, but I can't tell you how relieved I am that I did. You scared the shit out of me. And I'm sorry if I scared you too.” 

He watched you for a moment. He was so lovely when his walls were down. You could see it in his eyes – the key to his soul.

"Knew you'd come back to me," Feitan said, slowly, carefully considering his words. Your heart pounded at the idea that you weren't returning to the group, you were returning to him. "Too stubborn to die."

You choked out a laugh. "I don't know if you're talking about yourself or me."

"Not funny," he said, but his lip quirked. How glad you were that his face was visible to you again. There was so much difference you could see in him when he let you.

God, you just needed him to kiss you again. 

"I'm a joy to be around," you said, "and if you don't think so, you can go."

"Always with the orders," Feitan said, opening his book back up like he was done speaking. But you could see him peeking at you out of the corner of his eye. Like he knew there was one other topic that needed to be discussed.

"Did you see it?" you said, a chill running through your body at the thought. "The galaxy?"

Feitan nodded. "Don't ask. Do not know what it was."

You snorted. "Well, I plan to avoid too many outings for a while that don't involve research, because I don't feel like getting blown up or sent to purgatory again." And what you didn't add, and what you hoped Feitan understood, was that you couldn't have another innocent town or person's loss on your conscience. There was no way to write every name of those lost on your leg, so you'd simply write the town name, and hope it was penitence enough. 

The feeling must have gotten to Feitan, probably through the bond, even if you didn't mean to send it. He snapped his book closed and looked back at you. 

"Made a promise yesterday," he said, so casually but you could sense the undercurrent of excitement in his words. 

So distraction it was and distraction you'd take.

Feitan stood and took his time pushing in his chair. You didn’t bother speaking as he stalked towards you. Last time he’d done this, you’d seen him as a predator, something dangerous. He was dangerous, but there was more promise in how he moved and it thrilled you more than terrified you. 

He rested a knee on the bed. Looking down at you, he pressed the pads of his fingers against your chest and pushed you onto the sheets. You landed and kicked the blanket away. Feitan dragged his fingers across your cheek and caressed your bottom lip with his thumb. Instead of speaking or offering an apology for something he clearly wasn’t sorry for (like scaring you to death by almost dying), he leaned down to kiss you. His fingers traced from your face to your throat, where he clutched lightly. Nipping your lip, he took advantage of your gasp and deepened the kiss. 

It was so similar and so different to how he’d kissed you before. And when he climbed on top of you, you thought you could forget everything else and fall into him, under whatever trace his touch delivered. 

He kissed down your neck, sucking on the skin until you knew it would bruise. The soft pain and burning heat from his lips felt so nice you groaned and turned your head so he could keep working down. 

“Fei, please,” you begged. "I need you."

Feitan tugged your sleeve to expose the skin of your shoulder and just enough of your collarbone to work with. He gripped a fist in your hair and tugged, making you arch against him as he bit at your shoulder, deep enough you were sure it would leave pretty marks all over your skin. Each bite stung so nicely until he pressed his lips to the spot he’d marked. Whimpering, you snapped your mouth shut to keep it down. 

“So shy,” Feitan chided, skimming his breath across your neck as he moved to speak against your ear. “Won’t let me hear your pretty noises,” he said with a smirk you could feel against your skin. “But begging for me like a whore.” 

He leaned back to watch your reaction as he swatted your thigh. His eyes widening as your lips parted. You whimpered again, enraptured as his smile grew when you gave him what he wanted. 

Whispering, you begged him ‘please’ over and over again like a prayer. You knew he’d love it, love you begging for what he wouldn’t give. 

His free hand glided down your neck like he considered gripping it again, then grazed your breasts, and finally dropping low enough you were relieved to assume they’d slip under your waistband. But they went under your shirt instead, slowly working their way back up until he was holding his hand below your breasts. His thumb swiped just under and you groaned, trying to angle so he would do what you wanted. But he didn’t. Instead, he gripped your side and shifted you back in place.   

You couldn’t get enough of his skin. Your hands too slipped under his shirt and onto his back. Clutching hard, you dug your nails into the muscles he hid so well. Feitan sucked in a breath.

“Like that?” you asked softly, hoping you were doing what he wanted, what he liked.

“What?” Feitan whispered against your collar bone. Angling his head to look up at you, he said with a wicked smile, “Don’t feel anything.” 

“Fuck you.” 

He chuckled and you gripped harder. Feitan retaliated by pressing against you, letting you feel everything you were doing to him. He spread your knees apart and settled back in place. His forearms lingered on either side of your head. There was nothing but Feitan as he looked down at you. 

“Dirty mouth,” he said, leaning down to kiss you. It was slow and intentional with an uncharacteristic softness in the way he handled you against him. He kissed like he had all the time in the world and he was going to take every second of it. 

You linked your ankles with his to keep him in place. It wasn’t like he couldn’t escape, but you liked the idea of keeping him present as long as possible. 

“Do something about my mouth, then,” you said, forgetting how to breathe when his smile grew and his eyes widened at the implication that was more demand than request. 

“Not yet,” he cooed, kissing down your face until he could speak in your ear. He nipped and you hissed as he bit down harder than he had before. “Nothing to say?" He taunted as he rocked his hips against yours. You just shook your head 'no' because words were too long gone. "Won’t talk so big when I fuck you. Will you, pretty girl?” 

You shook your head 'no' again because everything was on fire. Your face burned and your heart rammed in your chest and your breath was lost somewhere between now and when he'd kissed you. 

Words felt nearly impossible to muster so you stroked his back and arched against him to show him how badly you needed him.

He slid a hand back around your throat and clutched tighter. It was a mix of pleasurable feelings and pain from your sore throat. You couldn’t help yourself and slid a hand into his hair to hold his face against you. Gently scratching his scalp, your breath stuttered when you felt him relax against you and smile. His hand on your neck eased up and clutched the side of your face to run his thumb over your cheek. 

Feitan was so warm and smelled like spice; much better than the smell of smoke you couldn’t seem to escape. It was easy to get lost when he was against you. 

“I think you’re the one talking a big game,” you finally said, gasping when he rolled against you and bit at your ear. 

“Maybe,” Feitan said, “ watch it or I shut you up…” the implication of when lingered between you. 

So you just needed to tease him until he snapped.

Easy. 

And so frustratingly difficult. 

“You might have to tie me up too or else –”

“That is a given,” Feitan said, snagging your wrists and locking them over your head. He stared down at you with the most self-satisfied smirk you’d ever seen. 

He stratled you, leaning just enough out of range that you couldn’t reach to kiss him. You reached up and he shifted back a hair. When he leaned down again, you were sure you could kiss him, but he backed up again. 

“Want a kiss?” He leaned down to graze his lips against yours. You went to meet him and he pulled away again, just enough out of reach. “So needy.” 

“Don’t pretend you’re not loving this,” you said, breathlessly, daring to watch him directly. You didn’t miss the red on his cheeks or the shine in his eye. Or every other sign he was into it. 

“Stupid comment,” Feitan said with no remorse; the most asshole way to say he was enjoying it. “When I do fuck you,” he said, unable to contain the wicked glee in his voice, “ –only thing you say –” he whispered against your lips,  “–is my name.”  

And when he finally kissed you again, it felt so perfect, you could forget everything else. 

Until Phinks banged on the door.

“Would you two come on out, already?” Phinks said. “We gave ya more than enough time.” 

You expected Feitan to be upset, but he just turned his head to the door with a smile. 

“Our new friend wants to talk to you,” Feitan said. “Kept her waiting.” 

Chapter Text

Where you’d previously seen little customization (nothing that reflected this light and classic mansion was the Spiders’), your idea was dispelled when you saw what must have once been a basement befit for the grimy criminals you were destined to spend your life with. 

Wooden stairs creaked as you stepped down. Heavy, stale air pressed against your lungs the deeper you wandered. Hands shaking, you blinked – mind jumping between where you were and what you’d found below the refrigerator. Formaldehyde stung your nose and you gagged – even though you had no idea whether Feitan kept any down there or if your mind concocted it of memories you didn’t want to relive. 

Grabbing the handrails, you covered your mouth and nose, breathing quickly. It was too similar, too dark, too constricting, too – 

Feitan rested his hand on the back of your neck. He was cold compared to the heat bubbling up through you as the panic tried to burrow deep enough you’d have to flee. 

“Not that place,” Feitan said, grazing his fingers up into your hair to pull your head back. “With me right now.” 

The light from above the stairs cut across his face like a stroke of paint. His eyes and lips burned brightly and your breath turned shallow for an entirely different reason. 

“Fei,” you breathed. 

“Demanding woman,” he said, leaning down from the step above to kiss you. He spun you to face him and clutched the sides of your neck. His thumbs roved over your cheeks, making them burn. The smell of him was close enough to cover the scents your mind crafted of their own volition. 

“Keep it movin’ idiots,” Phinks said, walking past and bumping you both along the way. 

Feitan fumbled to hold you to himself. “Hands off.” 

“Now you’re just makin’ shit up to cause a fuss,” Phinks said, waving over his head as he disappeared into the roiling darkness at the bottom of the stairs. 

Phinks barely grazed you, but apparently that was enough to set off Feitan’s possessive streak. You’d figured it would go away if you’d made Feitan comfortable in whatever it was you two were doing. 

You’d been wrong. 

“It’s fine,” you whispered to Feitan, adjusting the collar of his shirt and stretching up to kiss him softly. “He barely touched me.” 

“Should not touch you at all,” Feitan said, scowling like Phinks had committed a capital offense. Nothing had changed from that day so long ago when Feitan threatened to remove Phinks’ hands for him if he touched you again. “Only I get to touch.” 

“Gareth carried me out of the city the other day,” you said, suddenly realizing it was a mistake to mention it when Feitan’s face darkened further. 

“Special circumstance,” Feitan said with such finality, you were fine accepting the conversation was over and he wouldn’t elaborate. 

Until you decided to push it just a little more for the thrill of seeing the twisted, possessive force behind his eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” you said, breathing against his cheek and running your hands down his chest, letting your fingers skim over his muscles. He’d frozen to listen, enraptured with the lilt of your voice. “I only want you to touch me.” 

“Wasn’t worried,” Feitan said, his voice slightly strained. 

What an asshole. Of course he was worried or he wouldn’t be acting out the way he was. You weren’t certain if that meant he was or was not confident in the state of whatever you were to one another. 

All you could do was smile lightly as he pushed past you to make his way down the stairs. You sucked in a breath when you realized you’d lose sight of him in the darkness if you didn’t move. The smells, the memories, the feelings would all come back if you waited another moment; spent another second alone in the light when you needed to fall into the darkness. Plunging down the stairs you gasped when somebody grabbed you again.

“Breathe or go upstairs,” Feitan said, guiding you down the last few steps. He held you in place while you decided; while your eyes adjusted so you could just barely make out his features in the low light. 

“But our new friend needs to talk to me,” you said.

“Good girl,” Feitan said, shoving you in front of him to walk through the halls that opened up around you. 

“Oh, so you can push me but Phinks can’t?” you said, barely breathing another half breath before you collided with Feitan in front of you.

Voice soft and vicious and carrying in the emptiness of the dark halls, he said, “Say that again.” 

Feitan gripped your jaw, shoving his thumb in your mouth to press down on your tongue, opening your mouth like he could force you to speak. And honestly, he probably could if he wanted to. 

“I didn’t say anything,” you said, mumbling with his finger in the way. But you couldn't contain your smile. You held his stare. You would not be the first to back down. Seconds passed and finally Feitan ripped his hand away, continuing to walk ahead of you like you hadn’t had the conversation at all.

You’d accept that as a win – or a truce until you weren’t busy and he paid you back for your teasing. Perhaps joking about the territorial thing was taking it just a hair too far with Feitan. 

You passed doors and rooms and strange alcoves that looked human-crafted around the bedrock. Long gone were the structured walls and square outline of the original basement where you’d descended the rickety stairs. This was an add-on you weren’t sure was even possible to craft. But they had done it because the Spiders were persistent assholes that even death itself could not impede.

Chains rattled on walls and ceilings, machinery beeped and whirred, and tools you didn’t want to imagine the uses for popped in and out of sight as you walked deeper. Different sections were built for different members: Computers and other devices for Shalnark, torture toys for Feitan, and you couldn’t quite decide what was for Phinks when you realized you’d never once heard what he actually did other than shit talk Feitan to his face like only friends could. Plus, other items could be for other Spiders you had yet to meet (and were starting to think you’d never meet). 

The mansion was massive, but the humid air, condensation dripping from the walls that plopped into puddles, inconsistent light making it easy to catch uneven ground, and the strange shape of the underground itself made the basement feel like something stretching beyond the confines of the home above. And it very well could considering the amount of land the Spiders possessed. 

Almost turning a corner, you heard voices. You stalled before Feitan, who seemed keen on moving forward and ignoring the conversation. But you couldn’t, not when Mai was involved.

"What're you doin' down here?" Phinks said.

"I wanted to hear what the girl they got had to say," Mai said, perfectly reasonably, like they were having a normal conversation. But there was a hint of challenge in their tone. "I want to be a part of your world too and you are doing everything you can to distract me." Mai paused for just a moment. "You're treating me like some housewife when I'm very, very useful."

“But thought you liked doing stuff around the house,” Phinks said. "I want ya to do stuff you like."

“I do, but I want to help too!” Mai said, their voice strained, bereft of their composure from a moment ago. “I’m not useless. I might not be her but I can help.” They sounded so earnest, like it mattered too much to drop. “I’m good at collecting information. I’m skilled with details. I can help.”  

Feitan looked back, scowling. But you shook your head and pointed at the ground. You were staying. Eavesdropping or not, Mai was not okay and you hadn’t seen it. 

“Hold on,” Phinks said, more meek than you’d ever think he would speak. “I didn't say you were useless. I said I wanna keep you safe. And safe means away from all this shit.” 

Feitan slithered back towards you, pressing you into the wall with his body and holding a finger over his lips to quiet you. Uneven bedrock pressed into your back as Feitan pressed into your front, making you nearly forget that anything else was happening. 

It was like he wanted you to make a sound and get caught, knowing that he had an effect on you.

“Keeping me safe sounds the same as being useless,” Mai said. “I agreed not to go last time and look what happened? Our friends almost died!” Their voice echoed down the hall. You knew what Mai wanted to say: that their Nen could have helped more than any of them knew. But the problem was exactly that – nobody knew. “I can’t live with myself if something happens to them and I’m not there to help.” 

“You could have died!” Phinks sounded devastated, like the idea itself was painful. “I jus’ – I jus’ found you, alright? Don’t go dyin' on me already.” 

Feitan chuckled softly in your ear as if the conversation was funny. You didn’t really think so when Phinks’ form of possessiveness was cloistering Mai away. Feitan let you run wild and reveled in it, Phinks clearly didn’t want that for Mai. 

“There are things worth dying for,” Mai said with so much finality, you couldn’t help but respect it. “If you won’t support me helping, you don’t need to know what I’m doing.”

Mai stormed into the hall and their eyes widened when they saw you around the corner. You sputtered and tried to put together the words to apologize. How wrong you’d been to assume they were perfect. How wrong you’d been to assume Mai was fine with what they’d been doing. 

“We were just –” you tried to say, but the words fell off.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mai said, softly so Phinks wouldn't hear. “I have something I want to do and I want you there. Let me know when you're done down here so we can plan.” They looked at Feitan who raised his brows like he was somewhat interested. “You and Phinks better stay out of it. We have lives outside of you two.” 

They stormed off before you could say anything else.

Feitan’s lips quivered like he was trying to hold back a smile. 

“They threatened you,” you whispered and covered your mouth to block the sound of your laughter. 

“Risky,” Feitan said, like he found it funnier than concerning.

“Needed,” you mumbled and Feitan’s face morphed into a pleasant smile warning you to ‘watch it.’  

Feitan tugged you along to make it look like you’d been walking the whole time. And you hoped it would work because the only thing worse than eavesdropping was getting caught eavesdropping. Phinks stumbled out so disoriented, you doubted he even saw you. He nearly tumbled into you both heading the direction you and Feitan also travelled, but for some reason, it felt like he’d seen right through you.  

A dozen twists and turns later, you clutched at Feitan’s hand to ensure you didn’t get separated. Your fingers slipped between his; soft skin against calloused. He jerked at the contact and looked over his shoulder like you’d stabbed him in the back while he wasn’t looking. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled and pulled your hand away. “I know we’ve not done a lot of that.” But your hand didn’t make it far. Feitan huffed and tugged you towards him by the hand. He slipped his fingers back between yours.

“Scared to get lost if you don’t hold my hand?” Feitan said, oh so mockingly. But he looked straight ahead like he didn’t want to face you. As if he needed a good excuse to touch you like that, in such a strange, intimate fashion. You’d held his hand before, but never for long, and definitely not like this. 

“I won’t,” you said, letting him tug you closer, “I’m with you.” 

He squinted like he was thinking about how best to knock you down a peg. But he was smart enough to know he’d already given you exactly what you wanted and anything he’d say wouldn’t dispel the triumph. 

“You are strange,” Feitan said, but still didn’t remove his hand. And you thought you saw a tightness in his jaw like he didn’t know what to do with his face, or how to react. 

But he didn’t know it was easier to keep your hands steady if he held them. Easier not to think about what had happened or what you were going to do. An escape. Freedom from the cage fate soldered around you when you’d looked away for a moment too long. 

You walked for far less time than you would have liked. Feitan dropped your hand as you turned a corner. Phinks and Shalnark lounged in rickety chairs, watching the pretty, blonde woman sitting on the other side of a floor to ceiling gate. 

The bedrock was larger here, and rougher. You dodged stalagmites as you entered and ducked as you nearly collided with a stalactite. There was nothing appealing about the humid, dusty, rock-embedded room. What a perfect place for a single jail cell. 

Shalnark looked mildly interested and Phinks looked like a dam ready to shatter. But you couldn’t show you noticed when he, for some reason, either didn’t notice you earlier or was pretending not to. 

The woman who’d driven the SUV’s arms were chained to the wall, her wrists twisted at a strange angle as the binds linked her to the bedrock. Splotchy bruises littered her body and her previously sleek hair frizzed and dripped with dirt and blood. Between two black eyes, a broken nose, and a split lip with dried blood on her chin from something Feitan had done to her face, she should have been broken, her fighting spirit should have long since withered at Feitan’s hands. But the satisfaction in her eyes proved otherwise. 

“I always knew I’d die from this,” she said with too much pride in what she’d done. “I’m just glad I got longer than expected.” 

You went rigid at her voice; frigid with a rage you didn’t know you possessed for anyone other than Marco. It seeped through you, cold and painful, like a virus you couldn’t treat. You wanted to hurt this one, and the prospect felt like a corruption so deep, you couldn’t hack it out with a blade. 

Was that you? Was it Feitan seeping through the bond? Or was it the culmination of everything these people had done – and what this one specifically had done at the pier? And worst yet – was it penance for failing to do the one thing you’d set out to do? 

“This woman claims to know you,” Shalnark said, picking at his nails like he wasn’t really interested in what was going on. “Old friend?” 

He sat with crumpled files in his lap that must have come off the woman. Burn marks and blood sullied them, but Shalnark had no problem rifling through the intel after he lost interest in getting a response. 

The captive claimed to know you. There was something about her eyes, the way she watched you with too much softness that felt reminiscent of a world you’d once known. But even kind people, if she’d been one once, could do terrible things under the right circumstances. 

You yourself were proof enough of that. 

But the earnestness in her eyes was so like what you’d seen in – 

“I have no clue who you are,” you said to her, ignoring Shalnark’s jab. But you questioned it for just a moment. Should you have known who this woman was? 

“Hey, there,” she said as you walked up to the strange prison cell they held her in. “Glad to see you got your brother’s letter.” Whose letter? The stupid letter you’d gotten from that terrified little child. The captive pursed her split lips, straining to turn her neck to look between the Spiders. “But we didn’t anticipate you’d allied yourself with filth.”

“Who the fuck are you callin’ –”

“Phinks,” you said in a voice you didn't recognize; a voice bereft of anything. You held out your hand, stopping him from beating up the woman already beaten to a pulp. “Behave,” you said like you were counting options, “or leave.” 

Feitan chuckled, his voice a cool gust of wind between the damp rocks and metallic scent of blood sticking to your nose and tongue so tight you could taste it. 

“Ah, c’mon,” Phinks said. “I think our resident torture-boy should get the final say.”

“Do what she says,” Feitan said with so little hesitation, you wondered if he was going to preemptively say it, like he’d anticipated pushback. 

It was quiet for a beat too long, like the world was considering the answer. 

Condensation dripped from the ceiling, dropping down your face and you wiped it away. It sent goosebumps skimming across your warm skin.

“Fine, fine,” Phinks said. “Whatever.” 

“What an odd bunch,” the woman said. “Do you all really need to be here? This is a large crowd for the conversation we need to have.” 

You decided to ignore her comment for now.

“Thank you.” You turned with an empty smile toward Phinks. “I appreciate your cooperation.” Looking back at the woman, you said, “Are you also here to extol the virtues of my brother, your perfect little leader?” You settled back on your hip and dropped your chin the way Feitan did when he disapproved of something. “Because I’ve heard it before, so spare me that bullshit.” 

“Leader?” The woman cocked her head. “What could have possibly made you think something so stupid?” 

"I thought Jed worked for Marco," you said. That's what Jed made it sound like at least. Stupid of you to just assume he was telling the truth, especially considering the way people treated him that day: like a biblical figure. 

"Then you have terrible sources," she said. “What have you been doing for the past seven months that this is the best you can do?” 

God, you hated this woman already. Breathing to keep yourself from losing it in front of the last people you would ever want to see you lose it, you dragged a chair from the corner of the room and sat down in front of the bars. Covering your uneven breath was too hard a feat in a space that amplified sound already, and even worse with everyone silent and alert. 

“I assume your leader is actually Jed?” you said, already half-checked out of the conversation when this was forcing you to think about what had happened. But you breathed again, letting the tension slip from your limbs. You could get through this conversation, Feitan would finish working, this woman would die, and you could go back to processesing. 

“The one and only,” she said, but not in the reverent way you’d expected – like it pained her to admit it.  

“What letter were you talking about?” You feigned ignorance to redirect the conversation. You sat casually, like you hosted a conversation between friends. It felt too much like that day in the guest house. But this time, Feitan wasn’t helping you, and you had eyes examining you – Spiders who knew what they were doing and were letting you act anyway just to see what would happen. 

“You heard perfectly fine,” she said, her voice haughty. “You’re welcome for not being dead, by the way.” 

Yes, yes. How much we have to thank you for. 

“Who are you?” you asked, ignoring her attempts to rile you. You would not accept this woman’s idea when it sounded too much like she thought you, and likely the others around you, were in her debt.

“I’d show you who I am and why you should care,” she said, rocking her chains, shifting back and forth, “but I can’t reach. That man over there chained me and tortured me like I’m some sort of animal.”

Did she really think you were stupid? It’s not like you were going to let her free after giving you no information. And honestly, reach for what?

Oh. 

She had nothing else on her, that would be certain. Feitan wouldn't make an oversight like forgetting to remove something valuable.

That left one thing only. 

“You’re implying that you,” you said, “a TPI cult leader, has a soulmate?” You said it so slowly, you almost wished you’d taken longer and not said it at all. “Who the fuck are you?” You enunciated every word – a demand. If she was bonded with Jed, you’d scream, then be glad Jed got what was coming to him for his hypocrisy.

“I might as well tell you my name,” she said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling like she was debating whether you were worth her time. “I’m Anaia.” She snapped her eyes back to you. “You can write that down so you don’t forget.” 

Phinks snorted.

“That’s not what I asked." You balled your fists and shoved them under your thighs. You didn’t want to bring Feitan into this. You wanted to do it yourself, prove you could do this. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t threaten further bodily harm. And how desperately you yearned to see the look on her face when there was no hope left for her. One less cultist got you closer to your goal. 

“Oh, I know,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “I just think you deserve to be fucked with a bit before we get to it.”

“I didn’t ask your opinion,” you said, softly. “I will hang you from the ceiling so the tips of your toes just barely touch the ground,” you said, rolling your ankle like you pictured her own feet dangling, struggling to find purchase. “You can struggle until you can’t anymore, when everything goes numb and you're begging for relief. Would you prefer to talk that way?” Anaia stilled like she was taking you seriously, like she hadn’t thought you’d hurt her before. “Because you summoned me here, in my own house, to talk to you. So make it worth my time or I start removing limbs."

You and her watched the other, waiting for one to speak. But you would not back down, you would not speak first. You would stay for as long as it took. You would not yield. 

“You don’t want to do that,” she said in her overly-confident voice, but there was something off about it. “Or else you’re being just as stupid as Marco said you were.”

"Careful," Feitan warned. He watched her like he was imagining how else he could break her. "I am sure you can write. You do not need your tongue."

“You don’t sound like you want to talk or that you have anything I need.” You settled your face to pretend the mention of Marco’s opinion of you didn’t sting. “I’ll let the Spiders have their fun, skin you alive, and then toss your corpse in the forest for the animals to desecrate.” 

“Fuck,” Phinks whispered. 

You rolled your neck and looked around the room like you were selecting someone to kill her. You stood and stretched, barely taking a step before Anaia’s voice rang through the room. 

"Wait!" She said. “I did say I would talk. Please don’t skin me alive.”

You looked over your shoulder at her, letting the seconds slip away. You watched her like a pitiful creature, like she was dirt under your shoe that would do better buried deep under the ground than ever have the chance to see the light of day. But just to give her a glimmer of hope, you sat again.  

“I don’t trust you would tell me the truth if I asked,” you said blandly. “Unless you have something you can prove, I think I’ll leave you to the terrors around me.” You examined every inch of her before saying, “Fei?” He materialized at your side, running a hand through your hair like he was trying to keep you steady. Again you saw it, and again it was magnetizing – the unhinged joy he’d displayed in the guest house. His hand wandered further and he strummed his fingers over your throat before pulling them back to rest on your shoulder. “Do you have anything on hand I could – use?” 

Feitan’s eyes widened and his hand on your shoulder tightened. “Anything you want, I will give.” 

The proclamation stilled you under his fingers that had started wandering again, pushing your shirt aside to slip his hands under the fabric. You needed to look at Anaia, you needed to do this, but Feitan’s focus was again only on you, and there was nothing else that mattered as much as that. 

But you swallowed and turned back to the woman who somehow still had her condescending, bubbly countenance about her. 

Anaia wasn’t looking at Feitan directly, even though he was the scarier one, her eyes flicked across your shoulders and neck, following the path of his hands. 

Feitan's marks he made earlier were probably visible. 

“So that’s him,” Anaia said, like you hadn’t just threatened unnamed torture. “Feitan.” 

“I’m leaving,” Phinks said, standing and wiping his hands on his pants. “This isn’t going anywhere.” 

“Then why are you here?” You spun and it dislodged Feitan’s hold on you. “Just get out!” 

"Jeez," Phinks pushed his arms up to stretch. “Shoulda let Feitan fuck you first so you wouldn't be in a shit mood."

"Kept your hands," Feitan said softly to Phinks. "Can still take your tongue."

“Yeah, I’d like to see you try, bastard,” Phinks stuck his tongue out at Feitan. 

You lunged for Feitan’s dominant arm and clutched his wrist. His hand held a dagger he’d pulled from nowhere. 

These assholes never fucking learned. 

And suddenly you understood why Feitan worked alone. 

“Everyone just leave." Your voice sounded more pleading than you’d like. “Please.” Feitan tried to move but you held on to him, appreciating that he’d taken an order you hadn’t meant to direct at him. “Not you,” you whispered. “Please stay.’ 

Phinks grumbled, but still made his way towards the exit. Which was good, because he probably needed to find Mai more than he needed to watch this shit show. 

“Don’t get too depressed with all this,” Shalnark said, brightly. “We’ll do something fun tonight after I go through all this.” He waved the files around.  

“This is fun,” Feitan said under his breath. 

Anaia chuckled in a way that sounded friendly, like she respected the exchange. 

Once the others left, you turned to Anaia. “They’re gone now. Will you talk?” You relaxed in your chair. “Unless you want me to torture it out of you, because I am not opposed to hurting you.” 

Anaia looked between yourself and Feitan with the knife he was flicking between his fingers like it was a toy. 

“You don’t want tools?” Feitan said, disappointed. 

“That’s not what I said.” You looked back up at him. “Every time she lies, we hurt her just a little bit more.” 

Feitan raised his brows. “We?”

“You can show me your favorite techniques.” 

Feitan gripped your throat and pulled you into a kiss. His hand massaged your jaw as he angled your head the way he wanted it. You could feel his approval in droves, twisting down the bond like a lovely virus. 

Anaia cleared her throat. “If I could offer some advice between us: I wouldn’t kill me when I am far more valuable alive.”

“Doubt it,” Feitan said, breaking the kiss and stepping back.

“You can still be very much alive and be in pieces,” you said, standing and holding a hand out for Feitan’s knife. He dropped it in your palm.

You examined it. So beautifully sharp. What little light existed in the room glinted off the silver. 

Anaia crumpled in on herself, scooting back in the cell until she hit the wall. 

"We'll start with this," you said, more to Feitan, watching the way he watched you. How his body vibrated with excitement as he slid a hand onto your hip to pull you in. He clutched you so tight, you hoped it would match the other marks he’d left in too few places. "And we'll work our way up." 

Feitan pressed you against him.

"Always so good," Feitan said, ghosting a kiss over your cheek. Not enough to commit to it, but enough you needed more. 

You were woozy with his approval; the feeling that you had felt something he felt so deeply. And how desperately you wanted it again. 

But somehow, you pushed him away for the time being. 

“It sounds like you have some sort of relationship with Marco,” you said. “Or you’re trying to make it seem like you do to garner sympathy. But all I see is the woman who stood at the pier and commanded the group that massacred the city.” 

You pushed on the cell door, and turned to Feitan when it rattled. He swiped his hand over the lock and it clicked. With the screech of metal on rock, the door swung open. 

“You know what I promised as you and Marco were blowing up the city?” you said and Anaia shook her head. Stalking towards her, you tapped the blunt end of the knife on her head. “That I’d burn every single one of you for what you did.” You enunciated every word and swallowed before saying, “I don’t take those kinds of vows lightly. Which you should know if you have any relationship with my brother.” 

“You don’t know the whole story,” Anaia said, shaking and pressing harder against the wall. Dragging the knife down her forehead, you tapped her temple with the point. 

She tried to reach for you, even with her chains, but Feitan was faster. He tugged her from the wall and gripped her hands behind her back. He shoved her lower so her face pressed against the dirty, cold bedrock. 

“Know what happened to the last one to touch her,” Feitan said to Anaia, but he was watching you. Anaia shook her head but Feitan continued. “Hours it took for him to die.” 

“Please,” Anaia said. “Just let me talk and then you can decide if you want to kill me.” 

“Then talk before my patience runs out,” you sat down on the floor in front of her, crossing your legs and holding the knife in view of her face. “Because I have better things to be doing than talk to you.” 

Feitan gripped Anaia’s hair and forced her to look up at you. His lips parted like he wanted to say he could do that to you too, if you wanted. 

“Whose name will I find if I look at your mark?” you said.

You didn’t want it to be true. It couldn’t be true. There was no way. 

“You just don’t want to admit it,” Anaia said, his eyes burning again with that same earnestness you’d seen in him. 

Looking up at Feitan you asked, "Where?"

His radiant face made you as lost in him as he was in this.

"Between the eye and cheek," Feitan said. "Feel for the bone."

You rested the knife under Anaia’s eye and pressed into the skin. She hissed and tried to struggle against Feitan who cackled at her useless fight. 

Hard bone stood strong under the bruised skin of her eye. You were sure you could carve it out if Feitan provided further instruction.

It wasn't lost on you that you'd taken Jed's eye too. 

“Marco didn’t have a mark,” you said, dragging the tip of the knife over the skin so it split. Blood pooled and ran down her face. You caught it with the knife and used it to paint her skin with the blunt side of the knife. 

Feitan's breath caught. 

Tears welled and Anaia choked back what you were sure would be a cry. 

“You’re lying to me,” you said, trying not to look at Feitan who would try to fuck you immediately on the bedrock if you let him. 

“I’m not,” Anaia said between snot and tears. “I swear. Look at my thigh.” She shifted in Feitan’s hold to pop out her leg. 

“If you’re lying –” you didn’t need to finish the threat.

“I know!” She said, wiggling her leg. “Please. Please look. I swear. We’re on your side. I can explain everything if you’ll just look.”

Your hand shook as you pulled the knife back from her face, like reality had suddenly hit you, what you were currently doing. “Sit her up,” you said, softly. 

Feitan complied and forced her leg out towards you. 

You sliced the top of her pant leg and tore down. The ripping fabric covered the sounds of the storm in your mind. 

It was there. 

You threw the knife back to Feitan like it would burn you. Choking back your own tears, you ripped the pants more to hold your hands around Marco’s name; his name written in a script that couldn’t be anyone’s but his. Shaky but strangely even, it fit his writing too well to be fake. Somehow, it hadn’t been obstructed by the myriad bruises over her leg from Feitan’s treatment. 

You licked your finger and rubbed at her thigh, just to make sure it wasn’t a trick, just to make sure. If you let this be real, it could never be undone. Anaia hissed and you pulled your hand back. 

“I -” you were so close to apologizing. “I didn’t think he had a mark,” you said gently. You tore the sleeve from your shirt and pressed under her eye to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t deep enough you could heal it with Nen so you had to do it the old-fashioned way with zero resources. “But how – you were at the pier. You were –”

“Marco and I had the bombs moved,” Anaia said, struggling through the tears now coursing down her cheeks. “We wanted to take out as many members as possible. We moved the weapons to places we knew they’d be.” She looked so earnest, so honest. “We were trying to end this before it could spread even more.” 

“Marco was helping you with this?” you asked, terrified to admit there could be credence to the truth and pain and love you’d seen in Marco’s eyes at the pier. Truth to the moment he’d tried to warn you about the next bomb. 

Did you want it to be real because it was true or because it was a beautiful, comforting lie that your brother was still there under the mask of death and blood?

Anaia nodded. “I’m a Hunter. I was working with your brother. We’ve been working together for weeks.”  

“He tried to warn me about the second blast,” you told her, dabbing under her eye to collect all the blood you could. “You both thought you’d die too, didn’t you?” Anaia nodded. “But I wasn’t supposed to be where I was. I was supposed to be at the original site.” You said it absently, like somebody else was speaking. Cold terror slipped through you as you considered the implications of what you were hearing. 

Was Anaia lying? Was it worse if she was telling the truth?

“I’m so pissed at you,” Anaia said, the anger so similar to how Marco looked when he was enraged. “You just assumed Marco was a monster and started this grand crusade because of it.”

The room went quiet. 

No – it had to be a lie, a trick, another way for Marco to fuck with you after he’d destroyed your life once before.

“Shut,” you said, shaking, “up. About things you don’t understand.” 

“No!” Anaia said and yelped as Feitan slammed her face back into the ground. Bones cracked and she groaned. Now you could heal her with Nen. “Do you even know why Marco joined TPI in the first place?” Her voice was muddled as her mouth moved against the dirt. 

Did you want to know? Did you need to know? 

“Why don’t you tell me about my own family,” you said. 

“Marco joined to do two things.” Anaia looked up at you and you knew then you were looking at Marco’s second half. “Kill Feitan to make sure you’d never die like your parents.” Feitan laughed like the thought of Marco killing him was amusing. “And destroy any public knowledge of what killed your parents, so it could never be replicated," Anaia said.

Chrollo was right. Marco had been after Feitan – not you. All the time you thought you’d been chasing one another. In your game of cat and mouse, you weren’t even a player. 

Did that mean this was true?

Fuck if you had any idea. You didn’t even want to have an idea. This, somehow, felt like the worst possible outcome. The one you’d never considered: Marco could be saved. Marco was innocent. But was he still, after everything he’d done? 

“How did my parents die?” you asked, shaking, somehow, almost, nearly believing her.

You wouldn’t tell her you didn’t see it happen. You wouldn’t tell her you found Marco over their bodies. You wouldn’t tell her you could have been wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. So wrong you should cut your own eyes out for seeing only what you did. 

Anaia shuttered a breath like even telling you would be breaking Marco’s confidence. “Your mother,” Anaia said sadly, like she’d too lost a mother, “she was interrupted.”

“Interrupted doing what?” Your voice sounded meek, wounded, like you’d been welcomed into a world you never wanted to know. A glimpse into those last moments you’d kill to have had with her. When you should have been with her like you always were. The moment she’d needed you; the moment you’d left her abandoned. 

“I’m so sorry.” Anaia ripped a hand from Feitan and gripped yours like she needed strength to say something she’d never wanted to say less. You clutched her hand tight and it felt too lovely to be a lie. Anaia said, with a choked sob, and a wicked reverence, “A Blood Bind.” 

Chapter Text

You couldn’t spend another moment in the cell. After healing Anaia and Feitan complaining you were “undoing his work,” you promised to get food and a cot while you waited for Shalnark to confirm what she said was true.

“A good hostage,” Feitan said, as you climbed back up the creaking stairs to the first floor, “but more fun to kill her.”

“Good thing that’s not your decision,” you said, airily, like you were only half in the conversation. Because you were – there was nothing and everything in your head. Anger and sadness and confusion ebbed and flowed through you; when you tried to clutch one, it slipped through your fingers and developed into the next emotion. Until all you had left was an empty wanting for something you couldn’t place. “She’s right that she’s more valuable alive. I can use her as leverage.” 

And use her as the building block for an idea percolating in your mind. It wasn’t enough to end them; you needed to devastate them.  

Feitan pushed the door open and you blinked at the bright light you’d forgotten existed when you'd traversed the dank halls below the house. He didn’t have anything else to say so you let the quiet linger a little longer as you headed towards the backyard, where people were laughing and screaming. 

“Wait,” you said, pulling Feitan into a side room off the kitchen. “Before we go out there and get asked questions, I need your opinion.”

It looked like it was once a formal dining room, but the ‘formal’ of the space had long since disappeared. Fading, floral wallpaper and chipping cabinets lined the walls, like color and intricate china used to brighten the room in a long gone era. Heavy, patterned curtains hung over the window with golden wraps to keep them open wide. They would have been beautiful, and still would be, if they’d been properly maintained. And a dusty chandelier swayed over the dining table that dipped to the side. Light caught only where a parasitic, brown discoloration hadn’t melted into the crystal. 

You wondered what this room, this place had been like before. It was still grand, and beautiful, and timeless. But it could be more if it had really been maintained with staff and dozens of people to enjoy it. It made you wonder what other parts of the house you’d never seen, never bothered exploring.

“That all you need?” Feitan said, shutting the door and walking you back towards an empty spot against the wall. He guided you beside a window looking out back, where you could see out, and others could see in. He fanned his palms out over your stomach. "Beg for me."

The wild, detached joy still lingered in his features. Like he was drunk on what had happened and was slowly coming down, but still buzzed. 

“You’re such an asshole,” you said, gasping as his hands roved your side and around to your lower back to pull you against him. He kissed up your neck, jumping mark to mark like he was solidifying them. 

“Too late to complain,” Feitan said, his warm breath catching your ear. “Already mine.”

It was quieter in your head when he spoke, when he touched you; calmer like still grass on windless plains. But it congested your head too, with thoughts of nothing but him, and you, and you and him. One in the same and ever so different.

“But you’re never going to stop being an asshole,” you said, gripping your hands in his hair and pulling. “So I'll keep telling –” 

Feitan kissed you as you were about to breathe, snaring you like an animal in a trap. But it was almost gentle with how intentional his movements felt against you. Until he bit at your lip and dug his nails into your side. 

“Shut up,” he said against your lips, “or ask question.”

But he charged you with a difficult feat as he tugged your head to the side to bite back down your neck and grip your hips to grind you against him. 

“I thought you were going to fuck me in that jail cell," you said, ignoring his request to shut up, "with how you were watching me."

Feitan hummed. "Hard not to."

Clearly, with what you were doing now. 

"We could forget whatever they're doing outside and go upstairs instead," you said, grazing your hands down his shirt, wishing it wasn't there at all. 

"Beg well, then," Feitan said.

"I'm not begging when we've done this before and you don't let me come." You said. 

"Too bad," Feitan said, pushing away with the tips of his fingers. "Could have been this time."

You almost cracked, but you weren't certain you believed him. He’d teased you time and time again, and you weren’t sure you could take it this time if he wasn’t going to follow through. 

So you transitioned back to the real reason you'd dragged him into the abandoned dining room. 

"Do you think Anaia was lying?" you said, shifted from foot to foot. By all intents and purposes, that was your sister caged under the house. And your brother was either a committer of patricide or some sort of martyr (if Anaia was to be believed). But you ventured, for just a moment, that maybe you'd both been wrong and he was somewhere in the middle. 

"Not lying," Feitan said with enough certainty you almost wished you didn't believe him. "But story is biased."

"Then –" you said, turning away because you couldn't look Feitan in the eye as you said it. "Have I wasted months of my life on a useless vendetta and ostracized the only family I have left for nothing ?"

Feitan had a way of being still, of being quiet that felt otherworldly, so you didn't hear him around you, but you could feel him, sense the way he was twisting himself into knots.

Something about your question distressed him. But you didn't know how when he had so many people around him who genuinely cared for him. 

"It was rhetorical," you said, clearing your throat to blind yourself, and him, to the tears so close to falling. "You don't need to answer." 

Quicker than looked natural, you moved to the door. It felt tight again, warm, like everything was closing in. But this time it felt like he was feeling it. This was not your discontent and uncertainty, it was Fei's.

So you stopped, hand reaching for the door. It didn't take much deliberation for you to turn. 

Feitan looked serene, bored even. But his emotions lashed across the bond. Jumbled emotions that lacked definition, like they hadn't been properly nurtured or explored. A storm raged so deep, you couldn't believe how composed he spoke. 

"Do not understand – that," he said, so normally. Did he even know you could feel his torment? "Never had one."

Fuck.

"Can not give you what I do not understand," Feitan said, "or want."

"You don't want a family?" You should have been furious, upset for yourself, confused by everything that had happened, but you just ached for him. He was lying; and he was also telling the truth: he didn't understand so he didn't know how to want it. 

Feitan didn't answer, and that was answer enough. 

You stumbled back to him and threw your arms around him. The well of his emotions dug deeper until you were sure you were feeling them for him. He didn't move and his breath stalled.

"I have a family here," you said, holding him to yourself, even though he didn't reciprocate. He stood frozen with his arms at his side. "I didn't mean to imply I didn't."

"Making things up now," Feitan said, slipping a hand around your back and sliding it under your shirt. 

"That's Phinks' line," you said. "But I'm taking your line and telling you it's too late to complain because you're already mine."

"Not what I meant," Feitan mumbled. Maybe you were usurping the intention of his words, but it worked just as well. 

"Of course not," you said, hoping to say more. But Feitan cut the conversation short.  

Without another word, he dragged you by the wrist towards the backyard. 

"Wait, I need to get Anaia's stuff."

"Get later," Feitan said, tightening his hold on you like you'd slip through his grip like smoke.

As you tried not to fall on your way down the proch steps, Feitan said, "Wrong is not a waste. Means you are closer to being right."

You rolled your eyes at his helpful turned insipid insight. But you still smiled. "Thank you."

He was quiet until you were just out of range of the others. He said your name, ensuring he had your full attention before saying, "Was going to let you come."

"Bastard," you said, trying to kick him to knock him off balance. He cackled and you grumbled trying to catch him. But he was too quick and was gone before you could try to keep up.

Mai was pissed; well and truly incensed to a point you'd never seen. 

You stood with them as far away from the light as you could, hoping nobody had excellent hearing and the ability to play it off like that couldn't hear a word. 

The rest of the group sat a distance from a much smaller fire than the last time you'd joined them out here. Laughing and yelling and throwing threats (and sometimes objects), the others played a game of cards that for some reason involved about a dozen knives. 

"Who does he think he is?" Mai said, pacing on the edge of the forest. "I was helping you find Marco. I've been on this train since before the Spiders jumped on board." They stopped and scowled at Phinks, who's back stiffened. But he'd made no other indication he knew the two of you were assessing him. "Feitan encourages you to do insane shit. He trusts you like a real partner." For some reason, you'd never thought to look at it that way. "Phinks just acts all tough like he can handle it." They scoffed. "And acts like I'd be a burden."

You let Mai go, knowing they'd speak until their lungs fell through their chest and they felt better dead than alive. 

"It was so easy at first," Mai said. "Now I feel like I'm hiding myself from him."

"I'm sorry," you said, knowing full well Mai wouldn't have been in this position if you hadn't made a docket full of horrible choices. "But maybe it's because he thinks you don't use –"

"Don't say Nen." Mai turned on you, an accusatory finger in your face. "We had a deal to shut our traps so that's what we're doing."

“Alright!” You held your hands up like you were surrendering. “I’m just saying Phinks seems like the kind of guy who respects skill. I think all our idiots are like that.” 

Mai shrugged and again gazed back at the group. This time Phinks looked. They watched each other with small, longing frowns. Mai needed to be telling Phinks this, not you. 

Feitan threw a knife at Phinks’ head and he barely dodged. 

“Gareth talked to his contact,” Mai said. “She knows where we can find a detailed book on historical rituals and cults.”

Mai had casual conversations with Gareth? Even conversations that must have been over the phone because Gareth had been with you, Shalnark, and Fei. You could barely get him to talk to you. Maybe Mai and Gareth felt like they were on the fringes and had found enjoyment being friends. 

“When are we meeting her?” you said, ignoring the strange jealousy that came with knowing your friends had other friends outside yourself. 

“We’re not,” Mai said, crossing their arms. “She refused to get it for us because it’s locked down tight.” 

“...but?” you prompted, squinting at Mai like it would determine their motives. There was no way Mai would say no to getting illicit information. They were like a dragon and their hoard – except the hoard was nuggets of information only a select few ever got to access.

“The contact did tell Gareth where it was,” Mai said, dropping their voice so low, you shuffled forward to huddle beside them to hear. “While you were getting yourself blown up, I was planning for tomorrow night.” Mai turned towards the forest and you followed suit to ensure nobody could read your lips. “It’s risky, and we might die without anyone knowing where we went. But I’m willing to risk it." Mai smiled for the first time you'd seen that day. "The two of us are going to go get it.” 

You answered about a thousand questions before the group laid off. You’d slipped away for a while to get Anaia her cot and some food. Feitan had shadowed you but you let him pretend you were none the wiser. It felt better having him there when you wound in and around the tunnels of the underground. Anaia said nothing and you said nothing in return. You couldn't look at her either, thinking about what you had and hadn't done. Instead, you dropped the goods and slipped back into the night. 

Outside, Mai and Phinks were on the porch sharing a quiet, but tense conversation. Shalnark and Gareth made food and yourself and Feitan sat in the grass by the fire. Cold dolops of midnight dew seeped through the blanket under you, but you didn’t mind when you lounged between Feitan’s legs, your head resting back on his shoulder. For some reason, he hadn’t complained about it yet. And you wouldn’t question that, or question how you’d gravitated closer all night until you were essentially in his lap. 

The high moon tried casting shadows, warring with the crackling fire trying to brighten the witching hour. Both cold from the evening and warm from the fire and the way Feitan’s hands roved, you shivered, trying to regulate the strange sensations. 

Feitan had a hand wrapped around your middle like a seatbelt. You were just as stuck as him.

“Mai going to kill Phinks?” Feitan chuckled and you were glad on a strange level he had even bothered to ask about them. Probably because it heralded disaster for Phinks more than him worrying about Mai’s wellbeing, but it was close enough. 

“Probably,” you said. “I’d want to kill you too if you thought I was useless.”

Neither of you mentioned that he, at one point, had said exactly that. 

“Not useless to me,” Feitan said, softly. “And Phinks deserves it.” 

“I’m glad to hear I’m not a useless waste of space,” you said. “I think Phinks and Mai went the other direction from us and it’s finally catching up with them.” 

You craned your neck to see Feitan’s reaction. He cocked his head and squinted like he didn’t understand. 

“They weren’t talking much,” you clarified. “They were busy doing other things.”

And they had been. You couldn’t recall a moment when Mai and Phinks weren’t crawling all over each other from the instant they’d met. Not that you’d been much better than them recently. 

“This you saying to fuck you already?” Feitan said. He mumbled something else and sank in around you. 

“No, but you’re welcome to take it that way, if it works,” you said, and you thought you heard a small laugh. 

Small sparks crackled, popping from the fire and fizzling out before they touched the ground. The warmth of the fire in front of you and Feitan behind soothed you like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold winter morning. 

The playful atmosphere petered off as you watched the trees rustle, listened to the scurrying animal sounds, and admired the way the stars and planets glistened. Watching the sky felt like that moment you’d disappeared into a place you didn’t know existed: the pure bond where you could rattle galaxies with a flick of your wrist. 

"How would I have lived with myself if you'd died," you said, watching the flames writhe. They looked so much like the blaze that chased you through the town. "When we blacked out, I thought we'd died together. I just wanted it to end for us both so I wouldn't be without you." You shuttered. "I felt the bond fraying and if you'd died, it would have snapped. And me with it."

"Not dead," Feitan said. "Good for us." 

He didn't reinforce what you'd said, didn't expound on it, didn't amend it, but you could feel it: he felt the same but would never admit it to either you or himself.

What if he could feel your feelings you'd never admit to through the bond?

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” you said, the weight of everything digging talons into your chest and dragging you down. The sentence held so many questions, you didn’t expect Feitan to touch on them all. But the one that landed the deepest was the most difficult to articulate: soon you'd be getting a book including information about Blood Bind. Your mother had not only died from it, but your brother (ostensibly) watched her. Did her death mean it wasn’t possible to do those kinds of rituals, or just that you shouldn’t? 

All you needed to worry about immediately was whether or not Marco was salvageable and what to do with Anaia sitting underground with no release in sight. But the Blood Bind felt too top of mind to be healthy. 

“Kill them all,” Feitan said, shrugging. He was quiet for a bit when you didn’t laugh, or didn’t really react in any which way. “Sleep first. Then decide.” 

If only he could make the decision for you. But even if he could, you doubted he would. 

“I’m guessing the Blood Bind is still on the table, too?” you said, allowing the intrusive thoughts to guide you in the conversation you needed to have but didn't want to. 

“Don’t want it anymore?” Feitan said, nearly repulsed like you’d threatened to, and followed through on, maiming him. It’s not like you’d ever spoken aloud that this was something you wanted, but the single look you’d shared at the last bonfire was confirmation enough. 

“I want to do it.” You adjusted again in his arms. “I just want to understand what my mother did wrong.” 

You needed to know, not only because you didn’t want to make the same mistake, but because the universe was on its knees, offering you a glimpse into the last moment of one of the only people you’d ever truly cared for. 

“Will know when we do it,” Feitan said, not remotely as invested in your mother’s plight as you, which you couldn’t fault him for. 

Again you were both quiet, but it wasn’t tense or uncomfortable. Your breath evened and your eyes drooped. You could have slept, or spent only a moment before you were again aware you were in his arms. 

There was so much to do and so much you wanted to say, but didn’t yet have the words to express. So you turned to a safer topic.  

“Are we still going to that rally in the Gordeau Desert?” you said. Somehow, you were shocked no news had trickled down that it had been cancelled after the fiasco the other day. But neither the bounty hunter nor Anaia had said a word to indicate its status. Though, Anaia might not know anyways when she’d been mind-controlled out of the scene of the crime. 

While you didn’t know what you’d do about Marco and Anaia, you had no misgiving about what you’d do to Jed. 

“We are going,” Feitan said, with a voice that sounded like there was more to this than you realized, or that he was willing to share. 

"Good," you said. "I'm excited to see Jed again and take his other eye to finish my set." 

Feitan swallowed and left kisses down your neck like you were talking dirty by promising to maim Jed. You let him work for a while before interrupting him. 

“Where are you from?” you asked gently, guessing it could be a contentious question. But you wanted to ask, because you’d asked all of them so little. 

His free hand grazed your thigh, knee to hip and back again. 

“Meteor City,” Feitan said against your hair. “Founded the Spiders there.” 

“I’ve never heard of it,” you said. Goosebumps prickled up Feitan’s neck as you breathed the words into his skin. Even though he watched the fire, the weight of his focus was on you. His hands gripped you tighter until it felt like they were a part of you. You reached back to cradle the side of his neck. His hair tickled your hand as he leaned into your touch. “I used to look up your name in public records when I was younger, just to see if I could find you. It was like you didn’t exist and I thought something had happened or the universe had made a mistake. So I stopped looking years ago and decided I’d never think about it again. It wasn’t part of my plan.” 

It felt almost like baring your soul (as if you hadn’t already been bonded to someone you hadn't known until a few weeks ago), admitting that you had been thinking about him from the moment you could understand the depth of the brand on your wrist. You’d had no face, no personality, no hint of who the man could be beyond everything you could garner from your wrist. Every assumption you'd ever made about Fei was so easily contradicted when there was nothing concrete. 

The others were packing up: collecting chairs, shoving food in their mouths, or in Phinks and Mai’s case, watching each other warily as they headed inside. 

“Have fun!” Shalnark called. “I'm going to go through everything from your prisoner. We can talk tomorrow.” 

You waved and Feitan didn’t acknowledge them at all. 

“Wouldn’t have found me,” Feitan said, dragging your attention back to him. “Meteor City does not exist in records.” 

A town that didn’t exist for a man that didn’t exist either. 

“How is that possible?” you said, kissing the underside of his jaw. 

How you wished you could tell your younger self that searching was fruitless. He’d find you when he was damn well ready to. And then run away multiple times when he couldn’t handle it. But no matter how much Feitan denied it, he came to you that day at your house; he'd found you.

Feitan shrugged. “Makes jobs easier.” 

You laughed and cuddled in closer, expecting him to finally push you away, but instead he held tighter like you’d threatened to disappear. 

“Did you ever wonder about me?” you said, “Before we met?” 

It was a risky question, and you might just have compromised the time you’d have with this strangely content version of Feitan. It was so similar to what he’d been like after Emmett. The latent embers ready to spark in him were smothered when he had an outlet. 

“Wonder now,” Feitan said, scowling. “Why you are so strange.” 

You laughed and shifted until you were practically hanging off him, seeing how far he would let you go. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat as you wrapped yourself around him, not forgetting to slip your hands under his shirt to feel his skin, the way he did with you. Whether he meant to or not, he’d shown you how he liked being touched.

“If you won't tell me you yearned for me every day until we met, at least tell me where your Phantom Troupe tattoo is. I've been wondering,” you said, pressing your nails across his skin like you were trying to guess a location. 

Feitan snatched your hand and placed it on his chest like the starting point in a game of hide and seek. You pressed against his chest with your palm, already knowing it couldn’t be there – you’d seen his chest when he was dying on a muddy road. 

You dug your free hand onto the blanket under you to hold you up while you explored. 

“Lower?” you whispered as his lips grazed yours. He nodded and you shifted your hand to his abs, stopping and digging in your nails again. He groaned before he smirked – you were still wrong. “Lower?” You strained to kiss him, but he pulled back and laughed at the desperate display. 

Swallowing, breath shallow, chest heaving, you moved lower. You didn’t dare use your palm now and instead strummed his belt with light fingers. The chilly metal couldn’t cool the heat burning through you. Grabbing the prong, you tugged and he slapped your thigh. 

“Lower?” you said, and Feitan nodded. “If I go lower –”

Would he let you go lower?

“Begged for me in your room,” Feitan said, lovely and mocking with a streak of affection in his voice. “Even said you could come. But won’t touch me?”

Every insult you’d ever concocted sat primed on your tongue. But you lost each word, each syllable, and the breath to speak them when you met his eyes. Splaying your palm, you felt him hard against your hand. Feitan’s eyes shifted, fluttered into something dark and predatory when you wrapped your hand around him as well as you could over his clothing. 

“Lower?” your voice strained, barely audible over the gentle, night time wind. 

“Higher,” Feitan said, his smile growing along with the red flush peppering his cheeks and nose. 

You stroked up and Feitan hissed. But he watched you reverently, his gaze jumping between your eyes, your parted lips, and your hand against him. 

“Lower?” You didn’t wait for an answer and stroked down. “Wait. No.” You stoked up and down and back up again. “Higher.” 

You struggled to breathe as Feitan leaned in to kiss you. Moving without his prompting now, you continued until the desire to actually touch him was too overwhelming. You fumbled for his belt but he gripped your hand and moved it to his hip. 

“Can I touch you more?” You were begging with pleading eyes, parted lips, uneven breath, and desperate words. 

“Need me that badly?” Feitan said, wrapping his hand around your throat and squeezing. 

Yes, yes you did. You’d needed it from the moment you found him in your living room, reading a book like he was always meant to be there with you. 

“You won’t let me until I find the tattoo, will you?” you said, breathlessly, wishing you could see the way the veins in his hands engaged when he choked you. 

Wasting no time, you landed your palm at the top of his leg. You weren’t really listening now. The buzzing in your ears and the thoughts of what he’d let you do when this silly little game was over held more head space than his tattoo. 

“Lower?” you whispered and whined again when he stroked your neck and then gripped harder than before. “Fuck.” 

Feitan nodded. 

You dropped your hand onto his thigh. This time, he raised his brows, just a bit, like he was waiting for you to say something. 

“Here?” You squeezed his leg, again wishing there was skin for you to touch and a tattoo for you to see. You had no idea what number you’d find or what it would look like. But you wanted to feel all of him and you were willing to start there.  

Feitan nodded but his eyes looked like he too was interested in something far more entertaining now. He tugged you closer to him by the throat. Your chest rested against his and his hand slid into your hair and pulled. But you wished it was back around your neck, pressing into your airways until he knew you couldn’t take more. 

With the way he moved, it wasn’t difficult to imagine how good he’d be with his hands. 

“Inside,” Feitan commanded, so soft, but it rattled your soul. “Now.”

“Just fuck me here,” you said, needing anything he’d give as soon as possible. Everyone was gone, it was dark, the fire was dying. “We’re alone.” 

“Told you before,” Feitan said. “Your pretty sounds – only for me.” 

“I’ll be quiet,” you promised, but your fight was dissipating as every second dragged on.

He dipped his chin and dragged his thumb over your lip like he was imagining the things you would say, the sounds you would make for him. 

“No,” Feitan said, leaning in to ghost his lips over yours, “you will not.” 

Chapter Text

Feitan slammed his bedroom door behind you both – a warning to the others to stay away. Locks engaged but the only thing keeping the others out was an act of respect (which you debated the efficacy of) and their lack of desire to see whatever you were about to do.

Soft grays and midnight blacks covered every utilitarian-style surface. Decoration was scarce since Feitan's underground, his devices, his torture was his art. What use did he have for brushstrokes and paint when bodies were his medium?

A large bed sat perfectly made along the wall with two side tables, like he'd always hoped for another to occupy it with him. Across were doors leading to, you presumed, a closet and bathroom. Hundreds of books pressed together on a bookshelf. While they looked to have no organization, if the rest of the room was any indication, they were perfectly managed for exactly what Feitan needed. And on the far wall, massive windows welcomed in the glaze of stars and moonlight. The colors and beauty of night blended into his space like they were one in the same. 

You turned to find Fei close enough his quickened breath caught with yours. He clutched your jaw, dragging you into a kiss with a wicked grin. You'd had words, ideas, thoughts, and desires before this moment, but as Feitan's fingers danced down your chest and his warm breath couldn't be separated from your own, you realized the futility of everything but him. His touch, his desire, his words, his name. All of it, all of you, and all of him was the expression of everything you were and everything you could be.

The bond scorched, burned, seethed like it knew; it felt the moment and melded you together, sharing, expanding the need until it was impossible to know his feelings and yours. 

"Where are the orders now?" Feitan said against your cheek, peppering kisses on your burning skin. "Demanding woman."

Feitan had always understood the body was a work of art when molded perfectly. You saw it now. You needed him to sculpt you into something lovely for him, and only him, in the way only he could. 

You wondered what he saw when he looked at you – if he saw the potential, what he'd do to make you perfect. 

Your lips parted trying to form words, but words were gone as he guided you back deeper into the room. 

"So pretty begging," Feitan said, sliding his hands around your sides to roll your hips against his. "So beg."

Yes, you could beg; you would beg like you knew nothing else. 

"I need you to stop teasing. Please," you whispered, every word bookended with Fei's fingers somewhere new. Testing and teasing, his fingers slipped below your waistband. When you reacted he laughed softly and moved up your back, across your stomach, everywhere but where you needed him. "Please, Fei."

You fumbled with the hem of his shirt, slipping your hands underneath. He felt so perfect, like he'd never been injured – never once. Holy perfection, compelled to be worshipped, and you the same. Your body fit so well against him, like you'd been crafted from a single slab of granite separated with the intent to eventually reunite. 

"Please?" Feitan dragged the word out, holding his arms around you. It wasn't a question; it was a command to try harder, do more, beg him until your breath gave out; until you fell back into the galaxy you knew was real but could only chase until you found your way back. 

Feitan stepped out of your reach and the world was colder. 

"Convince me," he said, the wildfire in his eyes burning brighter than you'd ever seen, "to fuck you."

"Bastard." The word was airy, and held more affection than anger. Your ragged breath evened just enough for you to think straight for a moment before deciding.

Stepping up to him, you traced your hands down his chest, touching everywhere you could feel the perfect cut of muscle stiffening at your touch. 

Leaning in, you stopped just shy of kissing him, like he had done so many times. There were unending rivers of words to say but none matched the heaviness of the moment. 

Waiting and waiting, Feitan didn't bite, instead smiling like he commended your attempt. It hasn't worked, and you hadn't expected it to. But now you had his full attention for your little game. 

You'd give anything to drop at the altar of his world and revel in him. You'd seen the galaxy, you'd sculpted it and the only way back was through him. 

Fei's bloodied hands, molded with pain and strife, given and taken, were meant to be on you. What use was there in life if his perfect figure wasn't touching you like there was no other purpose? 

Falling to your knees, your lips parted and cheeks burned. Interest exploded in Fei's gaze. His eyes blew wide and his breath raced so beautifully that your own caught in your throat. There was nothing else but you on your knees for him. 

You watched like he burned bright in the moonlight; a star bursting through the soft light of the sky.

His gaze softened and his lips settled into a soft smile like he too stood at your altar, worshipping you in the only way he knew how: with lips and skin and words made only for you. 

Feitan caressed your face with his knuckles, over unhealed cuts and brushes. He looked ravenously, like it made you even more stunning. 

He swatted your cheek and you opened your mouth in surprise. And Feitan slipped two fingers inside. You struggled to keep yourself upright as he pressed onto your tongue and cocked his head like he was imagining everything he could do with you on your knees, basking in him. 

Running your tongue on his fingers, you whined when he pushed in deeper. Closing your lips, you sucked softly, chasing his fingers as he glided in and out of your mouth. 

You rested your hands on his thighs, gripping into the fabric of his slacks. Neck straining in such a lovely way, you refused to break his yearning stare. You burned with heat and he burned with fascination, reveling in this new experience. 

Feitan's other hand slipped into your hair, alternating between gentle caresses and exquisitely painful tugs. 

Nothing but him had ever been or ever would be. Because you were lost in him and he in you.

Feitan's hair fell into his face and he'd never been a more stunning creature. His eyes fluttered and his own skin was dotting red. 

"Keep going," Feitan coaxed, pulling his fingers from your lips and watching them like he had other ideas in mind for your mouth. "Not convinced yet." 

You grazed your hands over his belt, teased over the buckle, and slipped a finger around the button like you'd pop it open.

But still, you wanted to tease. 

Leaning in, you kissed him over his slacks. Fei hissed and you thought you'd never hear another sound as angelic and sinful. Twisting your hair in his palm, Feitan tugged and he smiled when you whined for him. 

"I can't take any more," you breathed, unbuckling the latch of his belt. "I need you to fuck me. I can't explain how desperately."

Feitan raised a brow. You'd either said something very good or very dangerous. Or both.

"Can get off just thinking of you instead," Feitan said, so unashamed in how he admired you. "Bound and begging for me like a whore." You groaned and pressed a hand against him over his clothes. "Done it before. Can do it again." 

You couldn't help yourself when you asked, "What do you imagine? Because I promise I can be so much better."

And it was true, you'd never known a bliss and a thrill as electrifying as his touch. You could only hope he felt the paradise in your arms too. 

Undoing the button, you wetted your lips, making a show of it as he watched you like one of his fantasies. Dragging the zipper down, you grabbed the waistband of both layers and tugged. 

You swallowed. 

His Phantom Troupe tattoo was where he'd claimed. A white "two" sat in the middle of a black body with spindly, but even legs. You traced them with gentle fingers and leaned in to kiss it. It swirled under your touch, like Nen lingered in the ink. A bond in its own right – his other brand. 

"Focus," Feitan said, directing your attention back. 

"Fuck," you whispered. You wanted Fei to watch you learn what drove him wild and to see the yearning in your eyes as you did. 

You reached out, taking him in your hand, testing how he felt with your fingers around him. You traced your thumb up and down the underside, savoring the way he felt in your hold.

So perfect.

There was no telling if that voice in your head was yourself or him. 

"Imagine lots of things thinking of you," Feitan said, rewarding you with answers. His head fell to the side as you stroked him for the first time. "Your pretty sounds when I am fucking your mouth." You stroked him again, harder this time and he dug his hands back in your hair, tugging you forward. He wanted your mouth on him, but you were going to savor this for just a moment longer. "Tight around my cock. Crying when I choke you."

"What else?" You were begging now, begging to hear how he pictured you when he got himself off. But now, your hands were doing it in his place. You stroked, slow and tight because he groaned when you held hard enough. "Please tell me."

"Suck me off," Feitan said, pushing your face against him. "Might say." His nails dug into your scalp and neck and jaw as his fingers wandered. You hissed and whimpered with the alternating sting and pleasure.

Who were you to deny him what he wanted? 

You watched his response as you licked up the underside. Fei closed his eyes like he wanted nothing but the sensation of you touching him. Gliding your hand up again, Fei hummed and nearly smiled. 

The bond burned, hot and vicious like the day you'd met. Feitan's pleasure coursed down and you shuttered a breath, experiencing a mix of his ravenous need and pulsing desire with your own. And when you took him in your mouth, just enough to tease him, you were awed not by the sensation of pleasure, but by the contentment Feitan felt with your hands on him. 

A religion and truth of its own kind. 

You pressed your tongue on him and took him deeper, stroking with your hand to make up the extra space while you teased.

Feitan groaned and tossed his head back, tugging your hair to push deeper into your throat. He rocked against you, making small sounds you were sure he was trying to contain. But you could feel so much more than he could express. 

"Tied up. Gagged," Feitan said, his voice breathless now. "Shaking. Hurting. Bring you to the edge and stop. Again and again."

You groaned around him and he hissed as you took him deeper. But it wasn't enough for him. He snapped his hips and stroked your jaw like he could feel himself inside you, in your mouth, down your throat. You clutched at his tattoo, digging your nails in. 

"Hurting for me," Fei said, shoving himself in all the way. You gagged and relaxed to let him guide your head. "Like that." His momentary praise scorched you, body and soul. "Burned. Scratched. Hit. Cut." Fei gasped at the thought. "So pretty. So perfect."

You jerked as he pulled himself out of your mouth. Straining to reach for him again, Feitan snagged your wrist and kissed his own name branded into you. 

He plunged his nails into the skin around the mark, just like he'd done that morning in your bedroom when you should have begged him to stay. Rivulets of blood popped from the punctures. Feitan watched them pool and slide down your arm – the painting he was crafting.

"Feitan," you whispered. "Please."

"What?" His small, wicked smile was your only paradise. "Need something?"

“You, Fei,” you said again, with only admiration in the way you said his name. 

You tore his other hand from your hair and brought your own name to your lips. It crossed your holds but you needed to mark him. 

Whispering ‘Fei’ like a prayer, you spoke over and over until you couldn’t speak another word. You kissed each letter of your name branded on him; proof that he was yours and you were his. But you wanted, needed him marked too. Nails pressing in, you matched the divots he’d made on your wrist. Blood twisted down his fingers. But it still wasn’t enough, wasn't close enough. You tore your other hand from his hold. And by some act of the underworld, he let you.

Feitan's face glowed with something so lovely and foreign. Words and prayers were gone; everything but proving to him what you two were together was beyond you now. With fanned fingers, you rolled your branded wrist on his. 

The marks burned red as they joined. But not the crimson red of blood; a sparkling, ethereal, divine red that burned like fire in your eyes as you watched. A sweeping color that exploded into the room, scorching the pale moonlight, replacing it with something beyond the sun and moon. 

Feitan whispered your name too, watching – not the changes on your mark, or the color bleeding through the room like a parasite, but you. Only you. He intertwined your fingers and tugged you from the floor. In the moments the marks split, the glimmering red dissipated, seeping back towards the mark like it originated there. But Feitan knew, just as well as you, that you didn’t want to part them yet. 

He guided you to the bed and shoved you down. You tumbled back onto the fluffy pillows and silken sheets, gasping as Feitan crawled up your body to press himself against you. Every muscle, every breath, every movement, was part of you now. 

He gripped your fingers, rejoining the marks as he kissed you. Slow and toying, coaxing, like he too was begging for you. Because he was, in his own way; just like he did everything. 

Blood swathed your skin like a brush stroke on canvas that continued onto Feitan, making you both into his art. 

The divine red slithered from your joined marks. It glided over the bed, slipped through the rug, and burst like a firework when it hit the middle of the room. Feitan forced your eyes closed with a kiss that felt like the world shifted. But even closed, the burning red tingled behind your eyes like it wanted you to look. Or to experience. But all you could think to do was experience him. 

He kissed slowly, reverently down your neck, letting his lips scorch your skin with every touch. And when he stopped, you begged with whines until his lips met yours again. Everything burned for him and even the darkness behind your eyes couldn’t keep the image of him from you. But it wasn’t enough, so you blinked to find him already watching. 

His hair fell around you like a universe all of its own. And you were sure you saw that same galaxy swirling in his gaze. The bond was there on the surface. A thousand colors churned in his eyes. 

"What is it?" you said, feeling a wave of uneasiness down the bond. 

Feitan didn't breathe for a moment.

“Really want me?” Feitan said, his face open with something else – fear and uncertainty in the burning galaxy. Like he moved through a dream and was praying he wouldn’t wake. 

There was no world, no life, no universe where you wouldn’t want him. 

“Only you,” you said, resting your hand on his cheek. “Show me you want me too.” 

Feitan, in this moment, with nothing left to come between you, laughed so softly you were sure you fell in love. 

“Demanding woman,” Feitan said, gripping your hand tighter, pressing harder into the marks. It sank into the mattress and the sheets soaked red with blood. 

His free hand slipped between you to unbutton your pants and tug them down. You were so far gone, you barely noticed the thrill of him tossing them from the bed. Or him urging you up, pulling everything free from your body. Or that he’d removed his shirt and rested back against you.

His muscles had felt lovely against your hands, but they molded perfectly against your body. Small freckles dotted his shoulders and you wanted to count each. But your thoughts strayed back to the moment when you felt the quiver in his hands. 

The red light ebbed and flowed as he worked, but never retreated fully. And once your hands were back together, it burned stronger than ever, but you didn’t want to close your eyes. 

Feitan ground against you and you laughed with an otherworldly joy. Again and again, he teased you, never giving you what you wanted. But the feeling of him pushing through you, proved every time that he’d feel perfect. 

“Hurt you so nicely,” he whispered against your ear. 

Feitan stroked his nails up and down your neck, stopping to wrap his fingers around your throat and catch your breath in his hands. He constricted it, pressing in until your lips parted and eyes fluttered. 

“Look at you,” he said, hoisting himself to hover over you, pushing your joined hands together harder on the mattress. “Perfect for me.” 

You swallowed and he released his hold. Breathing quickly, you begged him with every word you could remember to touch you again. 

His eyes had always been beautiful, but in that moment, they were mesmerizing and you could spend a lifetime counting the colors. 

Your free hand slid into his hair and you shoved him down for a kiss. Feitan groaned and when he bit your bottom lip, you opened for him. His tongue stroked and teased while his hand slid to your chest. Finger swirling, Feitan circled your nipple, taunting you still. His hands burned against your skin, like the shimmering galaxy moved between you both, molding you into something new. 

Feitan kiss softened and you knew the sting was coming. He twisted and tugged your nipple between his fingers and you arched against him as he didn’t let up. 

You spoke words that sounded foreign in your ear, like the words of death he’d spoken in the most dire moment you’d shared. But he rewarded your sounds by grinding against you again and responding in the language you didn’t understand. But you did understand somehow: perfect, perfect, perfect. Closer, closer, closer.

Fei used his knees to guide your legs apart. 

God, you could barely think. His fingers, his lips, his everything. Nobody should have worked you so perfectly, so effortlessly, like he’d always known what you would need. Like he was made for you and you for him. 

Reaching between your bodies, you grabbed him again. Stroking, you reveled in the momentary surprise: the raised brows and widened eyes. But he recovered, pushing your arm away and slipping his own hand between you. He grazed a finger through you and again his eyes widened, then darkened into something predatory. Even the colors of the galaxy in his eyes changed like a shadow over the moon. 

More colors for another lifetime. 

Fei’s lips moved again, speaking sinful words in death’s language.

Not close enough.

Not close enough.

Not close enough. 

And you responded in kind. You couldn’t hear your own words. But you knew they were real and Fei would understand. 

“Never wanted something more than you,” Feitan said, so clearly you couldn’t deny its truth.

He brought his thumb up to circle at the spot you really needed him. You arched as he tested motions and pressure. His dexterous fingers crafted for something so dark were driving you towards bliss. 

His gaze devoured you, matching every breath, marking every sound, drowning in every response to his touch. A lifetime of honing the skills to harm had coalesced in this perfect moment.

You needed to see everything: his burning eyes; the way he smiled when he tested what you liked and discovered something new; his hands working like they were gods crafted for you. But it was impossible to decide and Fei seemed equally conflicted. He chose watching his fingers play you like a lovely symphony. Like he was memorizing how he was compelled to worship you. 

You gasped as he found exactly the motion you needed. 

That? Feitan said, starting the motion and stopping the second you reacted. The perfect, wicked bastard would drag it out, just as he’d promised. Take you to the top and throw you back down the hill until he was ready to let you crest. And you could only hope it changed the stars in his eyes again when he did. 

Yes, God. Yes. That, you said, barely able to form words as his fingers started moving again. Please, Fei. 

Your lips were closed, but the words flowed so effortlessly, like there was no need for a voice when you had the shimmering bond speaking with you. 

Feitan kept the movement going while he bent to kiss your neck and shoulders. Soft and soothing until he bit the skin above your collarbone. You hissed and sighed as he kissed and soothed the spot where he’d broken skin. What a lovely pain it was. So lovely, you could barely call it pain when it could only feel exquisite at his hands. 

Again, you said. The message travelled through the stars in the bond, from one side of the strange galaxy to the other. Traversing constellations and planets and moons until you felt Fei’s reception. 

He laughed against your skin, like he didn’t quite believe it. He pressed his lips to the underside of your jaw, kissing and licking until you were sure he meant no harm. But his fingers did – you gasped as he worked perfectly. Everything tightened and you burned with the heat of your climax rushing to the surface.

Not yet. Feitan pulled his thumb away and bit into the soft skin below the curve of your jaw. It burned as beautifully as he’d promised. 

Bastard.

But you couldn’t complain for long. Fei paused and his gaze flicked back up to you. Villainous intent painted his features. He repositioned his hand to spread you out, revealing how desperately you needed him. There was no use in hiding when your desperation flitted along the bond directly to him. Fei dropped his chin and whispered your name (as if there was anything in this world or the next that could take your focus from him) and glided two fingers inside – so devastatingly slow you arched to guide him in further. Feitan sucked in a breath and threw you both into another scorching kiss. It caught you as you tried to breathe, but Fei was relentless with his affection. 

Need to be inside when you cum. 

You nodded and gripped his hair to keep him against you. 

I need that too.

The bond was quiet as the sounds of time and space awaited his next words. You tugged at his hair as he stroked his fingers in and out, spreading them, pressing them, and experiencing a small dose of what he’d feel when he fucked you. 

Finally, when you were desperate to hear the sound of his voice, Fei spoke. And as he watched you, you knew he could see the galaxy in your eyes too. 

I know.

You laughed with a joy you couldn’t explain. 

A blink – one moment to the next, was all it took for the room to change. Gone was the devilish red burning your eyes. It was replaced with something else entirely. Burning stars warmed your skin, softening the passing chill from the frozen desolation of space. Planets of golden sands and purple storms circled like you and Fei were their boiling sun, guiding the worlds as they moved through space and time; their compass and their eventual demise. The colors once in Fei’s eyes, the ones you’d gripped for that horrible day, consumed you once more. But this galaxy wasn’t imploding into a color you’d never seen. You and Fei were that color, the bond, admiring the universe you'd created. 

If you strayed from him in that moment, you’d snap, your soul would shatter. You didn’t know how, but you knew it to be true. 

You blinked and it was gone, but this time, you didn’t want to chase it. 

Fei unlocked your hands holding the marks together. The red fizzled away, this time not retreating to the bond, like it had done its job and was swirling back to the worlds unknown you saw in Fei’s eyes. 

He gripped your hips and spread you wider with his knees so he could settle exactly where he needed to push into you. His nails cut skin and you begged him to mark you harder. Fei drove his nails in and dragged them down your thighs until they burned to perfection. 

There was nothing but his touch as he brought a hand back to your throat, forcing your chin up to watch him over you. 

And when he was sure you were watching nothing but him, he grinned wildly. The color in his eyes burned still – but it wasn’t a divine fire or roiling galaxy – it was the stormy, expressive gray you loved. 

It was Fei.

He released your neck and tossed your arms over your head. You crossed your wrists for him to hold before he could ask. 

Fei clutched your wrists, pressing harder and tighter, watching the way your face changed as he held well enough to bruise.

He rested his nose against yours, nearly kissing you as he gripped himself to align where he wanted.

"Don't worry. I will be gentle," Fetain said like he'd do no such thing.

"Don't you dare be gentle," you said, pressing your hips up against him shamelessly. You needed anything he'd give, everything he'd give. 

"Was never going to be," Feitan said, smacking your thigh so hard it stung. "Promised I would fuck you the right way."

He readjusted and paused a moment longer to watch your lips part and eyes yearn for his touch before guiding himself inside. 

For a moment, you didn't breathe, both sharing the moment, watching the other like time had stopped. But Feitan breathed first and pushed deeper, coming to rest his face in the crook of your neck. It was torturous and slow and everything you needed. 

Then with each small push, he bit down your neck, hitting bruised and clear skin alike, laughing at your sounds and groaning as you tightened from the sensations. Fei stretched you so perfectly, moved in and out so fluidly, and felt more exquisite than you could have ever imagined. 

His fingers had been nothing compared to this: the way he moved his hips to angle just right, the way his sounds flowed as freely as yours, the way he mixed pleasure and pain until they were one in the same.

His movements were slow and controlled at first. Feitan groaned, devouring the new sensation of you around him. And your breath caught at how mesmerized he was with your reactions. He rocked back and pushed in a bit farther than before. And then back again and again, until you whispered his name.

He knew what you meant when you said his name. You needed more. 

Feitan tugged your hips up off the bed and drove in so hard you whined for him. But he gave you no respite to accommodate him all the way inside. Letting you drop, he clawed at your thigh and pressed it back towards your chest as he fucked you. 

He arched over your body, examining your breath racing in your chest and bruised neck like he'd mark every swath of skin he could touch. Your wrists burned with budding bruises from his ever tightening hold, and your skin stung where he'd bitten.

His eyes were glazed as he rocked in and out, like he was lost in you. 

Feitan gripped your breast, running his thumb over your nipple, lightly, like he dared not hurt you. But he teased only a moment longer before he tugged. You jerked, tightening around him. His eyes widened and he continued his pleasant torture until mischief sparked in his eyes and he dropped his hold on your wrists.

"Flip over," Feitan said, pulling out of you, "ass up."

You rolled over and pressed your hips back, resting on your forearms so you could look behind at the muscles you'd never get enough of. But you only got a moment before Feitan's hand slammed between your shoulder blades, pushing you down onto your stomach. 

"I said ass up," Feitan said, enveloping you with his body and delivering a strong smack on your ass. His muscled chest pressed into your back as he massaged the spot he'd struck. "Not resting on arms."

"Sorry," you mumbled into the sheets. 

"No, you aren't." Feitan smacked your ass again and you jerked. The sting made you gasp and you begged him for more. He smacked your thigh and thrusted back in with no warning, but you pushed back to meet him. 

The angle was different now – deeper. And you joined him mid-stroke. As he thrust in, you rolled back. 

"So wet. Barely fucked you yet," Feitan said, taunting you in your ear as he drove his fingers into your hips so hard bruises would bloom. "Fit so perfect. Pretty whore made just for me." You groaned and tried to reach between your legs, but Feitan shoved your hand away. "Filthy thing wants to cum?"

You nodded into the sheets, gripping at the pillow for something to ground you as he fucked you. The light linen clung to the warmth of your body while Feitan worked. And you couldn't think of anything you'd rather be doing in that moment. 

Feitan reached a hand around your hips and between your legs. His other hand scratched up your spine, making you arch and push back against him harder, spreading your legs wider.

Hand in your hair, he gripped and tugged you up just enough to kiss you. It strained your neck but still you chased his lips as he jerked back playfully, making you work for his lips on yours.

He circled your clit with his fingers, sometimes slapping if you made a sound he particularly liked. And you knew, because he'd fuck you harder, faster when you moaned just right for him. 

There was nothing for you to do but bask in the strange mix of hurt and pleasure from Feitan's hands. 

Your breath caught as you shifted with the warmth of your coming orgasm. But you knew the only way he'd let you cum would be to beg. 

"Feitan," you breathed, tightening around him and sighing when he hissed at the feeling. "Please let me cum. I need it. You feel so good."

Shoving your head back against the mattress, he said, "Not yet," and pulled his hand away from where you needed it, making you groan at the loss. "Edge of the bed."

He pulled out again and you thought no torture he'd inflict on you would be worse than that. 

Fei slipped off the bed and stood at the edge. You'd barely turned when he gripped your ankles and tugged you to the edge of the mattress. He put pressure on your thighs with his palms, spreading your legs apart so he could see you wet for him and drag his finger through you like you were a prize to savor. 

He examined his finger and his darkened eyes rolled up to meet yours. "Pathetic," he said, but you sighed at the gleam of wicked admiration in his eyes as he reveled in what his hands and words did to you. "Dripping like a slut."

He'd barely finished speaking when he pushed himself back inside. Feitan gripped your ankles and placed them on his shoulders. Muscles strained but you couldn't complain as he bit and stroked and slapped your ankles and calves and thighs, everywhere his hands or mouth could reach. Like he needed to taste, to mark every spot on your skin.

Feitan returned his hand between your thighs until he again brought you to the edge.

"I'm serious, Fei," you said, gripping the sheets as tears welled in your eyes as how your muscles strained and tightened around him, hoping for release. He chuckled at your stern tone, as if you had any control over when he'd let you crest. "Make me cum this time. Stopping two times is mean; three is evil."

"Demanding woman, like always." Feitan's wicked smile grew and you knew then you'd miscalculated. "I will let you cum."

Your eyes widened. 

"Fei," you said, breath quickening as he pushed you closer, "what's the catch?" There had to be a catch. Something you hadn't accounted for when you'd begged and then demanded he let you cum. "Fei, I swear to –"

But it was too late to think now. Everything was warm and your body tightened. Feitan's fingers kept their perfect pace and you threw your head back, arching as you came around him. 

Feitan groaned as you pulsed. And you could feel all of him through the tension coming and going. He fucked you through and you'd never felt something so lovely. Eyes closing and back falling to the sheets, you relaxed entirely against the bed. 

Your orgasm faded, but his fingers didn't stop. 

You whispered "Fei" so many times it felt more like a prayer than a name. You were light headed, warm, and desperate for his body to be against you again, fucking you while you came down from the high of his torturous fingers. 

Nearly overstimulated, you grabbed his wrist, but his fingers still didn't stop. 

"Fei," you groaned, shifting as the feeling of uncomfortable warmth bubbled up in your stomach. "I came. You can –"

"You demanded to cum," Feitan's gentle voice was so wicked you had no choice but to flick your gaze to the frenzied fire in his stare. "I am letting you."

The feeling started again and you realized what he meant. Overstimulation switched to the warmth and tightness of another orgasm. It moved hard and fast, stronger than the last. Legs tingling and breath barely moving through your lungs, Feitan extended the painful pleasure. He gripped your neck as you gasped for air. And he caught your breath halfway as you came a second time. 

You saw stars. Not the galaxy's bursting, glorious stars, but spots of light in your vision as you rolled through a second orgasm. 

Feitan dropped his hold on your neck and pushed your legs from his shoulders so he could lean down and kiss you. Again he stole the breath you hadn't caught from your first orgasm.

And still his fingers didn't stop. 

"Feitan Portor, I swear to God –" you said, losing your train of thought as he relentlessly pushed you towards a third release. 

"God can't help you," Feitan said, chuckling against your cheek and you couldn't stop from laughing too. 

You wrapped your legs around him and dragged your hands up his back, tugging him as close as he could get with his hand between you. It felt almost like an embrace when his free hand looped around your lower back to hold you in place at the foot of the bed. 

"You're such," you said, gasping as your next orgasm built, "an asshole."

"For next time – demands might get what you want," Feitan said, kissing your cheek softly. But you could feel the smirk on him. "Just not how you want it."

"I hate you," you said, squirming under him as he worked you. His thrusts were uneven now, erratic, and it felt more intimate than it had before. Now you were talking and laughing like lovers. "Fucking bastard."

Feitan hummed like he was thinking it over. You would have thought he wasn't as affected as he was, had his thrust been more even or voice not been as breathless as he said, "Hate you too."

And the part of you that knew him, knew it was his way of telling you the opposite. 

This time you came, not as hard as before, but it felt nice to cum with his body wrapped around you.

Feitan pulled back to watch your face as you struggled to breathe through the third orgasm in rapid succession. Sweat beaded your forehead, sticking to your brows and hair. Heat burned in your face and you felt numb, ready to collapse and sleep a while.

Finally, when you were sure he was going to push another orgasm, he removed his hand. Which was perfect, because you couldn't take more.

You yelped as Feitan grabbed you and threw you back onto the middle of the bed. Bouncing among the sheets, you barely had time to adjust yourself on your back. With no time to breathe, Feitan was on top of you again. He pressed your legs apart and sank back into you.

"So tight," Feitan said in his mocking tone.

"Because you made me cum three times!" you said, glad when he pressed his chest against yours and rested his head in the crook of your neck. It gave you the chance to skim your fingers over his back muscles. 

"Imagining things," Feitan said, gripping your hips and thrusting unevenly.

"I should kill you in your sleep," you said, peppering kisses on his freckled shoulder.

"Good luck," Feitan said, laughing and then going quiet again like he'd lost his train of thought. 

His breath caught and he held you tighter, like the last thing he could do was let you go. Feitan clutched you like you were suddenly breakable, showing a strange softness you wouldn't have expected from him. 

He rolled his hips a few more uneven times. And at the final moment, he pulled out before he came.

And you weren't sure, but you wanted to believe that you'd heard him whisper your name. 

You laid in bed facing him, tracing his abs with your fingers – and his chest and neck and face. He'd been quiet since it ended, watching you with a strange look on his face. It didn't look mean, just confused. Maybe uncertain. 

"Not used to staying," Feitan said, squinting like he couldn't see you from inches away.

Oh, great. He was used to a round and then running out. 

"You want me to leave?" you said carefully, unable to keep the hurt from your voice. 

"Did not say that." Feitan clutched you to himself. "Not letting you leave."

He pulled the blanket up and forced you to wrap up in it, like you'd get cold even though you were both covered in sweat. But you thought it had more to do with him unsure how to do anything after the sex, and so he was trying whatever he could think of. 

"This time was my hands," Feitan said, stroking the space between your breasts and placing his hand on your racing heart; the one he knew beat for him. "Next time using my toys."

"Your belt looked appealing," you said, kissing him softly and cuddling closer since he was allowing it.

Feitan stiffened and you thought he didn't like the suggestion until you pulled back to check his expression. 

"Stroking, hitting, or binding?" Feitan's eyes went wild and you thought for a moment he might throw you back on your ass for another round of you tied to the headboard with his belt. 

You smiled. What a silly question. "Anything you can think of."

Feitan chuckled and you admired the interest in his eyes. 

"My soulmate," Feitan mumbled against your lips. And you thought it was the first time he'd ever acknowledged it in a positive light. 

Chapter Text

The next morning, you’d asked Feitan if you’d been better than his fantasies and he told you to “keep trying to be sure.” So you did – before breakfast and after lunch. And you might have gone again except Shalnark looked like he was going to kill you both for putting off the conversation he wanted to have about Anaia’s information. But at least now you understood why Phinks and Mai hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. And you couldn’t help wondering if they saw the galaxy too. Or if they had their part of space you could never access.

The group sat together in a different den than the one you’d previously seen. You started to think you’d never see every room in this house. And that didn’t account for the hidden passages Phinks had told you about the other day. But nobody had corroborated that story so you weren’t inclined to believe it. 

Gray couches and large circle chairs with fluffy pillows sat around a gas fireplace that somebody had turned on for the ambiance. Silver end tables and lamps with matching, swirling bases sat at the sides of the couch with a cracked, glass coffee table in the middle. If you had to guess who’d broken it, you’d bet money on Phinks. 

Speaking of – him and Mai sat on entirely different sides of the room, pretending the other didn’t exist. Phinks less so than Mai, though. He spent a more than casual amount time gazing in their direction, but his glances were never returned. 

You sat huddled with Feitan on one of the circle chairs. While you’d thought his possessiveness was a bit much before, it had taken on an entirely new personality. He’d barely let you speak to anyone today and he’d watched Phinks like he was ready to decapitate him if he looked at you wrong. Now, Feitan’s arm was around you at all times and he was taking great measures to monopolize your attention. 

But, he could be an asshole all he liked. That didn’t mean you needed to comply with his demand of the week. 

“Anaia wasn’t lying,” Shalnark said, standing at the front of the room. His face was dusted in shadow from the fire burning behind him. It was a strange contrast with his peppy voice. That was what he looked like on the inside, now reflected out. Feitan caught your focus on Shalnark and tugged you closer to regain your attention. Again you didn’t comply. “Or she’s not currently lying. I can’t corroborate that she wasn’t always a cultist, which isn’t great, but I think these other documents are real. Which tells me she has defected.” Shalnark rifled through the material. "Nobody on the inside would give us this much unless they were fabricating it intentionally. But with what we know, I think we can safely assume it's accurate until we can confirm." 

“What did you find?” Mai asked, their eyes alight with the prospect of information. “Anything delectable?” 

Shalnark smiled wider and it morphed his face to something even darker in the firelight. He turned to Mai and said, “Names of leaders and a lot of lower members, dates and schedules, plans and organizational structures, and internal propaganda and belief systems. We have enough to get ahead of them, assuming they don’t know this was stolen, of course.” Shalnark popped out the pamphlet you'd gotten and nodded your direction. "And the pamphlet you got corroborates information too."

You blinked, not recalling giving him the pamphlet, but Shalnark just smiled on as if you had. He probably took it while you floated in and out of consciousness. 

This all sounded like payback to you – payback for them stealing your research, for killing and maiming, for ruining lives. But that meant that it was also likely Anaia was telling the truth about Marco. Feitan thought so, and on some level you did too, but if it was real, you’d have to face it. 

“Is his name there?” Phinks said with scowl, sliding down his spot on the couch and crossing his arms. 

“It’s here.” Shalnark waved the folder around. “Don’t worry. You don’t defect and get away with it.”

“Also, do not try to kill Blair,” Feitan said. It sounded like it should be a joke but the words were serious, vicious. 

You turned to Feitan and didn’t have to ask. He understood your question. 

“Chrollo’s soulmate,” Feitan said. 

“Hold on a second…” you said, pausing, not really knowing what to say. “The defector from the Spiders tried to kill Chrollo’s soulmate?” 

“Then joined TPI!” Shalnark said, like it was the most pleasant topic he’d ever encountered. “Isn’t going to work out so well for him when we drag him back to Chrollo. But it should be fun to watch.” 

So they weren’t going to outright kill him. It hurt your head thinking that there was somebody else far worse than Marco that the Spiders were after. And if this target had been a Spider at one time, it meant they were equally as capable as any of the Troupe members in the room with you. That likely made them far more dangerous than Marco could ever be. 

“Blair’s okay, right?” you said, searching the room for confirmation that this woman was in fact breathing. “She’s alive?” 

Phinks snorted. “Course she’s alive. He tried to whack Blair. Couldn’t actually do it.” Phinks peeked at Mai who was picking intently at their nails.

You imagined Chrollo’s soulmate would be a formidable person. Incredibly difficult to kill, too. 

“What happened?” you said. It wasn’t that you knew Blair, but she was someone like you. A Spiders’ soulmate who lived in constant danger because of something they couldn’t control. And not only had Blair been the model for the fear you’d already faced – the possibility you’d die from finding Fei – she’d almost died at the hands of someone the Spiders trusted. 

That seemed worse than dying at the wrong end of an enemy’s sword.

“Not our story,” Feitan said. “Ask her if you want to know.” 

You knew a story that nobody wanted to tell when you saw it. Especially when you had some of those stories too. The Spiders had never asked for details about what happened with your brother, but you wondered if it was time they knew. 

"The boss said we've got a few more joining us," Shalnark said. "But I want to dig into these documents a little more before then; confirm a few things." Shalnark turned to Mai. "You wanted to make yourself useful?" Mai nodded with wide eyes. "Now's your chance! You can help me out downstairs."

Mai looked your way and you knew they were telling you they wouldn't be long. Once Mai decided, they wouldn't back down. So, now you needed to figure out what Mai needed you to do to get the book and how they planned to get you out of a mansion crawling with Spiders.

"I'll come find you," Mai said to you, sweeping past Phinks like they'd never met him before. Phinks reached a hand and slid his fingers through the fabric of Mai's top. They stalled like they'd forgotten to breathe and then kept walking to join Shalnark at the front of the room. "It's been ages since we've spent time just the two of us. Let's do that tonight."

"No," Feitan said, clutching you to himself and wrapping his hand around your stomach to lock you in place. "With me tonight."

And surely every night, if he'd get his way. That probably meant you'd never be sleeping alone again, which sounded nice and domestic. Something you liked feeling between traumatizing experiences you weren't ready to process. 

"That sounds great, Mai," you said, ignoring Feitan's outburst. "I'm going to talk to Anaia. We'll meet up later."

"Sounds like a plan." Mai winked at Feitan, who didn't look at all pleased. "I won't keep her forever. I know you're so busy together."

Phinks laughed and covered it with a cough when Mai finally did look at him like he better be careful. He withered under their glare. 

If only Phinks knew how far Mai would go to get what they wanted. If he didn't know already, he would after tonight. 

Feitan opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. 

"Don't threaten Mai," you said, turning to curl up against him. He relaxed somewhat when you wrapped around him and laid in his arms. "You can threaten anyone else, though."

Feitan squinted like he wondered if you were testing him. "Threaten you if you leave tonight."

The rest of the group was getting up and Mai and Shalnark were already gone to do whatever they'd planned without Phinks' knowledge. Getting under his skin seemed to be Mai's specialty and you were glad Phinks had met his match. He needed it. 

"What are you gonna do?" you whispered in Fei's ear, catching your breath when he shivered. "Tie me up? Make me beg for forgiveness for daring to be away from you for a few hours."

"Watch it," Feitan said, stroking your jaw to angle your lips towards his. "Might do something about your mouth."

"I call bullshit," you whispered against his lips. With you both knowing full well it was absolutely not bullshit. 

Feitan gripped the fabric of your shirt.

"Can't talk back with your mouth full," Feitan said, grazing a kiss on your lips and pushing you off him to stand. 

Toppling back, you caught yourself before you slipped off the couch. 

You shook off the moment as Feitan headed out of the room as if he’d said nothing at all. But not before stopping at the door, shoving his hands in his pockets, and looking back with a stare that seemed to say “I dare you to try.” And you damn well would, after you got your other work done.

Riling him up was your new favorite activity. And now, you were actually rewarded for it. 

“Are you going to crucify me?” Anaia said, lazily, leaning back on her palms like she’d fall into the shape of a cross. Her injuries were gone but she didn’t look well otherwise. Greasy tendrils of hair curved down her cheeks and the rest of her face was collecting dirt. Her clothes were so dusty she looked like she’d purchased them at a rummage sale. But still she looked angelic and regal in a way you just couldn’t replicate. A Queen holding court in their prison. “Or are we still pretending I’m the bad guy here?”

Phenomenal. You’d hoped to have a civil conversation with your – sister – and she had decided to come out swinging. 

“Maybe neither of us are the bad guys here,” you said. Anaia pursed her lips but let you continue. “We’ve both done what we thought was right, even though we were a little – or a lot,” you gave her a pointed look, “– wrong in the process.” 

Anaia’s face opened just a moment before she was locked away again behind her cold mask of indifference. 

“It must hurt terribly,” you said, taking a seat at the edge of the gate and sliding her food under the cutout at the bottom. “Being so far from Marco.” 

Anaia shrugged and picked at the fruit – more pushing it around than actually eating it. “I handle it better than others.”

She was so full of shit, but you let her think you believed her. You’d felt that sting with Feitan. The unyielding, unrepentant ache that dug deeper every day you were away from him. How you’d slowly driven yourself near both lethargy and madness in your desperation to be close to him again. 

You’d nearly lost yourself. But something told you Anaia would fight it in a way you didn’t. 

“I have some questions I wanted to ask you,” you said, picking at the hem of your shirt while you stared past her head. “But if you’re going to be difficult, I won’t bother asking. Just tell me and we’ll call it quits for the day.”

Anaia sat up straighter now, and you see the conflict in her eyes.

You wanted her to talk, for so many different reasons. You’d had nobody two months ago but Mai. And now there were so many. You’d always had them but never known. As difficult as this woman seemed to be, she was yours; your sister; your family. And since it sounded like she was telling the truth about Marco, you let a small part of yourself meander towards the sliver of the idea that you could have him again. The real brother you’d known before the world changed. 

You’d come down every day, twice a day, every hour if that’s what it took for her to talk. You wouldn’t torture her or play by Feitan’s rules, you’d do it your way in the hopes that there was sun once you tunneled under the mountain crushing down on your back. 

“You have that look,” Anaia said, tapping her fingers on her lips. 

“What look?” you said.

“The one Marco gets when he’s going to be a stubborn ass,” Anaia said, plopping her hands in her lap and sighing. “Fine. I’ll talk even though you still don't trust me.” You lit up and she pointed a warning finger at you as if it didn't make sense to be wary of a defected cultist living in your basement. “But only because I know you’d badger me for the rest of our lives if I don’t. And under one condition.”

You raised your brows. Unfortunately, she wasn’t at the 'bargain for her release' stage. The Spiders would never go for that when they were still investigating. 

“Can you bring me some soap and water so I can bathe?” Anaia said it softly, avoiding your eyes.

Oh. 

That wasn’t much to ask at all. You’d expected her to demand her immediate release and the right to lead the Spiders. 

“Sure,” you said, smiling when she also smiled, just a bit, “and I’ll bring you some fresh clothes. You look like Mai’s size.”  

“Your friend,” Anaia said fondly, like she was thinking of a conversation she’d had with Marco. “He was glad you had somebody when he left.” 

Even if you were opening up to the idea of amending your opinion on Marco, that didn't mean you liked hearing his opinions on your life. 

“Why didn’t he tell me what really happened?” you said, now being the one struggling to make eye contact when Anaia examined you. “We were both there. I saw the aftermath. He just – ran.” 

Anaia picked at her food and drank from the bottle of water you’d given her. She looked more wan than when you’d seen her before and you realized it must be draining being underground in near darkness. 

“We don’t always make the best choices in dire situations,” Anaia said, carefully, her back stiff and her face blank. “We can train and hope for the best, but how we react in that moment is sometimes the last thing we’d want to do.” She popped a cheese cube in her mouth and examined the ceiling like she could see Marco beyond the cell. “He lost his parents too, you know.” You were going to agree when she said, “And you.” 

You sat on that for a moment. A lump formed in your throat and you cleared it to keep the feelings too tough to process away. It was then you wished you had Anaia’s poker face. 

“Can you tell me what really happened that night?” you said.

Anaia let the question sit in silence, like she was mulling it over. “He should tell you, not me.”

You rubbed your hands over your face. That was twice you’d heard that said tonight and you had access to neither Blair nor Marco. 

"Was Jed always the leader of TPI?" you asked, trying to remain casual. You trusted her some , but not enough to tell her about your fledgling idea. And your wild, probably stupid idea would be easier to accomplish if Jed wasn't. 

"They wanted a demagogue and got one," Anaia said. "But no, he wasn't the first."

You rested your head in your hands as you pretended this wasn't exactly what you'd hoped to hear. TPI was susceptible to grandiose, lovely packaged propaganda. 

Jed had taken it once; someone else could take it again. 

You smiled softly as a chill tickled your skin.

"How did he do it?" you said.

"He's a demagogue. That should tell you what you need to know," Anaia said, looking strangely at you now. “Why’s your mark red?” Anaia said, the breath leaving her lungs so fast she struggled to breathe evenly.  “What did you do?” 

She threw herself towards the bars so quickly, you reacted by fumbling back. Cobblestone was rough against your palm, cutting into the skin. But you weren’t fast enough. Anaia’s hand gripped your wrist, hard, with nails digging in. 

It felt nothing like when Feitan did it. 

Instead, your mark burned at the contact, like a finger on a hot surface when the top of the skin scorches and seeps through like a towel in water. This hadn’t happened before, when Phinks touched your mark at your house the day you’d met Fei. 

Trying to tug your hand away, Anaia pulled you closer. You nearly hit the bars with your face, before catching one in your other hand to stop her progress. 

Anaia shook on you as she poked the mark. The devastation was clear on her face. You’d done something wrong, but you had no idea what.  

“Are you insane?” Anaia said, the sound bouncing off the walls. “I thought you were smarter than this!” She squeezed the mark and you hissed. It felt wrong, so impossibly wrong your skin crawled under her touch. Noone was meant to touch the mark but Fei. “Marco is going to –”

“She might be merciful,” a gentle, vicious voice said from over your shoulder, “but I am not.”

Feitan tore your hand away and shoved Anaia back in the cell. She landed on her hip but didn’t complain. She was entirely fixated on the changed color of your mark, a change you hadn’t even noticed yourself. 

You didn’t even know it could change past gold. 

“Talk like that again,” Feitan said, pulling you to your feet and wrapping an arm around you, “I will take your tongue.” Anaia swallowed but her anger, her fear for you didn’t dissipate. “In chunks.” 

Feitan ran his hands over your back and sides like he was checking for a scratch of any kind. Whatever Anaia had caused, whether intentional or not, you figured Feitan would pay back tenfold. So you hid your scraped palms in case he deemed that murder-worthy. 

“You don’t even –” Anaia tapered off, her gaze still fixated on you, like Feitan was an inanimate object. The strange anger that bubbled up so quickly had dissipated, and she watched you like something she could understand. “I need to think. Get out.” 

“Excuse me?” you said, “This is my house.” 

You thought Feitan would have laughed if he hadn’t been holding you so tightly you knew he was on the verge of losing it. 

“We’re done with this conversation,” Anaia’s voice bit like a snake until her tone softened into something more reserved. “Please.” 

One breath passed in silence. Then two. The beginnings of a strange thought rooted in your mind, but there was no way to be sure until you got that book. It would explain the strange experiences with the bond that didn't appear universal. 

“I’ll get you some bathing supplies and clothes,” you said, resting your palm on Feitan’s chest. “I’ll be back later.” 

Anaia nodded and went back to her food. But the red swiping across her cheeks proved she wasn’t proud of the outburst herself. 

Feitan’s heart raced under your hand and you turned your back on Anaia to face him. “It’s fine,” you whispered, guiding Feitan out of the room. “You can’t maim every person who looks at me wrong.”

“Nobody,” Feitan said slowly, “speaks that way.”

And gets away with it.  

“Don’t put a single finger on her, Fei,” you said. “I’m serious.” 

He reached his hand up to pull your palm from his chest. He wasn’t pleased. He was likely furious that Anaia would try to talk to you that way again, and that you would let her. But this wasn’t his decision. 

He stepped out of your hold and said, “Don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to,” you said. “This is my family, so it’s my rules.” 

Feitan released a breath and looked away. “Fine. No maiming for now." 

You got Anaia the goods you promised and she’d had nothing else to add to the conversation. She simply stared past you, past the room and you felt uneasy enough you had to slip away. 

Now you sat out on the back porch waiting for Mai. 

The moon was out and rising. The glow illuminated the dew on swaying grass. It was ethereal and calming. You looked to the side, intending to point it out to Fei, because it felt wrong to see something so lovely without him. But there was nothing beside you except the evening breeze and fluttering bugs attaching to the faint light in the windows. Fei was somewhere in the house being entertained (held hostage) by Shalnark, who you were thinking was somehow involved in Mai’s scheme.

It was too quiet for happy thoughts. With Feitan away and nobody else to distract you, you sank into the pit of your own mind. 

Your cuts were healing, even though Fei had added new marks, and the horror of that day was fuzzy in your memory like it was something you'd seen through someone else's eyes. But the hurried beat of your heart and the sudden inability to breathe made you cover your mouth and drop your head between your knees. 

Even diluted in your thoughts, it was too much to overlook. Hands shaking you reminded yourself, over and over, that not only were you not there now, but you'd done what you could to save them all. Even though you'd failed, you'd tried. So why wasn't that enough? 

Smoke filled your nose along with the scent of blood. Phantom smells created by your own mind. It grew, circling you like it bound you in a cage of thorns nicking your skin when you tried to move. Everything felt tight; your chest, your throat, your – 

The bond thrummed, like Feitan was coaxing you back through the halls, towards him (and something told you onto his lap specifically). It snapped your focus back, dissipated the scents of death, but it kept your heart racing in the best way possible. He was driving you away from those dark thoughts. But he’d need to learn to let you free when you wanted it. So you pushed back on the bond, telling him in no uncertain terms: no.

You were spending time with Mai, even if Feitan would rather do other activities together. 

You almost choked on air when he sent you a suggestion down the bond in response. A thought about where he’d put his mouth if you came back to him. The image flashed across your mind, like you were seeing it through his perspective. Fei between your legs, holding you down as you writhed under the influence of his tongue and fingers. 

The image was clouded with his perception of you. He really did see something beautiful in the way you moved for him; how you smiled down at him; how you gripped his hair as if he’d let you control a single movement. 

You shook the image away and swore you could hear him cackling in your head. It pissed you off that he’d discovered something about the bond before you had. Not much thought had been given to how you’d spoken without words the night before, but you figured you ought to if Fei was sending fantasies down the bond like some sort of old fashioned and highly inappropriate love letter. 

So you figured you could at least add to it. You let an image flash of you on your knees in front of him. His hands tangled in your hair, guiding you because your knees were spread and wrists and ankles bound with rope behind you. You let your eyes shine with admiration, and thought, hoping it would get to him, that you couldn’t talk back with your mouth full. 

You felt the bond jerk and you were certain Feitan was moving. 

Later, you said down the bond. I’m busy and you started this, so lie in the bed you made.

He was quiet for a moment and the bond settled, like he’d stopped his rush to get to you and act out exactly what you’d shown each other.

Tease. 

Instigator. 

“Ready?” Somebody said behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin. “Jeez,” they said. “You’re that scared to rob a silly, little museum?” 

You blinked up at Mai standing next to you dressed like they were going on a secret mission with far more gear than you’d ever need to rob a museum. “We’re robbing a what, again?” 

“A museum,” Mai said, adjusting a pair of gloves on their hands. “The book’s in the archives under some snooty museum. We’re gonna take it.” 

You couldn’t help the nervous excitement buzzing in your veins. Clearly, you’d developed a taste for larceny. And there was something invigorating, something awakening at the prospect of doing this with your friend. 

This wasn’t the Spiders, it was –

Oh, no. You paused. It was definitely, also the Spiders. 

“Shalnark’s on the cameras,” you said, already knowing it had to be true. Mai nodded and you cocked your head at the contemplative look on their face. “He knows, doesn’t he?” 

“Nothing gets past him and Gareth.” Mai rolled their eyes and pulled a set of jangling keys from their pocket. They looked like they belonged to a very nice, and very not theirs car. “Slimy, intelligence-gathering, little bastards.” Mai looped a hand around your arm and started dragging you to the garage. “Should have known they’d figure it out.” 

"Did they tell Phinks?" you asked, hoping they weren't also fighting because Mai had lied about their Nen. 

"Nah," Mai said, "they're not snitches."

Chapter Text

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had and I’m never forgiving you,” you said, only half serious, as you stood in line with Mai to enter a gala happening at the museum. “I’m tired and almost got blown up and now I have to perform like I’m some sort of rich asshole who would attend an event like this?” 

“That's a big attitude you've got. What's really wrong? Is it the outfit?” Mai said. “Since you’re in the business of giving my clothes away, I’m giving you something to wear.” Mai looked down at the clothes they’d given you and examined the work they’d done on your hair in the garage before you stole the iridescent sports car you’d tried to take that day with Phinks. The very car that Mai thought they should give to the valet so there was no easy way out. You doubted Phinks would be pleased if you both stole his sports car and then promptly left it in the place you were raiding. And you doubted Feitan would be pleased you disappeared from the property and threw yourself into a massive crowd with him having no idea where you were. 

Good thing they weren’t present. 

“It’s the whole situation,” you whispered to Mai. “This place is filled with people.” 

“That’s the point,” Mai said. “In and out while everyone’s distracted. We’ll use my Nen on the way out if needed. Then nobody will know what we did until it's too late for them to stop us.” 

The strain of the bond dug into your chest. Every moment you were further from Feitan, even after you'd hoped you'd never be again. Palms sweating at the thought of not being there if he needed you, you rubbed them on your clothes and rolled the tension out of your neck.

“You do remember I have wanted posters, right,” you said with your hand over your mouth in case anyone could read your lips. 

“And going to a place like this? No way,” Mai said. “You looked like shit in those things. You're a different person here.” 

You glared at Mai and handed the invitation they’d somehow obtained to the bouncer. It was a fake name, of course, and you realized you didn’t remember it when he was checking his list. But it didn’t matter because the name checked out and he heralded you both inside.

And they probably shouldn’t have with the strange amount of cuts only so much of Mai’s provided makeup could cover. But they’d told you to tell anyone who asked that you’d fallen during some extreme sport. And that you could “be anyone you wanted to be” at the event. 

Watching Mai walk like they owned the world soothed your nerves. Their pointed heels clicked against the tile and their well-cut suit and sleek hair made them look like they were somebody who was born to be here. You’d misjudged their attire back at the mansion. They were wearing the makings of their outfit – gloves and all. Hopefully being around them would dull you and help them shine. Mai’s confidence was what you needed. And that was the confidence of a person who knew they were dangerous. A person meant to be with a Spider. 

If Phinks had missed this about Mai, he was a fucking idiot. And good on Mai for showing him. 

But damn you hated dropping your guard and letting somebody else tell you what to do. Especially when they had more information and you were left more in the dark than you'd have liked. 

But you were here to support Mai and follow their lead – so you needed to let them lead. And they had no problem with that. But the urge to grab control lingered top of mind. You pushed it down. They knew what they were doing. 

“Dinner first, which is great because I’m starving. Then, they’re hosting dancing, tours, that sort of thing,” Mai said, adjusting their gloves and peeking at their phone. “Shalnark's ready for his part when the time comes.” 

“During the tours?” you said, hoping the comment didn’t sound too suspicious. 

"Trusting idiots." Mai nodded. “They’re taking us right to what we need.” 

The dining hall dripped with glamour. 

Domed skylights rose above the even line of the ceiling. Glass of a hundred unique colors and shapes let the stars shine down on the room, turning the waves floor into a kaleidoscope. Low light and a menagerie of candles throughout the room gave just enough light to see and stop you from tripping over yourself. Tables with deep blues and bronze accents sat throughout a hall of intricate marble sculptures, roped off from the attendees, but still acting as staple décor. Deep-hued floral arrangements burst on tables and fairy lights twined through the room like they hung from nothing at all.

A dance floor was on the far side of the room, leading to where you guessed you'd head to escape after your crime. But between you and your prize was a gaggle of wealthy people, but surprisingly, less security than you would have thought. It was dark enough you were confident you could remain anonymous enough. And with the level of trust afforded with access to this event, nobody was looking for a criminal, so no one would find one. 

"We're table seventeen," Mai said, pulling place cards from a table at the front. "Are you having the goose or the steak?"

You didn’t find yourself particularly hungry, especially once you saw who was seated at your table. 

Chrollo raised his chin and looked between you and Mai. He lounged in his chair with a gentle smile like he too owned the space around him. And the fabric of his suit called out towards something more fine than the glamour of the room. Chrollo was both meant to be there, and so far beyond the bounds of this world, he looked out of place in his own kingdom. 

The woman he was with had short brown hair, parted at the side. And a stare that said she wanted to be anywhere but where she was.

Chrollo checked each place card on the rounded table.

“Fake names,” Chrollo said, resting his arm on the chair of a woman sitting next to him. “I presume Phinks and Fei will be joining us, then?” 

Chrollo’s small smile told you he knew Feitan and Phinks were nowhere near. Whether it was a test or an attempt at a joke, it was unclear.

“They won’t,” Mai said, their mood tempering. “We’re here alone tonight.” 

You dropped into your seat and clutched your hands under the tablecloth. Was it better or worse that Chrollo knew Phinks and Fei were away? And worse yet, was it breaking some sort of Spiders’ protocol you’d yet to experience? Was it expected that Feitan followed you like the bond was a string?

“Good to hear they’re not overly protective,” Chrollo said, rolling his head lazily to look directly at you like he knew so much more than he let on. 

“Hypocrite,” the woman next to him said, fondly. She looked up at him like there was no one else in the room. 

Freezing, your body stiffened that anyone would dare insult Chrollo to his face. But then Chrollo did the last thing you expected – he laughed. 

“I suppose that’s true,” Chrollo said, kissing her on the temple. “This is Blair.” 

Blair waved with a closed-off expression. The warmness she’d extended to Chrollo, how she watched him like he was the sun, did not extend to you and Mai. And knowing what had happened with the Spiders before, you couldn’t blame her. But Mai didn’t look as pleased with that turn of events. 

“Blair, these are the two I mentioned the other day,” Chrollo said. 

Mai lounged in their chair. If you’d been anywhere else, they’d probably kick up their heels and relax however they pleased. 

“Wanna help us take a book?” Mai said, picking at their nails as they let their napkin float onto their lap.

“Mai,” you said, under your breath so they wouldn’t hear. But Chrollo peeked at you like he’d heard and was thoroughly enjoying whatever was happening here that you didn’t entirely understand.

“I don’t do any of that,” Blair said. “That’s Chrollo’s work. I don’t have anything to do with it.” 

Mai snatched a roll from the center tray and buttered it, considering what they were going to say. The light in their eyes told you something very interesting had happened. Whatever scheme they were concocting was a good one. 

“Not usually my cup of tea, either,” Mai said. "But tonight’s an exception to prove a point.” Mai waved a server over, asking for drinks for the table. They all waited as Mai held court: Chrollo because he was having far too much fun, Blair because she didn’t seem to have much to say anyway, and you, because Mai was holding out to say something else. When they turned back to the table, they said, “Heard you’re a polyglot who speaks ancient languages.”

“That’s right,” Blair said, picking at their own food. 

“Wanna help us translate the book?” Mai said. 

Blair looked to Chrollo, who said, “That should work with the timing.” 

Mai and Blair fell into an easy conversation about the intricacies of the book you had no idea about. It was brazen to speak about it so openly, but you doubted Mai cared. It’s not like they continued referencing stealing the thing. 

“Your aura,” Chrollo said, sipping his drink, “it’s changed.” 

Changed? Why was everyone else pointed out changes in you before you identified them yourself? 

“How so?” 

“No wonder I thought Feitan would be joining you,” Chrollo said, like that was enough explanation. “It’s so like his. But it was you.” 

Strange, morphing auras was never outlined in the books you’d devoured that month without Fei. And you’d never heard anyone who had a soulmate describe it that way, either. 

“It’s not complete,” Chrollo added, examining you so intently, it was like he was looking directly into your soul. “You are still there. But so is he.” 

Could it be possible Chrollo could see the intricacies of the galaxy that represented the bond itself. You’d felt shifts and changes, intimacies that felt stronger than what you’d researched, but having it said back to you solidified it. There were physical changes you couldn’t explain. 

Chest aching, the bond reminded you again that you were away. But the strain on the bond had eased a bit, like the thought that you were carrying a part of him with you was enough to appease the bond; a living creature you could anger and please.

A group of other attendees arrived at the table and took their seats before you could safely ask Chrollo for further clarification. An older man sat at your side and took the opportunity to introduce himself. You didn’t worry too much about his entertainment, even though he continued looking at you like it was your place to keep him engaged, like you should live to extend his comfort. 

But even worse, as dinner went on, you realized you’d been placed at a table of people who all knew one another. Even Chrollo seemed to know them – or know of them – and participated in the conversation like he really was one of them. If only they knew how deadly, how vicious Chrollo could be. They sat with a man who spat on the very idea of their “superior” existence – taking it for himself through nothing but cleverness and larceny.  

They sat in the Spider’s web and were none the wiser. 

They talked about horse racing, academics, economics, and art. And you drowned out the conversation as well as you could. Until the topic turned. 

“Terribly sad,” the man sitting next to you, Elijah, said. “The whole city was destroyed.” 

“I lost three boats and a warehouse,” a woman on the other side of the table said. Marvetta, according to her place card. “All that investment – gone. And I only operated for a few months. It was barely enough time to see returns.” 

You shuttered a breath. They couldn’t be talking about what you thought they were. Gripping your hands under the table, you ran your thumb over your mark like it would remind you Feitan was fine, you were fine. Heart pounding and fingers shaking, you tried to drown it out, but they wouldn’t shut up. They had more opinions to share.

“I heard developers are already clamoring to buy up the land,” a man said to another.

They had to be joking. It hadn’t even been a week and the rich were looking to slither their way into a small port town, more than they already had. 

“I can’t talk about negotiations,” he said. “You know that.” 

The group chuckled, including Chrollo. But even as he did, he gazed over the floral centerpiece at you, his brows dropping like he was asking if you were alright. You sipped your drink to cover the shock and soothe the dry ache in your throat. Mai reached a hand to you and you gripped it hard, like you were going to break it. 

“It’s only been a couple of days,” a woman said, laughing as she tapped her glass with manicured fingers. “Vultures – all of you.” You would have agreed, but she didn’t sound disappointed in their antics, she seemed pleased. 

“There was nothing there of value, anyway,” Elijah said, turning to dictate to you like he was speaking to you directly, “now we get to watch the aftermath and see what private industry can do for the region." Watch them, you thought, like they saw the atrocities as some sort of entertainment, as a golden opportunity. "Imagine a lot of them look a bit like you right now."

The cuts, and bruises, and marks. You were not one of them and he was reminding you. 

Face burning, you were glad Mai had powdered your face enough to cover the embarrassment, and the fury. But not the wounds, not all of them. 

You could lie, you could use Mai's excuse of extreme sports, but you were mad, trembling mad, and scared of these monsters in lovely clothing. At least the Spiders never lied about what they were – except maybe now with Chrollo, but never when they didn't need to. 

"And if I said I was there?" Your voice was cold, distant, like you heard it through a radio of a bygone age. "What then?"

Mai was dangerous, Chrollo even more so, but you were too. And you needed to stop forgetting it.

The table was silent, contemplative as they debated their responses. 

And then they did the worst thing they could have done – they laughed, like you'd told a joke. If you were here among these unknown devils, you could not have been there too. 

Except Elijah hadn't laughed, he watched you with more than a mild interest. Prickles of unease rippled down your spine. You’d been too brash, too assuming of space and opinion. It displeased him somehow and you didn’t know why, but it made your arms run cold, prickling with goosebumps. 

"Then are the rumors true?" Elijah said, like he believed you ran in circles allotting you a bit of gossip. Or he didn’t, and wanted to test you. 

"What rumors?" you said, not really wanting to know, but understanding you needed to. 

"That group of criminals was there," he said, like these people here weren’t also criminals in their own right. "The Phantom Troupe."

Chrollo pursed his lips, so little and so quickly, you would have missed it if you didn't take a moment to watch him out of the corner of your eye. 

You pressed your mark against your thigh so you wouldn't risk exposure to this man. Did he really know who the Phantom Troupe was? Would he recognize Feitan's name, or Chrollo's? He hadn't reacted when he'd sat down with a man by that very name. 

There was only one safe approach. You couldn’t deny and you couldn’t agree – so you had to evade. 

"I didn't think they were real," you said, leaning back in your chair. "I thought those were old wives tales mothers told their children to keep them in line." The man raised his brows. "Don't misbehave or the Phantom Troupe will get you." 

Blair sat painfully still, watching something on the other side of the room. 

"Oh, don’t worry. They're real," he said. "And rumor has it, they're the ones who set off those bombs."

"Your sources sound very well informed," you said, hoping the drop of anger in your voice didn't come through. Heart racing and breath struggling to move through your lungs, you crossed your legs to press your hands between your thighs to keep them still. 

"They're terrorists," Marvetta said, with a dismissive hand wave, the one who owned the destroyed warehouse, like this was a fact more than a rumor this man had spun from nothing. "Makes sense to me. They could have been targeting me directly. Or any of us moving our business to the region."

Fuck that woman, who thought the whole world revolved around her, and fuck the entire table for thinking the misery of innocents was their sport. 

Gentrifying pieces of shit. 

"Please excuse us," Chrollo said, standing and holding out a hand for Blair. "My wife is squeamish and these conversations don't sit well with her." He rested a hand on her lower back and some of the tension in her shoulders subsided. "Have a lovely night."

Bastard. Leaving you and Mai with the mess he was most equipped to handle. 

Also, how did you marry someone who didn’t exist? But that was a question for another day.

"That’s such a macabre topic for a night like this," Mai said, drowning their wine glass, and waving a waiter over for another. Apparently not minding Chrollo had left them to fend for themselves. "Does anyone know when the tours will start? I’ve never had the opportunity to visit here myself and I’m excited to see what it has to offer."

Elijah, who'd watched you too closely before, lit up and engaged with Mai like you suddenly didn't exist. 

"I'm a fellow here," he said. "Long standing relationship with the museum. I figured I'd take time from my night and help with the tours." 

Fantastic. 

The oh, so magnanimous asshole was the one you needed to use to get you where you needed to go. So, you needed to breathe, to stay calm. Chrollo was gone and you and Mai were on your own again, just like you’d been at the beginning. It wasn’t reassuring that you’d unknowingly fallen in line behind Chrollo like he could handle this disaster. That was no way to live your life. 

“We’d be honored,” Mai said, sipping their drink. 

And you doubted Elijah caught the gleam of wicked intent in Mai’s eyes over their wine glass. 

You shivered at that darkness. They would make this succeed by any means necessary. And you had no choice but to obey.  

As dinner wound down, the conversation shifted to other topics, specifically what you would classify as insider trading. It was felonious conduct when the Spiders stole; it was an investment when the rich did the same. 

Elijah had lost interest in you, instead engaging Mai and the others at the table. It gave you time to breathe, and to think; talk yourself down from the outburst you’d almost let upend the work Mai put into this. 

So it was a surprise when Elijah asked you to dance. But only after assuring Mai he would lead them on the tour of any place they’d like in the museum afterwards. 

You turned to them, pleading through nothing but a look, but Mai paid no attention at all. They poked at their dessert and gazed off into the other side of the room, no doubt repeating the path they needed in their head. 

Play your role, they were saying. 

Elijah offered his hand, and your skin crawled at his touch. And only too late did you realize you’d proffered the hand with Feitan’s name branded below it. But he didn’t comment, instead he dragged you to the dance floor. 

There weren’t many places you’d want to be less than in the grips of that repulsive man. He oozed something vile that you couldn’t place; more a gut feeling telling you he wasn’t safe. But you only needed him a little longer.

Elijah gripped your hand and back too tight and you wanted to flee. Your bones ached, your gut screamed harder to run. But you couldn’t. And you’d never been more furious for it. 

A string quartet wove a lovely tune that grated on your ears as Elijah spun you. The flurry of beautiful people, spinning and twisting made you dizzy. Their joy felt wrong with the way Elijah watched you like something of value. 

He watched you how Jed had watched you. Like you were something to claim. 

He must have seen the fire in your eyes, felt the tightness in your limbs like an animal primed to strike, because he tried to soften the atmosphere.

“You haven’t even asked me what I do for a living?” Elijah said, affirming your earlier thought he expected you to entertain him. But everything felt wrong. Nobody’s hands should be on you this way. Nobody’s but one. 

What he was likely to get was something far more sinister from you: a deadly cut, a removed eye, a severed vocal cord.

“I don’t base a person’s worth on their occupation,” you said, gripping your nails into his hand so hard, he flinched. 

“Of course you don’t,” he said with a sleazy smile matching the rest of his look: his suit, his greased hair, the sweat beading his forehead like he was nervous. “How could you?” 

“Figured out I’m nothing compared to the great people in this room, then?” you said, pressing your heel into his toe when he tried to drag you closer. His touch nauseated you, his cologne reeked like an oil spill. Everything about him was repulsive, everything told you to run; run fast and never look back. 

“I knew that the second I sat down,” Elijah said, stumbling through a few moves as he adjusted to the pain in his foot from your reprimand. “I work with some of your friends.” 

His thumb touched your mark and you knew; you knew that he knew. Pain seared across your arm, so much worse than when Anaia had done it. But you couldn’t break, you couldn’t show him the small amount of power he’d obtained over you. 

Whoever this man was, he was lethal, and vicious, and somebody who knew too much. The moment they were no longer useful, they couldn’t be left to their own devices.

It couldn’t be the Troupe. There was no way. Which meant there was only one other option.  

Elijah tugged so hard, you pressed against him. And you gagged at the feeling of wrongness. His body was too much, too close. It was soft and molded strangely against you. 

“I know who you are, little dove,” Elijah whispered in your ear, and you were sure you were going to be sick. “And you’ll make it easy on both of us by just coming along quietly like a good little girl.” 

“You and all of TPI underestimate me. I can kill you with a touch,” you said, somehow more steady, and more harrowing than you’d ever imagined you could be. You felt it, the rage in the bond building so strongly you thought the dark lights in the room were turning red, like they had last night in Feitan’s room. “Or I can string you from the ceiling and bleed you out. Divest you of your organs, one by one while you're still alive."

Elijah laughed. He didn’t believe you. 

But you could hurt him. You would. 

“Your precious leader left you,” Elijah said, mocking. And it hurt more than it should have. “Took his soulmate and ran.” He tried to get a better grip on you but you twisted his wrist so you could break it with one more push. “Nobody’s coming for you. You’re alone.”   

You were about to say more, threaten more, when a hand wrapped around your neck from behind. They tugged you back towards them. You panicked, just a moment, until the bond settled and the ache in your chest evaporated. 

In his soft, lethal voice, Feitan said, “Should make him watch me fuck you. To show him you are mine,” he said, his breath warm against your ear, “before taking his head.” 

Chapter Text

"Dead?" Feitan said, lightly, "or maimed?"

"What?" you said, dazed at the feeling of relief and safety in his arms. And the thrill of possibility of everything that could happen with Feitan's presence. 

"Do you want him," Feitan said, patiently, quietly, so only the three of you could hear, "dead or maimed?"

"Oh, I see," you said softly, looking back over your shoulder at Fei, who watched your lips, like he'd revel in whatever words you shared. "Do I need to pick one?"

Elijah stumbled back but hit something hard.

Feitan stroked a hand up your chest and angled your jaw back so you couldn't look away if you'd wanted to. 

"Get creative," Feitan said, his fingers stroking your skin until you had to hold back a sigh. "Open to suggestions."

"Then both," you said. "And hang him outside as a warning." You groaned as Feitan grazed his lips over yours. "A head on a stake. Something like that."

As if on queue, Elijah’s head slumped and Mai popped out from behind him. An antenna stuck out of the side of his neck near his shoulder. His eyes glazed and posture relaxed. It looked like Mai had administered a shot and forgotten to remove the needle.

Mai's eyes were wide with wonder as they watched the man acquiesce under the influence of Shalnark's ability. 

"Is Phinks in here?" Mai said, the joy of their control slipping from their voice as they grabbed Elijah to force him into a dance. They didn't want Phinks to interfere; you didn't want him to interfere. 

"He is an idiot," Feitan said, "but not that stupid."

"Good," Mai said. "And you're here why?"

Feitan scowled. "Mind your business."

"Fine," Mai said. They turned to you. "Five minutes and we're going. We're wasting time."

You nodded, eyeing the antenna poking from Elijah's neck. It was too obvious, too visible. So Mai grabbed Elijah's arm and forced him to move. Not back towards the dinner table, but the direction Mai needed for the tour that could now be classified as a spur of the moment kidnapping. Mai whispered something and Elijah adjusted his jacket over the antenna. 

Feitan clutched you close, turning you around to hold you against him like he was scared you'd disappear. 

He looked good, very good. And he absolutely looked like he belonged with his suit and shined loafers. Apparently he had this outfit lying around or he was just an expeditious thief. 

His silky bowtie was crooked and you took a moment to even it. 

"You look so good," you said, dragging your hands down his chest to feel the muscle hidden under his dress shirt.

Feitan's gaze lit with mischief. "You look… alright."

You gaped and pretended to struggle as he held you close. His hands roamed your back and grazed over your ass just long enough for you to gasp and then miss the contact when it disappeared. 

"Kidding," Feitan said against your cheek, barely caressing your skin. "Look perfect."

"Thank you for finding me," you said, gasping as he kissed you gently. His fingers traced up your spine to rest on the back of your neck. 

It was comforting, the way he held you and the way he kissed you. But he retreated so suddenly, you chased him, coaxing him into another kiss. 

He wouldn't accept your thanks in any spoken way, so the kiss was enough. 

"He threatened you," Feitan said.

"Yes," you said, "he's one of –" you didn't want to say the name in mixed company where Elijah could have accomplices. You looked around the room. No one was watching, but still you felt the trickle of cold dread down your neck like they were. "One of them. I don't know if this was planned or a terrible coincidence."

"You threatened him back," Feitan said, watching carefully for how you'd respond. But you could see the shift in his breath. He liked what you'd done. 

"A half-thought out threat, but a credible one," you said. And it only occurred to you in that moment that de-escalation had never crossed your mind. You would have killed him the moment you could. But that begged the question whether it was because he was part of TPI or simply because you'd wanted it.

"He hurt you?" Feitan said like he was already contemplating how he'd reciprocate. 

"Not really," you said, until you remembered the putrid feeling of Elijah's hold. "Just keep touching me to get the feeling of his hands off me."

Feitan's eyes widened, burning with a fire the kind you'd never seen. This was fury, vengeance, and untampered rage. His hands shook as he massaged your back. Fei was restless and wanted to act, but held himself back and let you linger in his arms.

"We need him a little longer," you said, resting your head on Fei's shoulder as you waited for his anger to dampen and breath to even. "Do whatever you want with him afterwards."

"Don't want to help?" Feitan pressed your hips against his and kissed up your neck. Landing at your ear, he said, "you are so good."

You shook your head and closed your eyes to relax for a moment. The soothing music had shifted to something slower. And the smell of rich, after-dinner coffee mixed with the gentle woodsy scent of Fei's cologne. "I need to help Mai."

Fei moved with you slowly. Not because he wanted to dance, but because he needed to fit in when you stood in the middle of the hall like easily identifiable targets. Bells of dresses and arms of others grazed past and Feitan tugged you away each time. Even gusts of flowing fabric were too much of someone else's touch in Feitan's eyes. And you counted it as a blessing you could trust someone so intrinsically to keep you safe that you could relax in their arms. Feitan was not relaxing, though. He honed in on everything happening around you. 

"Too bad for him," Feitan said, finally, like he too had been lost in your arms for just a moment. "You are nicer than me." 

"It would have been better for him if you hadn't shown up at all," you said, leaving gentle kisses on Fei's neck that made his breath catch. Sliding your hands under his jacket, you wrapped yourself around him. "Did Shalnark snitch?"

"No," Feitan said, like it was enough, but for once, he offered something beyond what you'd asked. "Felt your terror. Hurt too much. Couldn’t ignore it."

Feitan was fast, but not that fast. 

"I only danced with Elijah for a few minutes," you said. 

"Earlier," Feitan said, his breath lingering against your hair. He wasn't quite kissing your head, but it was close. "Saw that day again. You needed me." He mumbled the last bit into your hair. "Had to come."

"Don't make me want to fuck you in public," you whined, and tugged his side until he realized you'd moved and were begging for another kiss. 

His lips hovered over yours. He nipped at your bottom lip and kissed you only when you opened your mouth in surprise. Teasing you was the one way he could show how badly, how desperately, he needed you too. That and the gentle sounds he made when he couldn't smother them entirely. 

This kiss was slow and controlled. Feitan held a hand on your throat, squeezing every moment you tried to take the lead until you relented, letting him savor whatever he felt with your lips on his. 

But it was when he softened the kiss – no biting, no tongue, no moans to keep your focus from the pure joy of his touch when it happened with no games or ploys or teasing – that your heart nearly shattered.

"Fei," you gasped when you could capture a breath.

He pulled back and blinked like you'd woken him.

"Go do your job," Fei said unevenly and out of breath. He looked past you towards Mai. Their arms hung in front of them, tapping their wrist and alerting you that your time was up. "Then discuss where else to fuck you."

You'd nearly forgotten you'd mentioned it at all, so you redirected the conversation before you made the stupid decision to fuck Feitan in a hidden alcove of the museum instead of do what you'd come here to do. 

He watched you like he'd known the effect the comment would have. 

"I don't want to sit back and let these things happen to us anymore," you said. Enough was enough. TPI was moving too fast to allow them to keep going unimpeded. 

"You are not helpless," Feitan said, huffing like it annoyed him.

"I know," you said. "It's just time we get ahead of them. And I hope what our new friend at the house gave us helps."

"So impatient," Feitan said, burying a hand in your hair and tugging. "But not wrong."

Fei's fingers in your hair soothed you and it felt so much like home. 

"Can you carve 'false prophet' in Elijah's chest for me?"

Feitan paused like he'd misheard and then laughed. A laugh of happiness and minor disbelief. 

"Anything you want," he said, tugging your hair to angle you for another kiss, like he hasn't gotten enough. He didn't tease this time, just gave you both what you wanted. 

"Thank you again for finding me," you said. Your pride wanted to scream that you didn't need help. But you'd achieved what you'd wanted that night you'd met Fei for the first time: somebody to watch your back.

"Will always find you," Feitan said so softly, you could barely understand over the voices and music. "Anywhere."  He sighed and tried to untie you from your hold around him. "But tell me next time you leave." He scowled as he pushed you towards Mai, but you laughed when you saw the redness on his cheeks from information about his affection he'd willingly shared. "Scared me."

The halls were rife with people. People enjoying the art with their own tour guides, marveling at iridescent sculptures, detailed paintings of blues and greens and reds, and carved pots and vases painted so long ago, it was like they’d lived a thousand lives in between then and now. People enjoyed one another, fawning over their spouse or partner or any other number of possibilities for rich men seeking the company of others. The guests dripped in glittering gowns that sparkled as brightly as their jewels and watches under the harsh, but somewhat dimmed museum lighting. 

“Did you tell the others to get out before you start?” you said, shuffling up next to Mai, whose arm was wrapped around Elijah’s neck to cover the bit of exposed antenna poking out of his skin. But Mai has been smart about their placement and they'd covered the bat with Elijah's jacket. 

“I told Shalnark, and Gareth who's on-site doing something or other with the cameras like his boyfriend was supposed to be. Shalnark's teaching him, apparently, and figured he should give it a go,” they said, guiding their tour guide down the halls he was meant to encourage them to adore. “Hopefully anyone else who might have shown up unannounced has been informed.”

You kicked yourself for not telling Fei.

Crowds packed the hallways. For some reason, you’d imagined the trek to the book would be simple and bereft of others. But now you waded through people like minnows in the sea, avoiding sharks ripping through your path.

“Should we give –” Feitan a heads up that it was becoming more likely Mai would be using their methods of mass psychological warfare on an entire building worth of people. You just hoped they were able when they were out of practice. If they weren't able – well, that was why you were present. More names to add to your list of the dead. 

“He can handle himself,” Mai said. “You wouldn’t like him if he couldn’t.” 

“I know, I'm just –” 

Worried, care, need to be next to him again. 

“Okay, mother hen,” Mai said, turning the corner into a particularly crowded hall. 

The circular room led a dozen different directions, like the spindly limbs of a spider. A domed skylight, much like the one in the banquet hall, hovered overhead. The stars barely made it through the harsh lights illuminating the partygoers. It was best the heavens didn’t see what you were doing tonight. 

"Elijah!" A woman called from the crowd, and you ducked instinctually behind him. You were recognizable; Mai, not so much.

Turning away, you slipped behind another group of patrons, admiring the intricacies of the veins on the carving of a fallen angel. Their curly tresses fell below their shoulders as they toppled from heaven, losing hold of their bow and arrow.

The woman hailing Elijah was petite, with long, dark hair swinging around her waist as she glided up to him and Mai.

"Who is this?" she said, motioning to Mai, who hung all over him like a lover. A lover who'd stabbed their beloved in the back. 

She clutched a small handbag which itself gave you pause. The dress she wore was long, but if she had weapons, you bet they were there, in the fabric pockets of the bag she held in front of herself. "I didn't know you'd brought a date."

Was that jealousy or concern in her voice? Her face showed a drop of both. And above all else, was she TPI-affiliated or a woman somehow enamored with Elijah of her own volition? 

Both were equally terrifying. 

Your breath picked up as your options ran through your mind: flee, move without acknowledging her, drop Elijah and find another way.

But Mai acted and said, "I wouldn't want him, even if I could."

The woman scowled.

Mai grazed their hand over Elijah's shoulder, releasing their hold to saunter towards the woman whose name you couldn't glean when Elijah was unable to communicate.

"But you want him," Mai said quietly, with wild eyes, "don't you? You're one of them, aren't you?" 

Mai was pure predator; lips curled, eyes sparkling, fingers twitching with the buds of their ability holding out for its full bloom. 

Just because Mai couldn't kill Feitan or Phinks didn't mean they weren't devastating and dangerous.

"What –"

But the woman got no other words. Mai wrapped an arm around her shoulder, guiding her back a few steps towards a bench. 

You heard the hum and felt the ripples. Aggressive at first, uncontained, until Mai focused their power back on this woman. Her eyes glazed as she dropped on the bench. 

You shivered as the hum rumbled through your bones and faded. It must have been felt more widely too because people in the crowd searched the hall, casually, not daring to appear that something was amiss. But nothing was, and they wrote it off however rich assholes wrote off mild inconveniences.

And by doing that, they'd made Mai even more dangerous. They'd struck effectively and nobody would see it coming when they did it again. And when Mai paused people or Nen (both sentient according to them), the victim went somewhere else and it was always unnerving to watch it happen. You'd never asked specifics and you hoped Mai would never say. But either way, the woman had paused – a new statue in the museum nobody paid attention to. The woman should be thanking Mai for setting them down first.

The rest of the museum would not be so lucky.

“Move,” Mai said, coming back to grab Elijah, who seemed to sense it was time to continue the trek and started walking of his own (Shalnark’s) volition.

You took a hall on the other side of the room. Eyes down, you focused on one step after another and hoped nobody else would recognize the indomitable Elijah. 

The cocky bastard. 

Fewer people stood down these halls. The relief in your chest only remained a moment as you turned the corner to a desolate thoroughfare with nothing but a door at the end. 

"Shalnark got a hold of their internal inventory system," Mai whispered. "They acknowledged receiving the book but it never found a final resting place. So we're going to shipment storage."

The destination you needed, then, was at the end of the hall. 

A worrisome dread crept up your neck and a muddiness spread in your mind like you'd crashed into a nightmare and couldn't escape. 

Something new, and old, awoke in the world. A rumbling presence sang, calling your name. It clutched black talons into your soul, clawing you towards it.

Come see me, little thief, it said in a voice almost of the world but so far beyond. A voice so vile and inhuman it mocked the beauty of language itself. You're here for me. Find me; take me; use me little girl of blood and starlight. 

You stumbled as the voice weaved into your mind like a stitch tightening in a tapestry. It cooed your name and you hit the wall. The world wobbled and the tile below you swirled like storm clouds. You clutched for purchase against a frame, but your knees wouldn't hold up long. 

The voice in your head ambled down the bond like it had the right to invade the space between you and Feitan, who you could no longer feel. The simple presence, the normal feel of him in your chest was gone. 

The voice had locked him out. 

You know what you are  the book hissed. Thief, liar, murderer. So lost and confused. But I can help. And then it laughed, so wicked and vile it struck like thunder and stung like lightning. Does he love you, child of starlight? Does he really?

You threw yourself against the bond but there was only a barrier made of galaxies and stars and planets; a mirror back to your own side of the bond. The strongest swath of glass you'd ever seen. Gleaming light from the burning stars shot back your direction and nearly blinded you if you moved too close or too far.

Your chest was caving in. 

Feitan was gone – totally, entirely gone. So similar to the day he'd almost died. There was nothing to cling to, no sense of him. No voice. No soulmate. 

No Fei. 

And it almost drove you mad a second time – the emptiness so vast there was nothing but a crushing darkness where Fei should be. 

"Who?" you barely choked out before you were falling. 

Mai caught you in their arms. 

Him, it said. Does he love you, little thief? Your soulmate? 

"I think–" He did, didn't he? He'd never said it, but he'd shown it in his own way. But did he really? "I don't know," you said, dazed, shocked you'd even spoken at all while you were dead weight in Mai's arms. 

I know. And I will sing you the sorrows of your love if you take me.

Did he love you? Did he really love you the way you loved him? What would this book whisper to him if you took it?

And was it speaking to him now from the other side of the mirror, ripping you from him too? How would he find you now if this went wrong?

Maybe he loves you like an equal. Or maybe he simply keeps you – a pretty possession; a thing to use for his own enjoyment. 

"What don't you know?" Mai said, dragging you back to your feet. 

I can make him love you like you love him. Make him need you, crave you, the book said. The little boy of blood and nightmares. 

"Liar," you said, shivering as a dense cold burrowed in your bones. It had no idea – and could only be described as 'it' because it was not human and it certainly was not a friend. 

So young, the book said. Too young to know I do not lie.  

And then it was quiet. 

The bond slammed back into your chest like the mirror had shattered. It felt like you were drowning in fire. Body tingling and head swimming, you blinked, realizing how bright the hall was, like you'd disappeared into darkness with the book and hadn't noticed. Face warm, you prodded at your nose and cheek and neck. Heated blood and tears came back on your fingers.

“Where did it go?” you said, shakily standing, staying in Mai’s arms as you regained your balance. 

“Where did what go?” Mai gripped the sleeve of their jacket and rubbed the blood from your nose, eyes, and ears. So much blood dripped down your front like the bond itself was bleeding. It didn’t know where to expel its miasma of pain and misery, so it chose any way it could. 

God, how had Mai not experienced it too? They were looking for the book just as much as you were. But it chose you – and maybe Feitan too – to maim. 

The memory of the voice rang in the back of your mind, like it was a permanent fixture you’d live with the knowledge of for the rest of your life. You didn’t want it now. Whatever was in that book was evil, unhinged, so repulsive and otherworldly you knew if it were ever more than a voice, it would ruin you. It sowed doubt and confusion and you didn’t want to consider what it could have said to Fei if it was gripping him too. 

“We can’t take it,” you choked out, shivering so aggressively your muscles ached. “I can’t bear to hear it again. Please. Please, Mai.”

Everything was cold and scorching hot. It felt wrong, everything felt wrong.  

“No,” they said. “We’re getting the fucking book."

Terrible, terrible idea. It was a failed endeavor from the start. 

"You don't understand. It wants to be taken," you said, voice cracking. "There's something wrong with it. I don't know why but we can't unleash it. We can't."

Mai watched you strangely and said, "You think it's any safer having it here where the cultists can get to it?" Well, no. But you'd rather die than hear it speak again, feel it shatter the bond. "If it just did this to you from somewhere in the museum, imagine what it would do if our friend right here got it instead. How do we know that isn't why he was here tonight?"

You didn't, you absolutely didn't. But that didn't mean you didn't want to heave at the thought of touching the thing and taking it home with you. 

"You're right," you said, gripping Mai's shoulder to help hold you up. Wiping clotting blood from your lips, you said, "let's get it and go. They're the last people on earth who should have access to it." 

The book was alive, or at least sentient in a way that bent the world. But even as you pressed forward toward the heavy door at the end of the hall, you grappled with the feeling you could take the book, you could use the book, you could listen to the book, but you could never own the book. 

Feitan whispered your name in your head and you almost collapsed a second time.

I'm here, you said. Are you okay?

The bond went silent as if he was considering what answer you most wanted to hear. It sent your mind running to every possibility.

Stop that, Feitan said. I am fine. Go do your job. 

There was something in his voice that sounded like he was not at all fine. But you couldn't argue because he was already gone. 

You shuttered and jerked away when Elijah walked up beside you. You'd forgotten about his presence (or non-presence since he was under Shalnark's control) as you'd tumbled through the bond like a stranger in your own soul. 

Elijah tugged the door handle, rocking with the pressure of trying to open a locked door. Again he tried until he went limp, hands at his side, waiting for instructions.

“I’m guessing he doesn’t have a card,” you said, pointing at the touchpad beside the door. 

Mai typed on their phone. "Shalnark's working on it," they said. 

While you waited in the uncomfortable calm after the storm in your head, you peered down the hall. Nobody was here to guard. Was it under-staffing? Too much trust in their clientele? Or something more sinister?

"There's nobody here," you whispered, noticing the lone security camera faced away from the door towards the blank wall. 

"They're all busy," Mai said and clapped as the door unlocked. "That was the whole point of using tonight." 

When the door swung open you gaped at the dozens of rows of storage leading so far back, you couldn't see the end. Until lights clicked on and you got a better view at the scale of the massive space. It was more like a warehouse than a storage room. Shelves of every kind, and boxes large and small sat everywhere. There was no structure to how things were stored. Items stacked on top of one another: cloudy jewelry, dusty books, dull trinkets and knick knacks, paintings half covered with moth-eaten cloth. How had a book as sinister as what you’d felt ended up amid a slew of unsorted goods? 

“Are you sure this is–” But you stopped. The book hummed, vibrated with energy you felt coursing through your veins. “It’s in this mess somewhere.” 

“Go back home.” Mai turned to Elijah, who was gazing at nothing into the room of terrors and wonders. “Our friends are waiting for you.” 

Unseeing, Elijah turned and walked away. But you figured it was most likely a delayed reaction from Shalnark that made Elijah move, after Mai texted him that they had what they needed from him. There was no way he would know where the book was in the rubble. But you did.

You almost stepped into the room before Mai threw themselves at you to hold you back. 

"Don't go in yet," Mai said. "Do you feel that?"

All you could feel was the insidious presence of the book. There really was nothing else; there were items, and shelves, and lights you could turn on, but nothing in the room kept your interest the way the book did.

You swore you could hear it laughing in your head. 

Or was that Fei? 

“It’s some sort of Nen-based security system,” Mai said. “I don't think Shalnark and Gareth can just disable that. It feels like a single person made it.”

“But can’t you do that?” you said, your throat aching like you’d been days without water. There was something sickening in the way the book called into the darkness of your mind. 

It wanted you; it wanted everything. 

“That’s why I said they can’t,” Mai said with a crooked smile. “Hand on my shoulder unless you wanna wait this one out. It won't snag you if we're connected.” 

You grumbled but placed your hand on Mai, having no desire to know where your body and mind would slip off to if Mai's ability snared you. 

Mai crouched. One hand was on the tile and another on the doorframe. You felt the wave before you felt the effect. While you stood behind Mai, residual power seeped in every direction, not just forward where you needed it. 

Prickly, orange webs blinked into existence in the storage room, like a fog had been lifted and you were free to see once more. They shivered like they fought Mai's request (demand) to deactivate. The thorns on the webs wobbled, searching for the source of the disruption and attempting to clamp on to the perpetrator. But since Mai had saved you the mistake of walking inside, there was nothing to collect and no people to contain. 

The Nen sparkled as it deactivated, like the dregs of shimmering light cascading downward after a fireworks display. It evaporated like water, while never touching a single item it guarded. 

"It's upset," Mai said, standing and wiping their hands on their slacks. You used to think Mai's claim that Nen was as alive as any other organism was preposterous. Now you know better. "Thought it should have gotten a chance to catch me. Said I wasn't playing fair."

Mai acted as a giant off switch; a silencer that paused anything that could be considered alive. And the control remained as long as they willed it. So you hoped their will was strong tonight. 

"Any non-Nen based security measures?" you said, wanting one final confirmation before you stepped in the room. 

Mai grabbed your hand on their shoulder and wrapped their fingers in yours. With the ability active, you couldn't wander free on your own. It was the main difficulty of the ability – allies were just as stunted as foes. 

"We have to trust that Shalnark and Gareth disabled them all," Mai said.

You nodded and let Mai drag you inside by the hand. 

Coughing, you swiped away the rising dust the deactivated security had kicked up. The room reeked of mold and age and tangy metal. Like the room hadn't been touched in ages, just left to fester in its own decomposition. 

Hopefully that disinterest would remain long enough for you and Mai to sneak out unseen and unheard. 

Craning your neck, you searched for another exit, some other way out that didn't require you run back through the museum. 

"Looking for another exit?" Mai whispered, like the room itself listened. You nodded and they pointed to the tile flooring below your feet. "There's a passage under this level, used for maintenance, deliveries and that sort of shit. I don't know where the entrance is in this room, though. It might not exist at all."

"Then let's just get the book and leave as fast as we can," you said, tip-toeing down stacks and piles of goods. 

Mai knocked a music box off a shelf. It hit the floor with a clang that rang through the innumerable rows.

“I’m making a path back,” Mai said. “I don’t have bread crumbs so this will have to do.” 

You scurried down rows and past a mishmash of items as Mai toppled things behind you. All sat silent except the sound of your shoes clicking on the tile and the heavy breath you hadn't quite regulated since the book had spoken. And the occasional destruction at the hand of Mai to guide your path to freedom.

"Which way?" Mai said, stopping at a small swath of tile with five different rows leading every direction. 

You worried Mai's ability had stifled the book, until it laughed like it's sentience superseded something as trivial as an ability meant to subdue it. It was too old – it had said so itself. It did not bend to rules made by humans when it was crafted to make playthings of them.

Very good, it said in a voice too similar to Feitan's to be unintentional. You only wondered for a moment if it could really be him before you realized it couldn't be. It failed to capture the playfulness, leaning entirely into the otherworldliness that made you ill. Let me help you, little thief.

The book tugged at your gut, directing you down the farthest row, leading deeper into the center of the room growing larger than you'd expected when you looked in from the door. There was something very wrong with this room.

Glad at least that your nose wasn't dripping blood and the world wasn't spinning, you dragged Mai through the stacks, going on nothing but the feeling of connectedness the book provided. It was a part of you, somehow, which demanded to be reunited. 

"Is it –" Mai didn't seem to have the words. "Talking to you again?"

You didn't have the words either, and nodded as you dodged items and jumped over fallen debris like someone else had been here before. It was too disturbed, too unruly for this to be a first foray into this strange liminal space. 

"We aren't the first," Mai said, pointing to the disturbed stacks and helping you over a toppled pile of books and glassware strewn in shattered bits across your path. Almost like somebody else had tried to make their own. It was hackneyed and confusing, like somebody had gotten lost and clawed at the pieces, trying to find their way out. "And I can guess what group it was."

You shivered. If you didn't have the book leading you, nothing could direct you to it; there was too much, and the air felt so thick. This was not a place you wanted to stay long.

And that gave it its own kind of security beyond the Nen webs; the psychological kind.

You were going to suffocate in the heavy throngs of uncirculated air. 

Not if you find me first, the book cooed. And it gave you the comfort to breathe normally, but just enough that you wouldn't lock up and freeze. This is not that horrid place. 

And against your own better judgement, you laughed. It's what Feitan had told you when you'd descended the steps into the basement. So now, the question was whether the book had pulled that from your mind or his. 

"What are you telling him?" you said, the accusation heavy in your voice. 

Enough, the book said. And nothing he does not already know himself. 

Feitan's insecurities, his unsureness in himself and you and whatever this bond was. You were sure the book had captured it. What he said and what he felt were not always aligned, and one often superseded the other. But it was almost never possible to be sure whether the words or the contradictory feelings were the most correct. 

"Do not prey on him," you commanded as you barreled through the room now, hand still clutching Mai's. They hissed as your nails dug into their skin. "Mess with me. Hurt me. Confuse me. But do not touch him."

Because part of you wasn't sure he could take it. And the other part knew you'd shatter if he broke.

You do not own me, girl, the book said in a voice you hadn't yet heard. It was darker and a heavy warning to watch yourself. It held a weight that pushed past your own will, a promise from something you barely understood. Remember – you invoked me. I am simply reacting. 

"I'd never even heard of you!" you said, chest heaving with the pounding adrenaline and the aching in your chest from running too long. "And I sure as shit didn't invoke you."

"I can't believe you're arguing in your mind with a book," Mai mumbled as you ran, nearly slipping on the glass of a fallen mirror. The splintering cracks in the glass shattered as you hit it, raining up and you covered your eyes. But still you kept moving, because there was nowhere else to go but forward. And the glass shards would just be a slew of new injuries on your already bruised skin.

It is most fun when they do not even know what they have done, it said. Intention matters so much more than knowing what you are doing, little thief. 

You wanted to scream at it to shut up, disappear, consume you so you never needed to hear its voice again. But you couldn't. So you remained silent, letting the pull guide you. The book urged you to devolve into some strange, angry, confused version of yourself and it would be so easy to capitulate. 

You almost wished it was physically harming you again – that was easier to take than the strange urging, delving into every weakness you tried to lock away with hands wrapping (unlovingly) around your neck; so different than the way Feitan did. 

The stacks continued and the air grew heavier the farther you ducked and dodged through the makeshift rows, now boasting glasses of strange substances. You gagged when you saw eyes staring back at you. But you kept running, and kept your hold on Mai. 

All the shelves and semi-organization eventually disappeared, like somebody had once tried to establish a tracking system and had disheartened quickly along the way. This was the perfect place to hide a book that never wanted to be found. And you were certain somebody had placed it here for safekeeping because it would be simple to lose yourself in the room until you were nothing but a waif of a woman waiting for death as the stale air suffocated you.

“What is that look on your face?” Mai said, “You look miserable.” 

“We just need to find it and get out of here,” you said. There was no way to explain the roiling in your mind while you were still in the middle of it. Once you were outside and reunited with Feitan, you’d have more wherewithal to face it. 

“Don’t let the book bully you,” they said. “It’s not worth it.”

“Yeah, well we’ll see how well you take it if it starts bullying you and Phinks,” you said. 

I am not interested in them.

“Of course you’re not,” you said to the book. “Just shut–” 

But you stopped, taken aback by your own suddenly short fuse. Pissing off the book when it could be a second source of escape if Mai's path failed sounded like a risky game. Suspecting the book wanted to be unleashed was your next best exit strategy since no other doors had materialized. But you dreaded the possibility of utilizing the book as a plan B. 

You turned a corner and shuttered as the piles stacked precariously up to the ceiling. The book pulsed from somewhere in the cacophony. So many piles and you were certain the book wouldn’t be easily accessible at the top of a stack.  

“It’s in this mess.” You motioned broadly towards the dozen stacks all pressed together. If one toppled down, they all would, like priceless dominoes. 

You reached for the first stack when you heard the faint sound of a door slamming open. And then the crash of items as someone collided with shelves. 

A small yelp was all it took for the room to silence again as the intruder slipped right into Mai's territory. Hopefully they hadn't hit their head on the way down. 

"Shit. They probably know someone's here," Mai said, dragging you back towards the first stack. 

"They might get alerted after the security system goes down," you said. 

You hoped to be delicate with the items, but it looked like you were running out of time. 

Searching with one hand each made progress slower than you would have liked. Books and baubles and paintings flew. Mai held up each and every book they came across, calling "this one?" every time. And when you shook your head, it was tossed over their shoulder into the abyss. 

You wanted to be respectful, give each item the care it deserved, but there was no time and space to do it. Glass shattered and wood splintered and vases cracked as you plunged through the piles of items. So you shoveled through what started looking more like trash than you should have called old artifacts that had been taken from their homes and left abandoned in this awful room. Nails tearing, body aching, and sweat dripping down your face and spine made it difficult to focus until the book dragged you back to your task. 

Too long. You were taking too long. But there was so much and only two people. 

Book after book flew over your head as you discarded them until there was nothing but a pile of toppled artifacts and nothing looking remotely like a book left to take. 

You turned to Mai and shook your head. They breathed hard, examining everything in front of them. 

If it wasn’t out, then it had to be inside something. 

You dove for the pile again, wading through it like water, pushing things aside until your chest burst with recognition. 

The box was unassuming – wooden with a gold clasp and curving strokes of decorative paint. And it was much smaller than you'd expected. Clutching it to yourself, you tried not to yelp as a shock rumbled through you like the book was branding a mark on your soul. 

“No tome then?” Mai said, resting their free hand on their knee, their other holding yours like you'd forget and let go. Sweat dropped from their face and their jaw muscles strained. “Just some puny little thing?” 

The security system flickered on. Mai shook their head and it settled.

The world was calm and serene as you breathed in the relief of your success. 

But then you heard it. The low buzzing of alarms. Body chilling, your eyes widened as you held the book against your heart. It beat with the pulse of blood through your veins, like it was a piece of you now reunited. 

Spinning and dragging Mai with you, you took stock of the destruction in every direction. It was time to get out because you overstayed your welcome. You only breathed when you saw the path Mai had created. You could follow their breadcrumbs and get out fast. The lights were exactly what you needed to shine on the remains of artifacts that would direct you back to safety.

Or they would have, until they went out. 

Chapter Text

Running through the dark with the book felt like carrying something ancient and weighty. It clung to your soul so tightly, you could drop your hold and the book would find you again like a ravenous parasite. 

“Plan?” Mai said, clutching your hand to guide you while you kept hold on the book. It wouldn’t be the time to express your strange idea that the book would stalk you to the grave now that you’d touched it. 

“Come on book,” you said, figuring acting was stronger than mulling over your plan first. Rows crashed and bruises bloomed as you barreled through the halls you could barely see beyond the light of Mai’s phone. “Tell us how to get out.” 

Mai was patient, but only for so long. The book was silent and a few more rows passed until you were sure your lungs would burst. 

They tumbled into a stop and you crashed into Mai, barely seeing them before you were both on the ground. 

“Shit. Stop for a second,” Mai said. “I can feel a whole wall of them at the door.” 

“Can you just start a little early?” you said, pressing your forehead into the chilly tile to ease the heat burning through your body. 

Mai gave you a look. Sweat trickled into their drooping eyes and their shoulders hunched and they struggled to catch a breath. The weight of the air in the room curled in around you. The rows were too tall and cramped. 

“I’m have one good hit left in me,” Mai said. “It’s all or nothing at the last moment.” 

At least they had something in them. But it wasn’t time for that yet. First, you needed to get out into the halls so you had a clear path. It was too difficult to run, unable to see. And the book had gone dormant, but you were sure it would mock you if you spoke. It really was an asshole of massive proportion. 

“We’ll get you as close as we can, then,” you said, shivering as the wail of alarms finally reached the room. Bright red lights flashed on and off again, over and over, bathing the room in an eerie menagerie of muted colors. 

You choked out a laugh and dragged Mai back to their feet. They wobbled and you caught them before they fell. 

“This security system’s a fucking bitch,” Mai whispered against your shoulder. “It won’t stop pushing back.” 

“Then we need to keep moving and get out,” you said, holding Mai until they looked stable enough to stand on their own. “The red should be enough. We just need to get out soon in case they shut off the alarm.”

Mai nodded and shook their head like they were clearing it. Their previously slicked hair fell into their eyes and caught on their dried lips. 

And then you were moving again – faster than before. Tumbling around corners and half dragging Mai, you said to yourself over and over again that you’d make it out. Because if you stopped saying it, you were certain you’d fail. 

Mai’s eyes were glazed in the red lighting, like they were more focused on what was happening inside them than what was going on around you. And it was then you would thank anyone listening above that you’d gone with them to get the book. 

You threw yourself into a long row and slipped as you came to a stop. The exit door was open wide – splintered entirely in half. A pack of people stood five rows deep blocking your exit. They were nearly impossible to make out in the flashing red, nothing but shadows and hints of hungry eyes as they watched you and Mai.

 "Jed was right," a woman said from the door. Her silhouette was dark from the back light and the only thing recognizable about the figure was the excessively long hair you'd seen earlier that night. "You really do think nobody else knows what they're doing."

“Hey, you,” Mai said, head hanging low. But they raised it enough to see as they leaned against you. “Come back for round two?” 

The woman cocked her head. “Do I know you?”

“At least your power worked for a while,” you mumbled. 

You couldn't hold Mai, clutch the book, get a knife, and fight. Mai was your one shot at getting out alive, and you yelled at Fei through the bond to get out before Mai snapped. 

But again there was nothing on the other side. 

The book was at it again. 

“Nah,” Mai said back to the woman, “And I’m sorry to say you won’t get to.” 

Air and pressure sucked from the space around Mai. You were engulfed in the only place you were sure you could breathe – beside them. It spun, building and expanding until everything went quiet for a single, agonizing moment. Artifacts and goods hung in the air, brought up into suspension like a photograph capturing the moment before devastation; all the items with some Nen component waiting for a command. 

And then it blew.

Every item suspended shattered. The sound popped your ears as shrapnel and glass rained down from the ceiling. You stumbled back with Mai as their ability rolled through the hall and collided with the pack at the door. They fell like chess pieces knocked by the base of the king. Bones cracked and people groaned before they went silent. 

The only sound was the crash of Mai's ability rolling through the museum like a wave over the sand, dragging everything it caught back to sea. 

Unseeing eyes trained on you from the group as Mai directed you to the door. They tried to guide you over the people pile but you hesitated. 

"Give me twenty seconds," you said, voice strained. Maybe you'd been screaming. "Knock everyone out while I do this."

Mai's grip tightened but they let you crouch in front of the long-haired woman and press the book between your knees to free a hand. 

Her purse was wedged under her body. And she was arched uncomfortably over two other people, folding her like paper. Jostling her purse free, you popped it open: lipstick, keys, glimmering drugs, phone, and exactly what you wanted – her wallet. 

You couldn't help the maniacal smile as you shoved it in the pockets of Mai's suit. 

"Another souvenir," you said, standing and clutching the book to yourself again. "But a more impactful one than an eye."

"Good call," Mai said, helping you over the pack of bodies. You cringed when you slipped and cracked someone's elbow. And even more terrifyingly, they didn't react – just watched you with emptiness behind their eyes. You gagged as you noticed the crack in their skull dripping blood. Under the red lights it looked black. 

Mai groaned and stumbled over the last body. They wavered and you caught them. 

"We just need to get out, okay?" you said gently. "Then you can sleep as long as you need."

They nodded and you started running again, chasing the current of Mai's ability through the halls. 

You hit the antechamber you'd previously referred to as a spider. Attendees spread across the floor in crisscrossing stacks depending on the direction they'd fallen. But those were just the ones who'd landed on the ground. Others hung from exhibits or took pieces of art down with them. Champagne and hors d'oeuvres and blood mingled between bodies, swirling and moving like a river between hills. 

"I'm terrified of you," you said, only half joking. Keeping Mai focused and not passed out was the only way to get out safely. 

"Good, bitch," Mai said, leaning into you as you traversed the stacks of bodies. "Phinks better be too."

Somehow you'd forgotten why Mai wanted to do this in the first place; Phinks getting the fuck over himself. Which made them even more terrifying. 

Tripping over bodies, you made it back into the dining hall where the devastation was immeasurable. Bodies stacked on the dance floor; people had fallen into dessert tables sending food and coffee spilling and tables crumbling; floral arrangements were shattered; the music had stopped when the musicians fell. There was so sound except your breathing and the blaring alarms. 

You'd entered a purgatory of Mai's making. They were silence and cold and devastation. And they hung from you like they were about to fall. 

Dragging them towards the entrance, you struggled getting their legs over bodies and avoiding fallen debris. 

"I'm tired," Mai mumbled against your hair. "And it hurts. So many people."

"I know," you said, forcing you both out into the main lobby. "You're doing great. Just a little longer, okay?"

"M'kay," they said. 

The lobby was entirely empty, except the security guard at his desk who'd fallen forward when he'd dropped. Giant glass windows opened to the street, forcing the red alarms to comingle with the crisp moonlight. 

You slipped and slid on the tile as you dragged Mai past popup banners and the welcome tables now abandoned by event staff. You were covered in the dregs of the disaster Mai caused: blood, sweat, and you could smell coffee that had splashed up on your legs. 

Throwing yourself out the front doors, you stumbled and hit the ground. Mai came with you and laid still on the cold concrete. Their eyes looked up at something past you, fury and a hint of thankfulness in their stare. You followed the path to find a group of Spiders staring back, leaning against a pair of sports cars – including the one you'd stolen.  

“No Nen, huh?” Phinks said, a smile growing as he said the words, like he was more pleased than furious. “You’re the most attractive liar I’ve ever seen.”

"Fuck you," Mai said with a gentle smile. "You weren't supposed to be here."

Phinks ran forward and tossed Mai over his shoulder. They protested but didn't have the strength to fight it. 

"I wasn't until the last minute," Phinks said. 

You stumbled to your feet, body aching with the strain of holding Mai. Gareth, Phinks, and Mai were getting into cars along the drive. 

"Left you a gift," Feitan said, materializing beside you. His hand slipped around your waist and pulled you against him. There was something horrifying in his stare, like terror lingered in his mind. Whatever the books had said had done something horrible to him. "But no time to admire it. We are leaving."

You nodded and let him drag you down the stairs towards one of the cars from the garage in the mansion. It was simpler to let him move you. That way you didn't need to think. 

"I want to check on Mai–" you said, craning your neck to see Phinks buckling them in.

"Out safely first," Feitan said, gripping you tightly to make you move. "Check on them later."

The last thing you saw before Fei threw you into a car was all that was left of Elijah. The one who'd touched you; who'd threatened you; the one who was exactly as he seemed. Nailed, bleeding, dead, eye missing like you'd done to Jed. He hung limp from the balustrade of the stairs like a work of art himself. Your note was there, but so was something else, carved into his bare chest with a ragged dagger, the message enhanced by Feitan. 

Run fast.

False prophets.  

The car ride was quiet. Feitan drove with wide eyes and a strange rhythm to his breathing. He was somewhere else entirely. And when he looked over occasionally, it wasn't at you, it was at the little box with the book sitting on your lap. The book that had shut you out and refused to tell you what it had said to Fei.

"What did it tell you?" you said softly, peeking at him out of the corner of your eye. 

Feitan's grip tightened on the steering wheel and it was only then you realized he was shaking. "Not right now."

You agreed and let the scenery roll past until you made it back to the mansion. 

By the time you did, the dregs of morning light hung over the horizon and you were destroying yourself over not telling Feitan to fuck off when he demanded you wait to see Mai. 

Stumbling from the car, you slipped as you knocked yourself off balance remembering to take the book. If it was out of sight, who knew what it would do. Feitan caught you and glared like you were inconveniencing him. Because you were. But you didn't care. 

You barreled towards the kitchen and would have hit an immovable door when you realized it pulled towards you and not out, but Feitan caught that too, now even more frustrated. So much so you could hear snippets of the conversation (argument) he was having with himself in his head. And every word was about you. Words and phrases like leave and too good and not enough and won't want you forever sounded too loud. But they formed strange thoughts tangling with a myriad of emotions that curtailed any understandable sentences.

His stare flicked to you at the precipice of the kitchen while he held the door. His stare closed off, a stare you hadn't seen directed at you in a while. 

He knew. 

He knew you could hear and he wanted you out. And again, you weren't sure whether the word was his or yours. 

Pushing inside, you found Mai and Phinks in the kitchen. Mai’s legs dangled off the counter while Phinks held them, letting them rest on his shoulder. They were speaking, but so softly the words were lost on you. 

“Hey,” you said, sliding up beside them. “How are you doing?” 

Phinks gave you a look that made you step back. You raised your hands as you fell backwards into Feitan’s hold. 

“Mai’s fine. Just tired,” Phinks said. “No thanks to you.” 

“I–” you blinked, using the pause to consider what you could possibly say. Mai breathed evenly, eyes closed and lips parted while they slept. “I got them out.” 

“Bullshit,” Phinks said, turning away from you. “Mai got you out.” 

“I wasn’t going to leave them, if that’s what you’re implying,” you said, lowering your voice so you wouldn’t wake Mai who'd fallen into a much needed nap. They’d kill you if they found you arguing about them without their knowledge. “I was a little distracted by this.” You slammed the box on the counter and the island rocked like the weight of whatever lived in that book could shatter granite. “This book is a monster, Phinks.” You swallowed and sank into Feitan who had his arms wrapped around your waist. “Mai made a judgement call and I agreed. So, I don’t see why we’re arguing.” 

“You wantin' this damn book put them in needless danger." Phinks lifted Mai off the counter and wrapped their legs around his waist. "Come on Fei," he said. "You aren't gonna shut her up?" 

"Do not speak about her that way," Feitan said.

“You entirely missed the point of Mai getting it,” you said, pushing Feitan away and stepping up to crane your neck at Phinks. It was probably best to continue instead of address Phinks' annoying request to have Fei shut you up. “They wanted to prove to you that they weren’t useless. If it wasn’t this book, it would have been something else. So get your head out of your ass and let Mai live, you fucking asshole.”  

Phinks’ lips moved like there were words in his head he wanted to portray, but they couldn’t reach his lips. 

“You think your soulmate would be some wilting flower?” you said. “Mai is brilliant and wild and terrifying and you’re too much of a fucking gentleman to see it.” You spit the word because Phinks needed to realize this knightly bullshit was going to land him in even deeper Hell. “You loved it when we fell out of the front doors at that museum. I saw your face, so don’t lie. And now you’re going to be upset?” 

“Keeping shit from me won’t–” 

“Would you two shut up?” Mai said, rubbing their eyes. “You’ve both made your points.” They dug in their pockets until they found the woman’s wallet you’d stuffed there. Mai tossed it on top of the book box. “Let me sleep and we’ll reschedule our stupid argument when I can kick both your asses.”

“Touch and you lose limbs,” Feitan said. 

And you couldn’t help an empty laugh that that’s what he’d taken away from this entire ordeal. So you decided not to inform him you’d hung off of Mai for the duration of your bungled but successful heist. 

“I heard yelling,” Shalnark slipped into the room with Gareth. He stood with his hands on his waist and an inappropriately wide grin that made you oddly comfortable and glad you’d made it back to these fucking idiots. “Is this the book?” Shalnark didn’t wait for permission to snatch it up along with the wallet. 

"If it talks to you," you said to Shalnark, "ignore it. It feeds off your insecurities and pretends it's telling you the truth by not explicitly lying."

"Does it really?" Shalnark said.

"Unfortunately."

"How exciting," Shalnark said, caressing the box like he could learn something about the book from it. 

Shalnark's glee made you glad he was taking the book instead of you. He headed back towards the door but stopped and turned. “Mai?”

“What?” they mumbled, eyes closed as they tried to just sleep. 

“I’d give tonight a four out of ten,” he said.

Shalnark dodged as Phinks threw a microwave at his head. 

You were ready for some quiet, and some time for yourself and Feitan to talk about what the hell had just happened. But when you opened the door to the living room, you were met with a pack of rowdy people. 

You stopped and let Feitan slither up beside you. He slipped a hand around your side to hold you against him. The chilly touch of his fingers on your skin as he slipped them under your shirt made your burn. 

"Chrollo made the call," Feitan said, sounding and looking bored. The honesty he'd started affording you on his face was locked tight again. Even knowing it was a show for the others, it hurt that he was hurting and couldn't show it. "For the rest of the Spiders."

"And their soulmates," you said, noticing Blair and a few others who didn't seem like Troupe members. But you knew better than to assume ability based on looks alone. 

There was a woman with large glasses and a blunt cut that curved at the ends. A man who looked taller than anyone you'd ever met and just as hairy. And too many others for your tired eyes to take in when all you wanted was sleep. 

"Hey, Feitan!" The hairy man yelled from the other side of the room. "Introduce me to your girl." He stomped over and rested his hands on his hips. He was even taller close up than he'd been across the room – easily seven feet tall. 

Feitan huffed like he expected the guy to do something stupid. 

"Oh, yes, Feitan," a man you hadn't noticed before said from the steps leading to the second floor. And you had no idea how you hadn't noticed him because he was dressed like a fucking clown. "Do introduce us to your soulmate."

"No," Feitan said with such a heavy warning the man in front of you stepped back. Feitan spun you and cradled you to himself. And it was then you could feel the pounding of his heart where you clutched at his shirt. "Do not speak to her."

"Fucking fine," the hairy man said. "I'm not gonna do anything to her."

"Come on, Fei," you whispered. "It's fine." Before he could answer, you wriggled out of his hold. And then jerked out of reach as he tried to grab you again. Holding a hand to the hairy man, you introduced yourself. "It's nice to meet you–"

"Uvo," the man said, wrapped two hands around yours to shake. His bone crushing hold made you bite your tongue to avoid looking weak or making Feitan lose his shit that Uvo was hurting you. "Glad you're nicer than your soulmate over there."

"That's enough," Feitan said, again at your side. "Meet her later."

And before you could protest, Feitan was dragging you upstairs, conveniently placing himself between you and the man he hadn't named who looked like a court jester without a king, lounging on the stairs like it were a throne. 

He didn't acknowledge you as you passed. But he smiled in a way that made you ill; it revealed the vitriol behind his eyes he'd chosen not to mask.

Feitan’s grip tightened and a chill prickled your skin. There was no comradery there. And you hadn’t yet considered that with the Spiders, that was even possible. 

Chapter Text

Fei shoved you against the door the moment it shut. Body pressed against yours, he shifted, caging you between him and the chilly wood door. His hands roved your sides as he slid his thigh between your legs, adjusting so you were off-balance without his support. Hints of his cologne remained but the overwhelming smell of tangy blood on his face and neck felt more right than something as artificial as a bottled scent. 

You wanted those sounds he’d only give when he lost control. As you clawed at his shoulders and rolled your hips against him, he groaned into your skin and you would have done anything in any way he wanted it. 

Fei’s warm, uneven breath ran up your neck as he kissed and bit. He tugged your earlobe with his teeth until you hissed from the lovely pain. It didn't matter that you were exhausted and dirty; you needed him now more than anything else. 

His ragged breath feathering your skin made you arch against him and angle your neck back as his hand clawed over your chest and up to make his favorite necklace around your throat. 

"I thought we were going to talk," you said, more like a whine than a demand. His hand gripped hard into your hip as he guided you the way he wanted you to move for him. Every shift, every breath – you swore he’d planned for you. Until he froze like you’d shocked him still, throwing him off.  

"Easier like this," Feitan said, shakily. “I can talk.” He pushed your face to the side to nip at your jaw and cheek. Even covered in dirt and sweat and blood, he wanted the feeling of your skin against his as much as you wanted his against yours. "Need to fuck you too." 

"Was it the torture?" you said, gasping as he adjusted to guide your leg around his waist. You had to know what set him off because this wasn’t the calm, methodical, practiced way he’d fucked you before; this was how you’d expected him to snap that day on the elevator – this was him when he’d lost his sense of control.  

"Some of it." Feitan pressed against you, showing how desperately he needed you. "And your teasing. Your mouth. Your clothes.” He accented his point by tugging at the fabric like he’d rip it free. “Driving me insane." 

But that wasn't all – you knew it wasn't all. Something else lingered there he wasn't ready to share. 

"Take this off," Feitan said, crumpling your outfit between his fingers. And you knew if you didn’t remove it soon, he’d be ripping it off instead.

You stood straight and pushed your fingers on his chest to force him back. His surprised smile told you he only moved because he wanted to; there was no way you’d have made him do it if he didn’t will it. But he sat back on his hip and shoved his hands in his pockets. His raised chin and brows said ‘give me a show.’ It was a simple movement that spoke volumes only someone watching him closely could understand. And it only then occurred to you how closely you assed him from the moment you’d discovered him on the couch in your home. First, you needed to feel his hands, then see the rest of his face, then feel him pressed against you, then more and more and more . 

It would never be enough. 

“This?” you said, tugging fabric over your head slowly. The itchiness of the material made you shiver and the disappearance of Fei’s stare from under the fabric rose goosebumps on your skin as you imagined how he’d be watching you when you could see him again. And when you could, you almost stumbled at his unbridled admiration. Fei was fire and warmth and smoke ready to consume you. 

Knives still sat in their holster and you made a point to unbuckle with such slow precision, you were certain Fei was about to pounce. But instead, he undid his bowtie and tossed it away, along with his jacket. Patches of blood dotted his sullied, white shirt that he tugged out of his slacks. 

How he looked more gorgeous that way, you couldn’t say. 

"Not fast enough," Feitan said, throwing you back against the door and clutching your jaw so he could kiss you while you fumbled undressing. "Want my mouth? Like I showed earlier?"

You nodded into his kiss. Yes, yes you needed it. Even with the blood on his face you couldn't resist the pull of his words and the warmth of his lips. 

"Then be good," he warned. As if you'd ever want him to stop kissing you, stop touching you, stop fucking you however he wanted. 

Feitan assisted in tossing the rest of your clothes aside, until you were in nothing and he was still clothed. It made you burn. 

You tried to move towards the bed but Feitan laughed and clutched your waist. 

"Not going that way yet,” he said. “Need you here first.” Feitan breathed the words against your skin and it burned so deep, you felt the fire of the bond crackling in your chest. This time there were no galaxies or stars engulfing you like a supernova, but you still felt it all churning in the bond. 

Fei dragged his lips up to your jaw and worked his way back down, stopping at each bruise, contemplating which he wanted to worsen. And he chose every one, reminding you you’d never have clear skin again when you spent your nights under him. 

Buttons slipped through your shaky fingers as you undid his shirt. But before you could finish, Feitan made a discontented noise and ripped it free, throwing his shirt aside. 

His kiss was harsher now, more demanding; you could barely breathe as he guided his tongue with yours and pressed down on your throat to angle your face the way he wanted it. So you forsook breathing to unhook his belt and unzip his slacks. You were about to do more – hold him, feel him in your hands again – when he gripped your wrist. 

“Touch me and you won’t get what you want,” Feitan said against your lips. “No patience right now.” 

You opened your mouth to breathe, to respond, but he didn’t let you. He just kissed you and constricted your neck until you had no choice but to pull back and breathe. Feitan chuckled as you drooped against the door. But he gave you no more than a moment to compose yourself. 

He grazed a hand down your spine, tapping his fingers and caressing each vertebrae until you wriggled with the strange mix of uneasiness melding with the heat of his touch. 'Hurting for him' is what he'd said the last time you'd been together like this. And you realized it meant so much more than pain itself: the unease, the attraction, the desire, the way he worked his fingers to mix so many sensations you couldn't choose which to focus on. He was a bastion of pain and pleasure and it wouldn't be right if he didn't use his skills to the best of his ability. 

Feitan ran the top of a finger on the skin under your eye. You only then realized you'd closed them. His touch shifted your eye strangely in its socket and you blinked to find him so close you couldn't focus on each of his eyes. 

"Watch while I break you," Feitan breathed. 

He scratched his nails down your chest, slightly pointed like you’d never seen before. He mirrored the movement on your back. Pale, red lines cut down your breasts, over your stomach, and down to your thighs as his hand explored. His touch was so gentle, you were only struck with the slight sting of breaking skin. 

You released a breath and tried to drag him closer. He was still too far and you wanted his body pressed against yours. Wanted to feel all of him again. 

“Liked that?” Feitan said like a smug bastard as he refused to move. “Me too.” 

“Not as much as I’d like you to keep your word and make me cum already,” you said, gasping as he spread your legs apart further instead of giving you the contact you wanted. 

“I promised that?” Feitan said, finally placing his hand between your legs. He lightly slapped and you swallowed. “Don’t think so.” 

“Then promise it now,” you said, wriggling as he teased you. 

He didn't immediately respond. Instead he kissed down your shoulder as he slid a finger through you, and then two.

"Not promising anything," Feitan said with that lovely, mocking tone that struck your veins like the stars in the bond. 

 Fei slipped his fingers inside, groaning when he seemed happy with the state he’d found you in. The cutting nails were gone but he kissed your collarbone, your breasts, and anything else he could reach that he’d marked so he could break skin again. His fingers pressed deeper, but not enough you could ride them – which you tried and were rewarded with a gleeful laugh from Fei at your desperation – but still just enough he could swirl and tease. 

"Acting like a whore," he said, letting you roll against him again. "Just for me?"

"Yes. I'm yours," you said without hesitation. "Just yours."

"Mine?" Feitan said softly, dangerously, gleefully. He bit and kissed the skin of your neck and you hissed at the sting of snapping skin. If you'd looked, you knew you'd see your own blood now mixed on his skin and teeth and tongue. The tongue that was supposed to be somewhere else by now. "Didn't know I had one."

"Asshole," you gasped as he bit down harder. And he caught his breath as you ground against him another time. It was difficult to stay upright as he worked you with his fingers. But you tried to remain up by forcing your shoulder blades back on the door. 

Warm trickles of blood coursed down the bumps and curves of your body from where he'd popped bruises. And Feitan’s approving sounds only made your burn for him more.

"How lucky," Feitan said, blowing past your rude comment. Because not only did he acknowledge it was true, you were sure he loved that you loved it. "My whore is so pretty."

"And desperate," you added honestly, breathing unevenly. "I thought you were impatient, so why are you teasing me?"

"Getting what I want right now," Feitan said, dragging his fingers back until you whined and tried forcing them back inside. "You are impatient. Should make you fuck my fingers instead." And as if to prove his point, he pressed in deeper and forced your hips to grind against him. 

"I need your mouth," you said, breathlessly as he readjusted his hand to rub you with his thumb the way he'd discovered made you squirm. "Please, Fei. I'll be so good for you."

"Say that now," Feitan said, pressing you back harder into the door. It was cold against your bare skin. "But you are so difficult."

"I promise," you breathed. "I need to confirm your tongue is as good as your fingers."

And he laughed; he was gorgeous when he laughed. 

"So selfish," Fietan said with wicked delight. His smile widened as he watched you panting. But then it faded into something contemplative, like he was deciding something. 

"Fei?" Did he want to talk? Was he trying to say something?

His kiss was fleeting, but he hummed against your lips before he said, "Talk when I get you on your back."

He gripped your hips and fell to his knees. 

You'd imagined what it looked like for Fei when you'd knelt in front of him and let him fuck your mouth however he wanted, but you couldn't breathe now as he did the same before you. And you were sure you hadn't looked half as gorgeous as he did kneeling and throwing your leg over his shoulder. 

Even as he kneeled, you knew you weren't in control. His eyes burned, and they mocked with how they watched you. He, just like you, refused to drop your stare. 

Feitan kissed and bit up your thigh as he watched you with a reverent look in his eyes you'd kill to see forever. Dark hair twined with your fingers as you caressed his scalp. You swore his eyes fluttered at the sensation. 

Everything burned as he made his way closer and his hair tickled the soft skin on the inside of your thigh. Fei's contented noises you weren't meant to hear vibrated against your skin and you could do nothing but melt into the feeling. 

"Please, Fei," you said, cheeks and chest and bond burning as he tugged you forward by your hips. His warm breath made you wriggle as he kissed around where you wanted him. "Stop teasing me." 

"Like it when you struggle," Feitan said, letting you move under his hold. "Keep doing it."

You lightly slapped his shoulder and his laughter lit up the eyes still watching you. Until they grazed down your chest and navel and landed between your legs. 

"Feitan Portor, if you don't at least fuck me in the next few minutes, I'm going out there and finding some–" you were going to add "one" and you knew he knew it too when he smacked your thigh so hard you hissed. 

"Shut up or I will make you," Feitan said. You nodded your agreement and gasped as he ran his tongue through you. Like he was reminding you that you were no one else's, that no one else could do that to you, that only he fit you so perfectly it stole your breath. 

You whimpered at the way his tongue dragged and swirled and teased; how his pulse raced as you caressed his jaw and neck to tell him how well he was doing, how good he felt with his mouth on you; how he gripped you tight enough to break skin and to keep you against his face as he worked. And how his fingers fucked you while he focused higher, sucking and licking until you were pleading with him to let you cum. 

"You're doing so well," you said, finding it difficult not to smile at the annoyed huff he gave you when you were the one praising him. He smacked your ass but didn't stop working, or ask you to stop praising him. So you massaged his scalp with your nails and held the hair from his face so see his eyes again. Hints of red flushed his cheeks so you let his hair drop to hide his face. "It feels so good. I don't want it to end but I want to cum," you said, your voice barely more than a breath. "Please let me cum. It feels so good. You feel so good." 

As you rested your head back against the door, you were sure he'd slow down or change pace, but he did neither. 

"Oh," you gasped. "Fei, please don't stop."

You shifted against him as you burned, but he didn't let you stray far so he could keep moving how you needed it.

And when you came, he spread you with his tongue until you were dripping down his chin. None of the suggestions he'd shown you through the bond compared to what he'd just done so expertly. So you sent a suggestion of your own – you on your back with his belt in his hands while he contemplated how to use it. 

You panted as you came down, mouth wide at the shock of sudden release. But you needed more and your suggestion clearly worked. Fire raged in his eyes between slits in his bangs, and you knew the impatience was back the moment he made you cum for him. 

Feitan threw your leg off his shoulder and you almost stumbled at the loss of support. He stood and heaved you towards the bed. 

"Get on your back," Feitan said, tugging at his belt until it came free of the loops. He circled it around his hand and disposed of everything else he'd left on. 

You stumbled onto the bed, back barely hitting the mattress before he hovered over you with the belt in his hands. 

"Cry 'mercy' with that pretty mouth," Feitan said, "if it is too much."

You needed to touch him, feel him in your hands again. Reaching for him, he smacked your hand away and held it over your head. The redness remained in his cheeks as he watched you. 

Chilly leather from the belt stroked up and down your leg and you struggled with where to look: the way his muscles moved as his heaving breath enveloped you under him, the belt and the goosebumps it formed on your skin, or his face that looked as gleeful as you'd ever seen. 

"Hit my shoulder," Feitan said, "if you can't speak." He said it with so much delight you were sure he'd make you hurt in the best way. 

"More," you said, before Feitan stole your words with a kiss that tasted of you. You didn't dare use your other hand and raised it above your head. Feitan hummed his approval and locked both your wrists in his grip. 

The first strike of leather on your thigh was light and Feitan supplemented the feeling by tugging on your lower lip until it bled. He licked up your chin as it pooled and struck you again, harder this time. You yelped and arched against him. 

Fei caught your leg and pressed your knee back towards your chest. He laughed as he said, "hold that for me."

"Bastard," you said, so lovingly. With both your hands in his above your head, you had nothing but shaking muscles weak from the orgasm he'd given to hold it up how he wanted. "You know I barely can."

"Should shut you up with my cock," Feitan said, kissing you so gently, you realized just a moment too late it was a prelude and a promise.

The belt hit the underside of your thigh and you jerked in surprise at the extra sensitivity from that location. 

Feitan gasped at the shift from shock to pain to pleasure on your face. Sweat-coated hair stuck to your forehead and Fei looped a finger through the strands to remove it from your skin. The belt caressed your face as he worked and you shivered under him at the sensation. 

"Take it so well," he said, in awe. 

You ground up against him and sighed at the feeling of his cock pressing into your thigh.

Feitan groaned and rested his face in the crook of your neck. He rolled against you and let your hands go so he could adjust you under him like he had last time you'd done this. Like he needed you placed perfectly when he fucked you properly. 

He rocked, sliding through you again and again until he was satisfied. 

And when he slowly pushed inside, he grazed your side with the belt – breast to hip to thigh. He cursed as you tightened around him at the sensation of his movements and the leather on your skin. And when he was entirely inside – and you'd rolled up to then retreat and force him out just enough that you could press up to him again – you thought he'd forgotten to move. Until his hand held your hip down and the belt crashed into your skin so hard you cried out. 

He captured your sounds with a kiss and fucked you how he breathed – fast and hard until he seemed to forget he was supposed to breathe at all. 

Feitan tossed the belt aside and caressed the spots he'd struck. You hissed at the lovely ache and strange sensation of his fingers on the new bruises and wounds you'd added to your collection. 

"Fuck," Feitan said into your neck. "So pretty hurting." His words were breaking again, until he spoke the language of death you couldn't understand. 

He gripped your hips as he spoke the lovely words that sounded so right on his lips, even though you couldn't understand. Feitan held you close and you yelped as he flipped you over so you sat on top. 

You dropped onto him and you both lost breath and words as you sank so deep it felt entirely new. Watching each other, you rested your hands on his chest and pressed up slowly. But his eyes darkened and he shoved you back down, again speaking the language you couldn't understand. He was saying something important as you let him show you how he liked being ridden, guiding your hips until he hissed when you found what he needed. 

"I don't understand what you're–" you gasped as he pressed up into you, "–what you're saying."

But he kept speaking words you knew he needed to say. Perhaps he thought in that language and he was working through them aloud. And he'd cycled through so many emotions, you worried stopping him would make him think too much and force him back into his shell.

So you rode him until he sat up. 

Feitan caught you before you lost balance and pushed you back against the mattress. He paused, letting you both breathe a moment while his lips started and stopped forming words. And when he sank back into you, you almost closed your eyes until you saw him watching. So you grazed his back, up and down with your nails while he found his voice again.  

"Make me sick," Feitan said, adjusting so he rested on his elbows over you. He fucked you slower now, like he was more focused on his words than his movements. "You do that to me."

It was an accusation, but he still stroked his thumb down your throat so, so lovingly. 

"What does that mean?" you said breathlessly, leaning into his touch, the feeling of being with him, the feeling of laying in his own space he shared with no one but you. With the way he rocked against you so softly, you weren't sure this was the same man he'd been twenty minutes ago when he'd thrown you against the door and stung you with his belt. “Tell me what you mean, not what I want to hear.” 

“They are the same,” Feitan said, “I think.” He said it with such a strange uncertainty, you couldn’t recall him ever being so off-kilter. 

“Then they’re the same,” you said, affirming him enough that he'd want to continue speaking. One wrong word and he’d lock back up in a way that could take days or weeks to reopen. 

You needed him to feel safe, because being dangerous and capable could never take the place of warm arms and gentle, uninhibited trust. 

Fei slid his fingers through yours until your hands were laced together. He guided them to either side of your head, and used them as leverage to rest on his elbows over you. Whatever he wanted to say, he didn't want you touching him while he did it. Even though he moved so intimately with you – back and forth so carefully like you'd break – the words were more dangerous than touch could ever be. 

“Don’t know what–” Feitan said, watching you but not quite meeting your eye, “–love means.” He said the word like it was poison on his tongue. “It is not–" He pressed in again. "Don’t know why it–" Fe's hands shook in yours as he said, "Why does it hurt?”  

He watched you imploringly, like you had the answer he needed. As if you were uniquely qualified to explain the depths of something as unhinged as a soul bond. It was flattering and terrifying. 

“It would be meaningless if there wasn’t pain to balance it,” you said, hissing as he snapped his hips, picking up his pace. 

"How much longer?" he said. You shot him an uncertain look and he continued. "Until I can not give what you need?"

"Fei–"

"How long?" Fei strained to get the words out. “Until you do not want me?” 

And there it was – what that vile, evil book had implanted in his head. The ideas he’d already harbored were exacerbated by that piece of filth that needed to be burned page by page until it was nothing but ashes and memories. 

You stroked your thumbs over his hands and strained to reach his lips to kiss him softly. He didn’t immediately respond, but joined when you whispered his name, begging him to kiss you. 

He had no idea what he was doing and that book had worsened the fear that you were so far beyond him. And that one day you’d realize and be gone. 

"I'll want you for as long as you want me too,” you said against his lips. “There is no one else. I want nothing but you.” Feitan huffed like that answer wasn't sufficient. “Would the Blood Bind prove it?”

Feitan blinked away his strange haze. “Don’t need to prove anything.” He looked away. “Need to show you.” 

You tugged a hand free of his and cupped his cheek. Swallowing, he pressed his face into your hand. 

“You show me every day,” you said. “I promise you do.” 

Love sounded trite in the face of what you both experienced with the bond. And Feitan blinked like he’d heard you think the word. He was back to focusing on you with a face of wonder and confusion. You’d had versions of this conversation before, but never so blunt. This could be as blunt as Feitan was willing to be. And surely the softness and the insistence showed, encouraging him to continue.

“Do not deserve that word.” Feitan’s breathing had slowed as his eyes widened. He was trying to keep himself from panicking. You could feel it in the bond, the tension building in his chest and the roiling in his mind. Years of training and practiced control were slipping in the face of something he'd never considered experiencing. “Never meant for me.” 

What an odd thing to say when there was nobody better suited for it than you. 

“You don’t want me to love you?” you said, a strange devastation creeping through your veins. It was a unique kind of rejection you felt would make you shatter. 

“I want it,” Feitan said, dropping his face into your neck like he couldn’t spend another second watching you and still keep the cool façade you felt cracking. "More than anything." His uneven breath tickled your throat and you massaged your hands in his hair and let him move against you to encourage him to breathe. "Don't know what to do," he said softly. "How to –" and you swore you heard 'love you' in your head, because he didn't say it aloud.

"Love me however you can," you said, "and I'll do the same for you." You wanted to say so much more, but you couldn't think of what else to say other than, "the book lies. It feeds on you. Don't let it because nothing it says can change my opinion of you, and I hope you feel the same."

"You are too accommodating," Feitan said.

You couldn't help but laugh. And he dug his nails into your thigh in response. 

"But you always say I'm too demanding," you said, losing your breath as he pulled out to flip you on your stomach and shove your face in the mattress. 

"Can be both," Feitan said against your ear. One hand wrapped around your stomach and the other slipped around your throat. He pulled you up and spread your knees so your back pressed against his chest and your legs sat on either side of his. He whispered in your ear, "My pretty whore." His breath and praise sent goosebumps down your spine. "Fuck yourself on me." 

You nodded and grabbed for him. 

"Turn around," Feitan ordered, his voice sounding surprised he'd asked at all. "Want to see your face."

You quickly turned and adjusted so your knees pressed on either side of his legs. Fei's face burned red in a way you'd never seen, and his eyes glowed with wicked wanting. He rested back on his palms and gave you a look telling you he was waiting and wouldn't be patient for long. 

"I was going to tell you how attractive you are, but then you had to go be an asshole," you said, enjoying how his breath caught as you stroked him.

"Can be both," Feitan said, sighing as you aligned yourself and sank down.

“You’re right,” you said, shoving him all the way down and reveling in his surprise, “it is both.” 

Chapter Text

You sat on a plush couch in the den, clocking the movements of more criminals than you’d ever seen at one time in your life. A somewhat risky medic business had done nothing to assuage the crinkling tension in your chest and the hum in your muscles like you wanted to flee. The Phantom Troupe–the entire Phantom Troupe–was an amalgamation of brilliance and malice cloaked behind a veneer of unremarkability. And it was then you understood how they lived in the shadows by traversing the light: they were made for both.  

Fei perched on the back of the couch, his legs resting by you as he cradled the back of your head. He grazed his fingers through the delicate hairs at the nape of your neck, and shimmied his fingers under your collar. He stroked the goosebumps his touch created to remind you he knew the effect he had. But even so, his focus was elsewhere. From your angle, you could identify who specifically Feitan was watching when his eyes weren’t on you. It wasn’t the girl with large glasses and the memory of a goldfish, or the giant man, Uvo, who’d imposed his presence and forced an introduction earlier, or even Chrollo, who looked more at home here than he had anywhere else you’d seen before. It was the man Feitan warned you on the way down to stay away from at all costs–Hisoka. 

‘Better dead than alive’ Feitan had said, ‘would kill him if I could.’ And gave no other context why homicide was the ideal alternative to existing in the same space as Hisoka. But the message was clear: stay away. Not that you were inclined to engage when Hisoka watched you like something to claim. You focused on the rest of the room instead while Fei kept watch over Hisoka. 

Fei’s discontent rumbled the foundations of the bond. It did nothing for your own nerves and you begged Mai and Phinks to arrive so you could begin. You had nothing to say to the raucous crowd that wasn’t particularly interested in you anyway as they discussed their time apart. So you breathed, allowing the sounds of laughter and conversation to override your need to sink into the couch.

Mai and Phinks tumbled into the room together after far too long a delay. But it was together, and they were speaking, which was progress.  

“I hear we can discuss your Nen now, Mai,” Chrollo said. “It’s quite impressive. I’m disappointed you felt the need to hide it.” 

Mai froze as the room turned on them. They choked and Phinks tossed them over the back of a couch and onto the cushy pillows. Mai landed like they were far deeper in their head than they’d been on arrival.

“Thank you,” Mai said, so sincerely you couldn’t help wondering what rattled their mind, “for not telling.” 

“It wasn’t mine to tell,” Chrollo said, turning to Shalnark. “They clearly had their reasons for concealing it.” 

Shalnark looked entirely nonplussed by the sudden attention, instead using the opportunity to corral the focus of the room. He left Gareth in the corner to stand at the front of the group. 

“All I was saying was that it didn’t make sense that Phinks’ soulmate couldn’t use Nen,” Shalnark said, resting his hands on his hips. “It’s inconsistent with what we’ve seen and I figured if anyone knew, it would be you.” 

“Mai didn’t want to talk about it,” Phinks said, leaping over the back of the couch and sitting beside them. “Leave ‘em alone.” 

Mai peeked over at you and gave you a thin smile.

“I think we’ve grilled Mai enough for today,” you said, stealing glances at Phinks and Mai, who were sitting closer than they’d been in days. The part you wouldn’t say out loud was that Mai had been used before and was not interested in being used again. And something in the way Chrollo smiled pleasantly told you he was very aware of Mai’s reasons and unkeen to bulldoze their boundaries. “I’d rather learn more about all of you.” And you did, but more because this was the closest thing to family Feitan had, and you wanted the full picture. But all families had bad apples, and you were certain this family’s offender was Hisoka. 

Chrollo and Mai talked about it. Fei’s voice echoed in your head. At the hotel. 

No wonder they were terrified on the ride home. 

“Agreed,” Shalnark said, “we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” The room tempered as Shalnark held up a stack of information. “This is everything we’ve gotten from the hostage and all the information we’ve collected on The Parable Initiative.” 

Chrollo shifted uncomfortably and you realized you hadn’t seen Blair in the house. From the way they’d spoken at the gala, you’d assumed Blair was showing up. But she was nowhere in the room and you were sure Mai would have regailed you with information about the book translation the second they arrived if it had been taking place. 

“It’s fair to say it’s an extermination effort,” Shalnark said like he was lecturing to a class, but there was no hint of enjoyment in the way he spoke. His general, jovial self faded as he spoke of something so intimately familiar to most of the people in the room. “But not just people like us–they’re trying to wipe information from existence. There’s something very valuable and very dangerous they don’t want us to access.” 

“Like what?” Uvo said, barely fitting on the couch where he sat. The arms stretched out like they were about to snap. “They’re hoarding money or something?” 

“They absolutely are,” Shalnark said, “Their resource stores are incredibly valuable, but that’s not what I mean.” He peeked over at you and said, “I wasn’t sure what exactly they were doing before, but I think our friend over here helped put it together.” 

You thought Shalnark was speaking to you, and you opened your mouth to respond that you hadn’t prepared anything. But it was then that you realized the group was looking past you. Turning, you saw Blair looking like she was ready to go to war, standing beside Anaia whose clothes were clean and hair had been plaited. Any hint of injury or grime was gone and she looked just as lovely as you assumed she’d be under better circumstances. 

Blair scowled and came to stand in front of you. Feitan gripped your neck, hard, imploring you not to respond, to stay neutral. But Blair made it nearly impossible as she slammed her hand beside your head, gripping the cushions as she leaned in and said in a vicious whisper, “You locked her up and didn’t let her go after she proved to you she was sincere.” 

Chrollo looked unamused, but didn't stop her. 

“I–” you tried to protest but Blair interrupted. 

“I don’t want your excuses,” she said, as Anaia went to sit on the couch with Chrollo. The hum of voices rose. Anaia had done something taboo sitting beside the boss without a care in the world. 

“I don’t want whatever is happening right now,” you said. “I did what had to be done to keep everyone safe. That involved not letting an ex-cultist run around our home freely, or worse, return their knowledge to TPI the moment they got the opportunity to run.”

“Our home?” Blair said. “You are a guest here, only.” 

Feitan sucked in a breath and said, “Her home too.” 

“Blair, love,” Chrollo said. “Your point has been made.” 

“No, it hasn’t,” Blair said, taking a moment to peer over her shoulder at Chrollo before she turned back to press her face so close to yours, you could see the swath of colors in her eyes and catch the twitch of her lip like she was about to begin yelling. Tears pooled in her eyes and your anger shifted to the desire to hug her. “If I hear one more time, that you’ve done something to harm Anaia, I swear...” 

“Stop it, Blair,” Anaia said. And it was a relief because Feitan's free hand was out, ready to block any attempt from Blair to touch you. “I don’t disagree with what she did. I would have thrown myself in the dungeon too if I were in her shoes.”

Blair spun on Anaia, her next target of attack. The Spiders watched quietly or looked away. They were uninvited from this strange spat that had come from nowhere. And you could do nothing but watch, because you’d entirely lost control of your own hostage. That’s how the Spiders had thought of Anaia, at least. But from the looks of it, she was old friends with Blair. And Blair’s wants came above all others to the point of recklessness. And it was reckless to release Anaia now, but it had been done and you shook with the frustration of being overruled without discussion. 

But their mutual prickliness made it clear why they got on so well. 

“They’ve been wasting time when they could have been working with you,” Blair said. “The moment you gave the information, they should have let you go.” 

“I’m not arguing about this,” Anaia said. 

“I agree,” Shalnark said, dragging the room’s attention back in his direction. “We could have utilized Anaia better than we have. We made a cautious choice and maybe it was the wrong one.”

Blair mumbled her thanks to Shalnark and sat back down between Chrollo and Anaia. Refusing to look at anyone in the room, she focused on her feet and how they moved against the old, intricately patterned rug. The fight and fire had tempered and now Blair simply looked empty. 

Fei’s grip tightened so hard on your neck, you hissed. He was no longer watching Hisoka, as if he had sunk into the shadows, eclipsed by a bigger threat: Anaia and Blair. Fei had been with you when Anaia had lunged for you, insulted you, mocked you, hurt you. And now she sat among you all like she was as welcome as anyone. 

I am sorry. 

But you didn’t know what Feitan was apologizing for. 

Blair is not easy to like. Feitan’s voice trailed off in your head as you could feel him considering his words carefully. Should not have released Anaia. Or gotten in your face. 

By the time your thoughts returned to the conversation, Anaia was standing up front with Shalnark discussing everything she could share. 

“...think that it’s right that those without marks are unable to access certain abilities due to a random act of God. And because it isn’t universal, there either must be something wrong with those that do have soulmates or there must be a way for people without them to access these abilities.” Anaia looked your way with a sad smile. “What you found that day in the old warehouse was one of the locations trying to reverse engineer the access to soulmate specific abilities.” She stiffened and looked away. There were too many people in the room for you to remember the unnatural cold and the tightness in your throat as you choked on the scent of formaldehyde. Feitan stroked the front of your throat like his fingers could expand your airways. And you swore you heard him whispering to you to breathe over the bond. “And the night at the gala, when you stole that book–they are trying to destroy any information about soulmate abilities to ensure if they do succeed in reverse engineering them, only TPI members would have access.” 

“Fuck,” Phinks whispered and tugged Mai into their lap, gripping them like they’d disappear with the sun at dusk if they let them go. “Bastards. All of them.” 

“I spent a lot of time in my cell thinking,” Anaia said, sending a pointed look to Blair for her to keep quiet. “I didn’t understand why the Phantom Troupe of all groups would have a vested interest in this. But then I remembered one of The Thirteen has a strange tattoo on his palm: a Spider with a number four inside.” 

“We didn’t say we were the Phantom Troupe,” Chrollo said calmly, crossing his legs and resting his palms on his knee.  

“Yes, of course,” Anaia said. “And I didn’t say I was also one of The Thirteen in TPI.” 

Chrollo blinked slowly and inclined his head for her to continue. There was no use in lying. Anaia knew enough now about both organizations to be dangerous. And so they’d entered a mutually assured destruction relationship with a Hunter turned undercover cultist turned informant. 

“They’ll kill all of you before they stop,” Anaia said. “Soulmates are an affront to humanity and they’ll do anything to rectify what they see as an unforgivable sin. Even though they want the same abilities.” 

“They will try,” Feitan said, stroking his nails through your hair and massaging your scalp. You bit your tongue to stop the withering moan he was close to eliciting with his touch. “And they will fail.” 

“I’d be inclined to agree, but we’ve done very little to gain ground against them,” a tall blonde woman said. She sat with legs crossed and perfect posture. 

“Pakunoda’s right,” Shalnark said. “We need to gain ground. The rally in the Gordeau desert is the perfect place to do it. If The Thirteen that are still alive,” Shalnark said, letting his gaze slide over you and Feitan, “are there, as Anaia’s information suggests, we can take that time to try and separate them, and grab our old friend in the process.” 

"Who are we getting again?" The girl with glasses tapped a finger against her lips as stared off at the ceiling. 

"The coward who tried to kill Blair," Uvo said. "I'm gonna rip his arms off."

"As we should," Pakunoda said. "But protecting each other until we can diffuse this organization is a top priority. I am happy to help however I can."

"We have more than enough information to act," Shalnark said, waving his files around. "They're unrelenting and uninhibited in their violence, so we need to be cautious. But I have a hunch they're less organized than we think."

"Can't argue there," Anaia said. She called your name and you looked back at your sister-in-law. "Since you're a Hunter, I'd like to discuss something with you later. There's another angle we can use." She didn't say it out loud but her eyes screamed 'and accomplished our shared goal of getting Marco back.'

"Of course," you said. "Which means I should probably apologize for locking you up for longer than necessary."

"No need to apologize," Anaia said. "Like I said, I would have done the same thing, which means it was a good idea." They flipped their hair and turned away from you and you found it near impossible to be frustrated by it. 

"I'd like to join," Shalnark said. 

"Me too," Blair mumbled. "I already promised to help translate the book, so I might as well see how else I can help."

"Guess I'm involved too, then," Mai said, practically bouncing in their seat. 

For a task so odious, the Phantom Troupe felt vibrant with an excitement you hadn't felt on this scale in long while. It's like you'd gained a dozen more allies in one moment. And Feitan seemed to be thinking along the same lines. As the clusters of people discussed among themselves, Feitan leaned down to your level. He gripped at your hair and tugged your head sideways to brush a kiss against your temple. 

"Glad you are here," Feitan said in hushed tones. And you recalled what Chrollo had told you that day at the hotel: Fei had always wanted exactly what he had now, even though he never said it. "This.” He let the word linger. "Was emptier before."

Someone sighed from the other side of the room. It tempered the tone and sent a wave of unease through the group. The jubilant voices petered off and people shifted to watch the source of the noise. 

“I don’t see why we’re doing this at all,” Hisoka said, stretching his legs and resting them on the arm of the chair being occupied by a man in all wrappings who didn’t look too pleased with Hisoka’s chosen foot placement. 

“Pick words carefully,” Feitan said, his hand on your neck now digging in the thick of your flesh to drag you away like a mother cat if things got out of hand, “or I’ll feed her your tongue.” 

“Let him speak, Feitan,” Chrollo said. “If he is concerned with this cause, I want to know why.” 

“It was fine when it was optional, and a little Spider-themed revenge is always a joy, but why worry about a silly organization that really can’t do anything to us? We’re thieves by trade, and now we’re signing on to support Feitan’s fuck-toy’s plot to murder her brother.” Hisoka twisted himself to rest his elbow on the chair arm. And it was a good thing he did, because a knife whipped past his ear and struck the wallpaper behind his head. He focused your direction, assessing you once again. “And for what? So Feitan can keep getting off with something other than his hand?”

Phinks threw Mai from his lap and scrambled to stand between Feitan and Hisoka. He was brave and very stupid putting his back to Fei when you could feel his ice-chilled rage careening down the bond. But it looked like Phinks was the one who needed to be held back with his rattling fists and strained muscles. Mai was not interested in stopping him. They gripped a pillow so hard, stuffing bloomed like a flower in their hand. 

“Do not bother, Phinks,” Feitan said. “It is only words.”

Which was rich coming from Fei who had demanded Hisoka select those very words carefully. And he had, by knowing exactly what to say to get a rise out of multiple people. 

“But he–”

“It’s fine,” you said, reaching for Phinks to unclench his fist and squeeze his hand. But you swiftly dropped it when Fei made a throaty noise that told you he’d reprimand you for touching another man later. “It’s a fair question. It’s a large investment for something that doesn’t impact everyone.” 

“It has a brain,” Hisoka said to nobody in particular. 

Another knife flew at his head, but he caught it between his fingers, examining the cut of the steel before tossing it behind him. 

“This isn’t simply about her relationship with her brother,” Chrollo said, drawing the attention of the room and motioning for Phinks to take his seat. “It is about what we love, and this organization is a threat to our way of life. Especially considering…” He looked to Blair who again couldn’t address the room. You’d been furious with her earlier, but you couldn’t feel that anger when Blair was clearly recalling her own near-death experience and worrying for her friend who'd been close to death in the dungeons on your word. “Well, you all know. I will never let anyone do to your soulmates what TPI tried to do to mine, or Feitan’s for that matter.” Chrollo cradled Blair’s hands as he spoke. “They have attacked us–twice. The first can be rationalized as a fluke and the result of our own defector, but the second is a declaration of war. And we will accept the call so there is no third.” Chrollo stood and assisted Blair to her feet. “We'll take the next week to plan. I have other tasks for those less inclined to clash directly with TPI. Hisoka, Kortopi, and any others who are looking for alternate ways to support, I will place you elsewhere on the board. If you want to be a thief, I will not deny you.” 

The group began to disperse and you were glad that most took little interest in your presence. After agreements to reconvene, the Troupe split off into smaller groups and disappeared towards different parts of the house. Anaia didn't even look at you as she walked huddled with Blair, discussing something in low tones. There was no use pretending Anaia was under your control any longer, not when the boss's girl had claimed her for reasons you still didn't fully understand. 

Phink dragged Mai towards you and Fei. 

“That rat bastard,” Mai said. “I can’t believe he said that.” 

The pillow they’d destroyed sat at the edge of the couch, like it was waiting for a final push to fall over and die. 

“My fault,” Feitan said, and you were pleasantly surprised to hear the dissatisfaction and hint of remorse in his tone. “No secret I hate him.” 

“We can make it look like an accident,” Phinks said and Feitan stilled.

“He is a Troupe member,” Feitan said. “Do not kill him.” 

Phinks looked mildly disappointed and rested a friendly hand on your shoulder. 

“Ignore Hisoka,” he said. “Honorless piece of shit. He shouldn’t have said something so crude to you.”

“Thanks,” you said, chuckling as Feitan pushed Phinks’ hand from your shoulder. Even friendly contact was apparently off the table. “I’d heard he was bad, but not that bad.”   

“I’ll cook something and forget to make enough for anyone else,” Mai said, winking and shuffling Phinks from the room. “Give me an hour and I’ll make something great.”

“You go ahead,” Phinks said. “I’ll be right there.”

“You better not get in my way when you arrive,” Mai said, reaching on their toes to kiss him before they scurried out of the room. 

Phinks waited for the door to close and their hurried steps to disappear before he sank in on himself. He looked exhausted but the bags under his eyes were in direct contrast with the relief in his features.

“Thanks for going to that rich asshole event with Mai,” Phinks said. “You both made your point. I was an idiot.”

“You are always an idiot,” Feitan said with a bland look on his face. 

Phinks didn’t throw knives or hands at this insult. Instead he smiled and said, “Yeah, I am.” He had no quip to heave back at Fei. He was lost somewhere in his head. “You’ve been good to Mai and me. So, thanks, I guess.” 

“You’re welcome,” you said. “I’m available any time you need someone to remind you to get your head out of your ass.” 

Before you could stop him, Phinks engulfed you in a hug and Fei looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. 

“Oops,” Phinks said, smirking as he turned his head to face Fei, with his arms still around you. “Forgot I can’t touch your girl.” 

“Get,” Feitan said, “out.” 

Phinks didn’t immediately let go and you imagined he might just carry you to the kitchen and make Feitan follow. But he did drop his hold and ruffle your hair, likely because he enjoyed having hands. 

“See ya,” Phinks said, and flipped Feitan off before ambling from the room, his hands in his pockets. 

You closed your eyes at the peaceful solitude. With just you and Fei, you were actually able to think. 

If you’re in a homicidal mood, you possessive ass, please kill Hisoka and not Phinks. Feitan made a noncommittal noise about your thoughts so you continued. Hisoka’s got no idea what he’s talking about, anyway. If he knew how good you are with your hands, he wouldn’t devalue using them. 

Would kill Hisoka now, if I could, Feitan said down the bond. His voice lulled you like a cool breeze on warm skin. One day. Watch me sever every artery. Slowly. Carve him into bits to feed the wolves.  

The way Feitan described violence was always so lovely.

All of him? 

Feitan looked down at you like he was open to suggestions. He seemed to greatly enjoy your input on the things you couldn't call anything but fantasies.  

After you carve him, you said, getting on your knees to press a soft kiss to Fei’s lips. I’d like to keep his tongue. 

He gripped your side and slipped you between his legs. 

Will let you cut it out yourself, Feitan said, and the thought sent a wave of excitement from him to you. If I fuck you afterward.

Afterward? You gasped and were relieved you weren’t using real words as he dragged his teeth over your bottom lip, because speaking wouldn’t have been possible over the way he poured every once of his intentions into the kiss. Fuck me while you carve him. 

Fei was on you so quickly, you forgot to breathe before he stole the air from your lungs. 

Chapter Text

It took hours before Blair left Anaia’s side. Perhaps she thought the threat of you speaking to Anaia was over, or that Anaia would follow and head to bed for the night. But Blair had been wrong, and sorely underestimated how long you were willing to wait. And Anaia knew it too when she gave you a nod halfway through the night to tell you she was waiting for your queue to slip away and speak. 

After convincing Feitan to leave you alone for a few minutes, you caught Anaia’s eye and headed out back where the sounds of night and joyful hollering from the pool would mask the words you were going to share. It seemed like some of the Troupe was checked out for the night and wanted their leisure time.

You lounged together on the terrace, watching the people around you enjoy themselves. Someone threw a girl with glasses in the pool and when she resurfaced, she couldn't recall who'd been responsible. Uvo wouldn't stop jumping into the deep end and sending waves across the water. And a few others you hadn't met yet were drinking and smoking as they laid out of the grass and watched the stars. But that unrepentant joy didn’t feel possible for yourself or Anaia.

“I’m not actually apologizing for putting you in jail,” you said as an icebreaker. "Just for keeping you there too long."

And to your surprise, Anaia laughed. 

“I’ll find a way to lock you up one day and you’ll see what it’s like,” Anaia said. But there was no malice in her voice. “Ignore Blair. She doesn’t see what else is going on here.” 

“She doesn’t know about Marco?” you said. 

“Or the work I was doing for the Hunter Association about TPI,” Anaia said. “But that’s her own fault. She chose years ago to stay out of Chrollo’s business. This is the result.” 

It was brave and risky for Anaia to give any more information on what she’d been doing before she crossed paths with Shalnark–another Hunter. 

“Don’t you think you should tell her?” you said. “She’s your friend.”

Or you assumed they were friends with the way Blair was behaving. Unless Anaia had come up with some conniving plan to convince Blair that an old casual acquaintance with her was more friendship than anything and warranted her immediate release from Spider jail. 

“She was,” Anaia said. “In another life.”

“Don’t say some dumb shit about not having friends,” you said, enjoying the idea of bickering with someone as close to family as anyone could come. You didn’t know her well, and weren’t sure she was interested in knowing you, but there was an understanding there with the singular goal. 

“I had friends,” Anaia said. “It’s easy for people to give you personality traits that compliment their own when you’re a cold, blank slate.” She shifted and rested her arms over the bannisters towards the moon peeking over the forest and grass swaying in the breeze. “We went to college together, studied the same thing,” Anaia said. “But I passed my Hunter exam and immediately disappeared after graduation. Friends, relationships–they’re hard. I left and Blair stayed an academic. We should be glad for it since she can translate that ghastly book.” 

“I’m also a Hunter,” you said, trying to convey the caution in your tone. It was a delicate ask. “And I’m not openly affiliated with the Phantom Troupe, at least not yet. I think that gives us an opportunity here with TPI.” 

Anaia smiled, thin-lipped and contemplative. “I was thinking the same thing.” 

“We’re going back for Marco?” 

“Of course we’re going back for Marco,” Anaia snapped. “You’re too smart to ask stupid things like that.” You laughed and held yourself back from dragging your old prisoner into a hug she definitely didn't want. “I called my contact at the Hunter Association,” Anaia said, turning to face you. She rested their elbow on the bannister and sat back on her hip. “Partially to tell them I was alive, but also to tell them I found us another accomplice.” There weren’t words to convey the strange uneasiness that came with vocalizing the thought of working with the Hunters. You’d never done it in an official capacity. And was it a conflict of interest to be bound to a Spider and use the Hunter Association resources to help take down TPI? Even if it was, you were going to try. “He wants to meet you. I think with the two of us, we’ve got a better shot than me alone.”

“I’ll meet with him,” you said, ignoring the surety that Feitan would hate the idea. "Tell me when and I’ll be there.” 

“A few days,” Anaia said. “He’s getting things together before then. He’ll want to activate us quickly after that. How attached are you to these…people?” 

“I’m stuck with them forever,” you said. "I love them."

“Excellent,” Anaia said. “You’ve got more than enough reason to stay alive.”

You sat in the library with Mai and a gaggle of women you barely knew: Anaia, Blair (who wouldn’t look at you if she could avoid it), Pakunoda, and the woman with glasses whose name you’d learned was Shizuku. Plus Shalnark, who happily enjoyed whatever it was he was drinking while he perched beside you to read notes over your shoulder. On occasion, he’d lean over and scribble comments on your paper. 

Fei and Phinks weren’t keen on sitting around waiting for a group to translate a stupid book, so they’d gone off somewhere to do something probably illegal and fun in their eyes. You could tell, because Feitan was clearly enjoying himself and it was tumbling down the bond. 

Mai sat with Anaia and Blair, translating the table of contents of the book that still hadn’t said anything else to you since the night you’d taken it. But it radiated a kind of malice that only you seemed able to sense. Maybe it wanted to be translated, so it silenced its harrowing presence around Blair and only released its real feelings to you. Feitan hadn’t said anything about the book speaking to him again, so you were cautiously optimistic it had not. But it wouldn’t be out of character for Feitan to lie. 

“Are you telling him what you’re going to do?” Shalnark said like he already had the answer. “Feitan was too calm in that meeting for him to know.” 

Shalnark wasn’t smiling and there was no lightheartedness in how he spoke. It wasn’t a secret Shalnark had never been an avid fan of your off-the-cuff ideas. And clearly he didn’t appreciate that he was the only one to figure out the seed of an idea that lived so deep in your mind, Feitan couldn’t even access it. Not that he’d ever thought to look. 

“He’ll know when he needs to know,” you said, flipping the next page of the notes and highlighting a few lines. “And I’ve learned my lesson about acting too rashly.” Shalnark made a noise like he didn’t really believe you. “I know what I want to do, but I don’t have everything I need to do it. I can’t very well walk in the front door of some TPI hideout and make it out alive with this on my wrist.” You tugged up your sleeve to show Shalnark the red mark. 

“It changed colors,” Shalnark said. He gripped your arm and tugged it towards his face. At least he had the decency not to grab the mark itself. But he examined it closely, like he could decipher something new from the change. “When did this happen?” 

“No idea when it became permanent, just that it had changed one time,” you said. “I figured it had changed back. Anaia noticed it, not me. And it made her lose it. She panicked and told me to leave.”

“Interesting,” Shalnark said, more like it upset him than fascinated him. “I wonder what it means and what Anaia knows.” 

Blair froze and looked over from her spot with Anaia and Mai on the other side of the room. Like a watchdog, she gave you both a look that told you to stay away. So asking Anaia wasn’t going to be an option at the moment. 

“You said yourself, we weren’t using Anaia to the best of our abilities–now with my idea, we can.” You tried to say it casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. 

“There’s a ninety-nine percent chance Feitan will go scorched earth,” Shalnark said. He quieted for a moment. “Don’t hurt him that way.” He said it so softly, you thought he’d meant to say it in his head and it slipped out by accident.  

“I’ve made my decision,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry.” You mouthed it more than said it.  

“You’re meant to make decisions together,” Shalnark said, now focusing on the people on the other side of the room as you strained your neck to look up at him. 

“Good thing he has no idea,” you said. “Besides, it’s weeks to months away.” Shalnark gripped your shoulder. “I made a vow to end this. I refuse to back down, so I am going to see this to the end, no matter the cost to me.” 

“I know,” Shalnark said, squeezing your shoulder so hard you flinched. “You’re his for a reason, just like he’s yours for a reason. You aren’t an oath breaker.” 

“But I am a liar,” you said, flipping the next page without having read the last. The words bled together into an unreadable jumble. You’d perused it already anyway and nothing felt like useful information when you stared into the inexplicable truth of what you had to do. 

“We all are,” Shalnark said. “When you break his heart, at least have the decency to tell him you’re going to destroy him.” 

"He's broken my heart before," you said. It was callous and painful like a misplaced needle grappling for a vein, but it was true. When he'd rejected you, when he'd left, when he'd ran over and over again. You'd taken it and accepted him as he was. 

"He didn't love you then," Shalnark said. There wasn’t anything to say to that. And there weren't any words to ask how he’d figured out what you intended to do. But Shalnark was always a dozen steps ahead of everyone, so it was only a matter of time until he put the pieces together. “Mai’s looking for you.” 

The people in the room were dispersing, but Mai was lingering. Anaia and Blair had already shuffled away. Blair didn’t bother looking at you, but Anaia did. She was pale and slightly green, like she was going to be sick. She mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ in your direction. Pakunoda and Shizuku were motioning for Shalnark to join them. 

By the time the room had cleared, Mai had made it over to the couch holding the book to their chest, but was also so repulsed, they wanted to heave it across the room. 

“I tried transcribing on another paper as Blair was translating. The paper kept turning to ash in my hands, and then we realized the words were changing on the book as we translated. They changed into our language.” Mai held the book out gingerly, like it would bite them. “I want to see if you can read it too.”

“How much did you translate?” you said, and Mai just shrugged. 

“The table of contents and the first few paragraphs of–” Mai trailed off, looking away. “You’ll see when you read it.” 

Hello, thief.

“Shut up or I’ll rip your pages out and burn them,” you said. 

“What?”

“Not you, Mai,” you said, stomach churning as the front cover of the book flipped of its own volition. “The book’s talking again.”   

Come to see what you’ve done to yourself? How exciting.

Your bones felt leaden as you flipped to the table of contents. Waxy paper stuck to your hand, like someone tried to preserve the pages over the centuries. Reading through the pages of horrible Nen and strange rituals made you need to hurl. But you moved past the limb replacements and removals, the on-land drownings and necromancy rituals until you finally settled on the very last chapter: Blood Binds

“You should just read what we’ve translated,” Mai said, shifting uncomfortably and not bothering to look at the book or you. “It’s ah–easier that way, I think.” 

“I should get Fei first,” you said, and the book cooed its approval. “Can you tell Phinks to drag him back here?” 

While Mai texted, you let yourself stare at the book. You closed it gently and ran your hand over the intricately decorated cover, with its gilt wording and lovely swirls. 

You’d told Shalnark it could take months to have what you needed, but if there was something in the book you could use, it would be sooner. But there was no telling how long it would take for Mai and Blair to translate.

You blinked out of your thoughts as Mai called your name. 

“I don’t know what you’re planning to do, but I see that look on your face, bitch,” Mai said. The sound of keys tapping petered off. “Stop thinking you’re doing it alone. I’m going with you.” 

“I can’t let you do that,” you said, not bothering to deny that you were going to do something wildly stupid–and possibly viable. It was useless to lie to them. “I don’t anticipate coming back.” 

“Then we go down together,” Mai said, wrapping you in a hug that crushed your lungs. “We started this together; we’ll end it that way too.” 

“But Phinks–”

“And Feitan,” Mai said. “I told you once–if this kills me, so be it. Phinks is a stupid fucking asshole but he’s my stupid fucking asshole. I’m luckier than most that I got to meet him in my lifetime, and it’s only because you found Feitan. I’d rather die fighting for my life than sit idly and watch it burn.” 

You considered Mai pensively. Just like everyone else, you continued to underestimate them. A friend in dark places could turn the tides if they tried to drag you under.

“Can I ask you something?” you said. Mai nodded. “What does your bond look like?” 

You pictured the fathomless ends of space, the galaxy that had become synonymous with your bond. The cold, endless paths of eternity with stars and planets built for your hands to craft. 

“I don’t understand the question,” Mai said. 

“You don’t see something or picture the bond as something tangible?” you said as Mai watched you like you spoke the language they were translating in the book. 

“You do?”

“Fei and I both see the same galaxy,” you said, suddenly uncomfortable with the disappointment on Mai’s face. They didn’t see anything and you hoped it didn't make their bond feel lesser. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

“It’s fine,” Mai said with a half-smile. “You couldn’t have known.” 

You nodded and switched subjects back to the stupid thing you were preparing to do. You just hoped that Feitan and Phinks wouldn’t pick up on your intentions since both Shalnark and Mai had realized something was happening in your head.  

“If we’re doing this, Phinks and Feitan can’t know until they need to,” you said. “You said before that Feitan lets me run wild, but I think he’d shatter space and time to stop me if he knew.” Mai nodded. “Shalnark also knows I’m considering doing something, but I don’t think he’s going to get involved. I've already gotten Anaia's buy-in by agreeing to get Marco out safely.” 

“You kept my secret,” Mai said, plopping down beside you as you heard Phinks’ booming voice down the hall, “It’s only right I keep yours too.” 

“Why do you two look so upset?” Phinks said, ambling into the room and picking up his pace when he saw the strain on Mai’s face. He crouched in front of them and massaged their hands in his. “What’s wrong?” 

“I wanted to wait until you and Feitan got here to read what we translated,” Mai said. “It’s–”

“Bad?” Feitan said, like he was only half interested as he joined you on the couch. But as he slipped an arm around your waist you caught him sneaking glances at the book with quick, disgusted glares.

“We got enough translated,” Mai said. “It’s not everything in that section, but I can’t sit on this information.” 

You nodded and flipped back to the end of the book, to the chapter on Blood Binds. The book binding warmed around the pages as you rested the tome on your lap. Fei leaned in close to get a good look at the tiny writing that was barely legible in the beautiful script of another time. 

Mai looked away as you read, so you read aloud. 

Blood Bind

The binding of soulmates' blood to consolidate and broaden abilities between two physical bodies. Known as the riskiest ritual to perform between soulmates, with a high chance of failure, the Blood Bind, once started, cannot be stopped…

You paused and checked on each person in the group. 

“I think we knew it couldn’t be stopped once it started,” you said, softly, imagining that day months before. Marco hovering over the bodies of your parents, the only one alive because, according to Anaia, your mother had been interrupted. But if there was a high failure rate, it was possible your mother had simply performed the ritual incorrectly. 

“Keep reading,” Mai said, looking pale as they shoved their head between their knees. 

There is only one condition to initiate a Blood Bind: once soulmates decide to participate, whether or not they know all the steps required, the Blood Bind has begun.

“Are you certain Blair translated this correctly?” Your voice cracked as you spoke. You covered your mouth to keep in the nausea as you shuttered with cold dread.

“Positive,” Mai said, rubbing the tension from their neck. “If we translated wrong, the words didn’t change in the book.” 

Fei had gone still as undisturbed, open waters. 

You nodded your understanding because words tangled in your mind and chest before you could speak them. But you cleared your throat and kept reading to the group in an uneven, groggy voice.

There is no recourse to undo the Blood Bind. If you stop or decide to end the process, your soul returns to death and your body becomes nothing but an empty vessel. 

You recalled both the moment you and Fei decided to participate–that night beside the bonfire. And you choked remembering the moment Feitan questioned your continued desire to participate in the Blood Bind. If you’d answered any differently, if you’d changed your mind, you would be nothing but a body and mind and soul unattached from one another. 

“What happens from there?” Feitan said, so calmly, you dug into the bond to exhume his real feelings. His emotions lashed out like whips and shoved you back. “Keep reading.” 

With the Bind, a physical embodiment of the bond will develop and change as the process continues. If a soulmate dies during the duration of or after the solidification of a Blood Bind, the other dies too. At its core, the ritual is a death pact.

Requirements do not need to be done in order after participation is decided, but all must be done within a year of the agreement between soulmates to participate in the Blood Bind.

A list of conditions to be met took up the rest of the page, but a few caught your eye.

- The decision to participate and having never decided against the Blood Bind

- Mixing together the blood of the other through soulmate markings

- Bringing one soulmate back from the brink of death, whether inflicted for the purpose of the ritual or not

- Physical intimacy only after the Blood Bind has been initiated

You loosened your grip and let the book slip. Feitan caught it and placed it back on your lap, but he kept quiet. Mai and Phinks watched you both with wide eyes and open mouths bereft of any words to subdue the unyielding chill in the room.

“We’ve been doing the Blood Bind for weeks,” you said. “We’ve already started.”  

Chapter Text

Why do you think I let you find me, girl? I called to you to reap your soul when you fail. 

Fei’s eyes widened and he looked to you like he’d also heard the dark ramblings of a book that no longer sounded like targeted attacks meant to break you–they were targeted attacks to take you. From everything you knew and loved, from the cold embrace of the galaxy you didn’t want to escape, from Mai and Phinks and Shalnark and Marco and Fei. The book wanted your souls for its collection, and you didn’t dare consider how deep its collection ran. Were souls physical? Did the book meticulously organize them on a shelf, in glistening, glass canisters where its sentience could gaze upon the souls it reaped? Or was it a chaotic scramble of glowing incarnations of people stuck in a whirlpool of one another, destined to exist but never to breathe or understand what had happened to them? 

But you were certain–if the book took you, there would be no Feitan in the next life; the book would ensure that. Because you wouldn’t make it to another life, you’d make it into the annals of the book’s existence, stuck for eternity. 

You made a bargain you never intended to make, and all the perpetrator had to do was sit quietly in the recesses of your mind, watching you and Fei unravel until it extricated everything that made you into something beautiful and alive.  

You could only imagine your mother somewhere between the pages of the book, where life started and ended, lost to everything but the monster held together by the spine and protected by intricate, leather covers that looked more religious text than demonic presence.

And worst of all–how could you fault TPI for desiring and driving the destruction of something so inherently evil? Their methods, the death, the destruction–no. But their cause to block pure malevolence wasn't wrong.

Hands shaking and vision blurring, you swallowed back the breath you couldn’t catch. Even in the quiet room, it was loud with the memories of yells and explosions. The air smelled of acrid smoke and formaldehyde. The terrible, vile memories weaved together into a mix of death and chaos. 

Don’t cry. You did this to yourself. The book cooed. 

“Leave,” Feitan whispered to the others, dragging you closer, cradling your neck and forcing your head onto his shoulder. He couldn’t look, and neither could you. While he’d been respectful of the book before, now he threw it across the room as if it could stop the maniacal, intentional ramblings of the creature in both of your heads. He pulled you up by the back of the knee and wrapped you around himself, draping your legs over his lap until you melded into his touch. Gripping at his shirt, you forced your face into his skin to smell him and not the burning your mind created. 

Mai and Phinks said nothing as they departed. Mai let Phinks hold them close, but you couldn’t see their face from your spot burrowed in Feitan’s neck. 

What had once felt like a choice to be made in the future, was now a sordid reality with a ticking time bomb: one year, with time already gone. The tears caught Feitan’s shirt as you wobbled on the edge of breaking entirely. 

“Listen to me,” Feitan said. “Look at me. Keep touching me,” Feitan commanded. "Hurt me, if it helps. Can take it." His smile quirked up as he hovered his lips over yours and he kissed the side of your mouth. 

But the moment of softness shifted. He gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at him. The pain and fury on his features diverted your attention from a sky darkened, burning with ash. Everything about him was diverting. The way his hair fell over his eyes; the way his lips thinned; the way concern tensed his jaw; the way your hands felt against the muscles below his shirt as you clutched to him. And it was only so long you could take the soft fabric between your touch and his skin, so you skimmed your hand around his neck and below his collar. 

“If I am touching you,” Feitan grazed his lips on yours and up your cheek before pulling back to ensure your focus. He caressed your jaw as he said, “Nothing hurts you–ever.” Fei swallowed and you watched the way his throat bobbed. “Said look at me." 

He really does pretend to care, girl.  

"I feel like I'm going to be sick," you said, tumbling off of him and towards some place you could reach before the shock and terror renewed overwhelmed your stomach. 

By the time you'd emptied your guts in the nearest bathroom, rested your head on the cool porcelain because your face burned with fever, and counted the cracks in the tile to pass the time until the nausea rose again, you were sure Feitan would have disappeared off to do something more productive or illegal, at least. But after gargling water and splashing freezing water on your face, you stepped out to find Feitan leaning against the wall across from the door. He looked nonplussed with his hands in his pockets, but the tension in his jaw and unnatural stiffness of his shoulders said otherwise. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it.

"Do not start apologizing," Feitan said, squinting like he was accusing you of crimes yet to be committed. "Running won't make it go away."

That was easy for him to say, when so little phased him. 

"You handle it so well," you said, softly, wiping excess water from your lip. "I don't know how to do that."

Feitan huffed, the one you only got when he thought you were being stupid. 

He was so far away, and kept his distance. So you closed it, sliding your arms around him and using his body to keep you upright. Fei placed a hand on your lower back to hold you in place. 

"Handle it alone," Fei said, spreading his fingers to tug you closer. "Won't scare you that way."

It was imbecilic with everything of him you'd seen to think he could ever scare you. Not when he was crafted for you. Maybe he thought you must be scared of him since he'd expressed similar sentiments about you. 

"You don't scare me," you said, worried you'd stumble if he didn't hold you upright. "How have I not felt this from you?"

Fei was eerily silent, tangling his hand in your shirt like it would deter you from asking. He simply shrugged like it was of no concern. 

"You've been hiding it somehow," you said, holding him closer and feeling another wave of sickness over your own soulmate actively hiding their real feelings from you. "You can feel me when I'm experiencing heavy things. Why can't I feel you?"

"The bond," Feitan said, "can be…" he paused to think and you held your breath, "turned off."

"You've been doing this alone," you said, throat aching with the acidic bile that still felt like it could expel again. "Let me help you. Please."

His soft hair twined between your fingers as you massaged his scalp. 

And to think, Fei had been subduing and amplifying the bond like it was malleable. All to ensure he was palatable to you. But you'd felt moments with him where he hadn't decided to or hadn't been able to douse the bond. And how foolish of you to think he wasn't equally as tormented over what happened that day. You'd just brushed past it because he was physically well. 

"You safe and with me," he said, releasing an uneven breath, "helps."

"I want you to do what you need to heal," you said, resting your face in the crook of his neck, "but I want to help when I can."

Feitan made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. He wanted the conversation to end before he had to say something too vulnerable. So you gave him the time he needed – you let him breathe in your embrace until his racing, anxious breath settled. 

"Just do not leave," Feitan said, "like I did." He gripped so hard his nails dug half-moon divots in your skin. "Hate it."

"I'll be with you every moment you'll let me," you said. Because you couldn't promise you wouldn't leave. And he knew it too. Fei pulled back and his eyes darkened as he squinted. But he didn't protest, instead he swallowed and dragged you back into the room to finish reading the details of the Blood Bind. Though, only after you'd affirmed multiple times you could handle it. 

You sat on the stubbly rug in front of the couch, using Fei's legs as a head rest while he read more of the ritual from the cushions above you. 

"Sure you want to hear?" Fei said. 

"I'm not going to be sick again," you said, rubbing your throat at the memory of the bile from an empty stomach.

Feitan smacked your hand away and wrapped his own around your throat, tracing his thumb down every time you swallowed and then back up to caress your jaw. He forced your head back onto the fluffy cushion and he met you upside down for perhaps the most fleeting and agonizingly lovely kiss you'd shared with him. His lips on yours burned with the conductivity of a live wire, like you could somehow see the electricity you could feel down to the depths of everything you were.

"Not our choice anymore," Feitan said, leaning back and adjusting the book on his lap. "Have to finish."

"I know," you said, eyes fluttering with the feeling of his hand on your skin and his thumb wandering to stroke your lips or drip below your collar. But it kept you content enough to discuss it. "I just keep thinking back to that day. I wonder if my Mom..."

God, you didn't want to say it. You didn't want to acknowledge your mother's passing, or her soulmate who wasn't your father, or the role you father played that you didn't yet understand, or Marco, or even Anaia who hadn't bothered to tell you she knew what you'd done and the Blood Bind was already in progress, especially if she'd known about the time constraints. 

"Time ran out?" Feitan said softly. 

"It was all chaos," you said, slipping your arm below Fei's knees so you could hold yourself against him. "When I found them–" you shuttered and only had it in your to continue as Fei twisted fingers in your hair and massaged your scalp until you shivered.

"Tell me," Feitan said like a command. 

 "My mother and father were dead, along with a man I didn't recognize. But I didn't care about him. I cared that my parents were dead and Marco was the one covered in their blood, with a fucking knife in his hands." Fei's hands stopped and returned to your throat as your breathing picked up. But as he stroked, you realized he was moving up and down to help guide how he wanted you to breathe. 

"Do not panic," Fei said carefully. "With me."

You nodded and let him conduct the symphony of your breath escaping your lungs until you could speak again. 

"What else was I supposed to think, Fei?" Your voice cracked and the first tears came quietly. "And then Marco took one look at me and ran like he was guilty. He didn't say a word. Nothing." Choking, the sobs came harder and your throat burned anew. "So I chased Marco until I lost track of him, already knowing I was going to kill him when I found him. I looked for him for hours until the sun went down. And then I followed my footprints made from my parents' blood back to the house." 

You wobbled as you stood and fell onto the couch so you could wrap yourself around him. Fei made a strangled sound but cradled you in his arms more gently than someone like him should as you cried into his shirt, wetting it with tears you never meant to shed.

"I buried them alone. I couldn't find the family of the other man. Then after that, I burned the house to the ground and ran. I couldn't live knowing the place they'd been murdered – my childhood home – still stood. So I torched it and disappeared."

Feitan's breath had stopped, like listening took precedence over everything.

"Dealt with too much," Feitan said, resting his chin on your head. "Not fair. Don't deserve it."

"You've dealt with too much too," you said, rubbing your running nose with your sleeve. "You deserve some peace."

His chest moved with a quick laugh. 

"Won't get it with you here," Feitan said with a soothing lightness in his voice. "Menace."

You laughed and choked simultaneously. "Will you tell me more about your background?"

"Later," Feitan said, kissing the disgruntled noise from your lips. "Need to read more. Make sure we do not die first."

"Fine," you said. "Deal."

You watched him as he read you the other milestones of the Blood Bind. And you wished it didn't make you sick, but it did. So you avoided Mai's cooking and time with the Spiders in favor of the only peace you could find in Feitan's arms.

It took days for you to be able to breathe properly again. Long conversations that you were shocked Feitan was willing to participate in. And a bout of nightmares you were sure was brought on by the whisperings of the book in your head each time you’d finally settled. It was confinement all over again – a force of nature you had no control over. Just like when your parents died, all choice had been taken from you, and now Fei too, since you’d met him along the way. It was one thing to want to do the Blood Bind and decide to do it when ready, it was something else entirely when that decision, made without full understanding, created a binding contract you didn’t know existed. 

You also practiced tugging and blocking the bond, the way Feitan had described. It churned your stomach and made your head pound like you’d used your Nen. But after a few days, you nearly fell off the bed when you realized the bond had gone entirely silent of your own choosing. Fei had only looked up at you from the book he was reading on the other side of the room, with a blank stare that held too much to decipher. 

But he said nothing. And he thought nothing either, because you realized, he too had locked the bond.

So you both continued on without comment. 

The daily stress was debilitating, and you couldn’t make yourself face more, so you’d avoided Anaia like the plague while you waited for confirmation you'd be visiting the Hunter Association. That was until your unease and anger bubbled over. You allowed her and Blair and Mai to keep working on the book because it took priority, assuming Anaia would hail you if something useful arose. But she didn't, so you found her one night after dinner, by herself reading from a stack of books in the library. 

You closed off the bond and hoped you could wrap it up quickly enough that Fei wouldn’t catch wind that you were in fact hiding something from him. He’d done so much, given so much. He’d almost died for you. He deserved the peace he wouldn’t admit he wanted. And you would be even, in a way. He would know when it was time to know. You’d done it before – kept him in the dark until you fleshed out a plan. So you were doing it again, because you needed to defend your position to the best of your ability. And a half fleshed out plan was likely to send him off the rails unless you could truly outline what you meant to do. 

"Why didn't you tell me I was already doing the Blood Bind?" you asked, keeping back far enough that if Anaia decided to jump you again, you could put distance between you both. It wasn’t great, having to demand answers to something about you that you didn’t fully understand. Especially from her. 

Anaia froze. "I don't even get a 'hello' first?" Her voice trickled higher as she spoke, like she wanted to avoid the topic at all costs. 

She stuck her nose in the air and somehow still looked down on you. 

"Not when you knew and didn't say shit about it," you said, your voice rising to make it sound more like a question. 

"Would you have believed me?" Anaia said, raising a brow and finally putting a bookmark in her novel and placing it aside. You sputtered a bit and she cut you off. "Clearly not. And I couldn't prove it. How was I supposed to know you had access to that demonic book and a translator to decode it?" 

Anaia plucked a teacup from the gilt end table and watched you like she expected you to speak. But you stuck your tongue to the roof of your mouth, which held your words, but made you portray their intent with a deep scowl. 

"I went off what I knew about these kinds of abominable rituals," Anaia said, "and admittedly, I panicked when I saw Marco's sister at risk the same way as his mother. But, I realized I couldn't be certain and it was better to, I think you'd say "shut the fuck up" about it."

You couldn't fault her for that. But you still wanted to dislike her. 

"Will it be worth it? Dying in a few months because you can't complete that horrific ritual?" Anaia said, resting her teacup on her crossed legs. "Marco will be devastated."

You still did dislike her. But you trusted her enough since she didn't bother lying. 

"Whether it's worth it or not doesn't matter now," you said. Because it wasn't. That was a consideration long gone. "It's happening and I'm doing everything I can to survive."

"And I'll make sure I keep you alive," Anaia said like a snarl. She definitely didn't enjoy your company either. And she watched you like you'd done something hideously foolish and far below her. 

"Why?" you said. Because why would she care? You had to know if you were going in with her. 

"Silly questions today," Anaia drawled. "Marco wants you alive and well, so I want you alive and well. But it doesn't seem like I can stop the insane things you do for what – attention? Thrills? Missing brain cells?"

"I’m really not a fan of working with you," you said before you could stop it. And you weren’t certain if it was her, or the fact that you were looking at your brother’s other half without him present. Every time you saw her, it reminded you of Marco alone in the trenches because Shalnark stole her and you'd kept her enclosed in darkness. 

And Anaia did, again, what you least expected: she smiled and her derision settled her features into some soft. 

"I appreciate how honest you are," Anaia said. "It's a nice change." 

“That or I lack a filter,” you said. “Now that I know more about the Blood Bind, I understand why TPI wants to destroy any knowledge of it. It can trick others like it tricked me.” There had to be a way to destroy the book at least, and end TPI. If the members knew about these rituals, their knowledge would sustain. But it would only matter if they were successfully able to reverse-engineer soulmate bonds, which meant more soulmates had to die at the hand of fanatics. All for a sick game they were never meant to play since they didn’t have marks in the first place. The cult was playing God to reap the benefits not given to them through fate. “I don’t necessarily disagree with what TPI is doing by removing the knowledge from existence, I just hate how they’re doing it.” 

“Then I think you’re a good fit to work with the Association,” Anaia said. “Many, many Hunters discover their soulmate in their lifetime. We travel more extensively than the average person. It’s bound to happen. So this is personal.”

Exactly like it was with the Spiders. 

It was strange how three groups could want such similar things and go about it in such contradictory ways. 

“I heard back from my contact,” Anaia said. “We can meet tomorrow.” She stood and stretched, ambling past you towards the door. 

"Hold on," you said, before she could leave. "I have two conditions."

Anaia stood, posture stiff and perfect as she waited for you to speak again.

"Mai is coming with us," you said, "when we leave. We need to start including them in planning. And, I want to find a way to destroy that book once I make sure Fei and I survive."

And that fact did add another layer of angry soulmates to contend with. You knew Feitan was likely to snap, but Phinks was just as, if not more likely to lose it over the thought of Mai leaving. Fei could shut down, Phinks would explode. 

Anaia considered you. "Agree on the book. But Mai – are they trustworthy?"

"More than anyone else in this house," you said, knowing beyond a doubt it was true. "Their Nen can save our lives."

"I thought that was your job," Anaia said. "Don't make yourself redundant in TPI."

"Mai is the first line of defense," you said. "Mai makes sure we don't get to the point where we have to use my Nen."

Anaia hummed like she was considering it. "I'll think about it."

"No," you said so harshly, Anaia cringed. "Either they come or I'm out." You’d made that promise to Mai, and you couldn’t back down. If that meant dropping Anaia and moving forward with Mai, who had been with you from the first day you got your parents blood on your heels, you would do it. 

"It's a bit early for ultimatums," Anaia said. 

You scoffed. "This isn't early. I am so far down this road, I couldn't turn back if I wanted to."

Chapter Text

You didn’t know what you’d expected of the Hunter Association; something grandiose, well organized, brightly lit, and brimming with people. But not this place. It was nothing but an average building along a heavily populated street. And it felt wrong. 

People scurried past, yelling and chatting and laughing. Cars zipped around corners, avoiding people biking and a few children who tried to make a run for it across the street. And carved out pockets of space for vendors with fresh, warm bread and gooey, delectable sweets.

It was difficult to focus when you were watching everyone around you, including Anaia. Mai had asked what happened if she ran, and your only answer was that you’d stab her with the antenna you’d borrowed from Shalnark. You could still only trust Anaia to a certain point. You needed her to get Marco and she needed you to get Marco too; with little else binding you, you let the small kindling of concern fester enough that you’d taken precautions in case you were no longer useful to her. 

Anaia rapped a strange rhythm on the door and you wished Mai was allowed to join. But the request was simply for you and Anaia – the two Hunters. Feitan had pretended he had no interest when you told him you’d be meeting with the Association, but the bond never strained as you'd driven, so he had to be closely trailing you. 

For once, you weren’t sure if you wanted it.

"We can run, you know," Anaia said, not quite meeting your eye. "We're far away and out of an easily accessible range." You rubbed the palm of your hands into your eyes. Damn it all if you had to use the antenna. "The Spiders really are terrible." She scowled and rubbed at her nose. "They make me sick. And I can't even look at yours without wanting to kill him."

"Because Marco wants to," you said, feeling the flush of fury that your brother would dare do something as reckless as trying to kill Fei. He'd fail, and you'd have one alive soulmate and one dead sibling. 

"But we can't now, can we?" Anaia said bitterly. "Or else you die too."

"I'm not running away permanently," you said, refusing to talk more with her about the Blood Bind. "They're my family and I refuse to abandon them." Anaia rolled her eyes. "I don't care what you think about them. I am so in love with Fei that it hurts. I want to spend every moment I can with him." You sighed as Anaia sniffed. "I wouldn't ask you to leave Marco. So don't ask me to leave Fei."

"You're just as soft as Marco," Anaia said, her lip twitching like she wanted to deepen her scowl.

"Does it not hurt, being away from him?" you said, only really caring for the first time. "You gave me a half-answer last time I asked." 

"It hurts," Anaia said, her anger slipping towards something morose. "But it can't be helped."

"I'm not running," you said and Anaia shrugged like she didn't care either way. 

"Fair enough," she said. "If you're approved to help support the Association, there's one more contact I want you to meet with today."

"The sooner we can get started, the better," you said, dodging as a pack of children barreled past you. "Why is this place in the middle of a family shopping district?"

“Better to hide in the open,” Anaia said, as the door cracked open. “We aren’t the most accepted wing of the Association.” 

“What–” 

“He’ll tell you,” Anaia said. 

“Who is he, specifically?” you said. She’d given you so little detail, you were half-thinking she’d fooled you all and set you up. The moment you walked in the door, you wouldn’t come out. But the light shifted as the door opened, and you caught the glint of the Hunter Association logo embossed into the wood near the top hinge. There was no color or strong etching to draw your attention – you had to know it was there to look. 

“My boss,” Anaia said. “You don’t need his name and he doesn’t need yours. I vouched for you. I confirmed you’re a Hunter. It’s all settled.” 

You followed Anaia inside, nearly tripping over the steep ledge as you tried to adjust yourself to the changed light. It was the middle of the day, but the halls and the rooms jutting off it were dim, doused with pale lights struggling to illuminate spaces with drawn curtains and heavy, dark furniture. The office looked more like a residence converted into an office. 

Pristine portraits lined the walls in the hallway. As you followed Anaia deeper into the house, you noticed a detail you wished you hadn’t – the only people with their face still intact, not ripped to shreds with a strong grip, were Anaia and another man. Dozens of portraits lined the walls, and only two remained unharmed. 

Anaia paused at her own portrait and said, “We have the highest mortality rate of any subsect. I’m the only one left – other than the boss.” She swallowed hard and looked away, hurrying faster down the hall than before. 

After passing a kitchen and a few rooms that looked like they’d been bedrooms at one point, you landed at the far end of the house. Anaia held the door wide for you and you warily stepped inside. The antenna, and a knife, sat in your sleeve, just in case. But a two on one was far worse odds than just you against Anaia. 

A frail looking man sat behind a desk, already watching you. He was overly thin, with bones protruding from his elbows and knuckles straining against his skin. His dark, shaggy hair looked almost purple in the wash from contradicting-colored lamps around the room. He turned and coughed into a handkerchief before returning your stare. 

And stare he did – there was something about you that he was determining behind his tiny, oval glasses. 

This was a brilliant, terrifying man and you tensed as Anaia shut the door. 

“You want my name,” he said contemplatively, in a way of greeting. “But I don’t need yours. I know exactly who you are.”

Then Anaia had been wrong. Her boss did his own research. 

“I do have a bit of a reputation with the organization we’re discussing today,” you said, unimpressed with the way he locked his fingers in front of him on the desk and leaned in like he could sense everything about you if only he were close enough. “If that’s what you mean.” 

Anaia cleared her throat like she wanted him to move on. 

The man smiled and his immaculate, white teeth came to points like he’d filed them down himself. 

“Clever girl,” he said and you bit your tongue to stop yourself from reacting. It sounded nothing like how Fei praised you. Even though it held the same level of mocking, there was no affection braided through the syllables. It too sent shivers rattling down your spine, but in an unpleasant way that made you want to run. Suddenly, you weren’t as displeased with Feitan’s lack of distance. “The flyers are a work of art.” 

“They’re a cowardly attempt to scare me into turning myself in like I’m some kind of criminal for defying them,” you said. Praising TPI for their wild antics is not what you’d wanted out of a purported ally. 

“Indeed,” he said, his eyes widening so aggressively, you caught the whites on all sides of his dark irises. “But you have not.” 

If he had changed his mind and decided on throwing you to TPI, you were sure he would act sooner than later. You knew nothing of this man or what his abilities were – or Anaia’s for that matter, beyond being a massive asshole who somehow wouldn’t break under Feitan’s torture. 

Fear rippled through your chest. You shouldn’t have come unless you ensured Feitan was nearby. You were sure he was, but the bond was silent. He was somewhere waiting. 

“Stop terrorizing her,” Anaia deadpanned. “We’re working with her, not scaring her away.” 

She dropped into a chair in front of the desk and nudged the other towards you with the tip of her heels she must have borrowed from someone in the house. Sitting cautiously, you perched on the edge of the chair and clung to the hilt of the knife in your sleeve. 

“Very well,” the man said, leaning back to sit pin-straight in his chair. 

There was little decorating his desk – a computer, a clock, and a legal pad with a pen placed evenly with the first row of lines. He looked wild and unruly, but nothing was out of place – a man yearning for control he couldn't quite snare. 

“We are the undercover infiltration wing of the Association,” the man said as if there were more people than him and Anaia. “We do the work the others will not.” He coughed and dabbed his lips with his handkerchief. Blood came back on the pale fabric. “The others in the Association,” he said with disdain that dripped from the crease between his eyes and the deepness of his scowl, “they are flighty, grandiose showmen who want to hit you over the head with their good deeds. That makes them terrible at subtlety, infiltration, negotiation, and other more – artistic disciplines.” 

“The glory blinds them,” Anaia said, sitting just as properly as the man, like she’d learned it all from him. “And their insurmountable opinions of right and wrong make them too rigid.” She strummed her fingers against her knees. “That is when they bring us in. When they need to move in the darkness.”

“You’re spies?” you said. 

“Agents of espionage and sedition,” he said, as if it were anything different. “We act, not just inform.” 

You weren't sure how that didn't fit the definition of a spy. But you could understand why the rest of the Association had a tumultuous relationship with this particular wing, as small as it was. It sounded like an unfettered amount of power in the hands of two individuals; consolidated authority that ran unchecked, because who was there to contradict the actions of those weaving through the cover of shadows while others did not. Especially if there were positive results. 

“We will support as you topple The Parable Initiative, in whatever way you see fit,” he said. “I understand it is the continuation of Anaia’s work to infiltrate and impair from the inside.”

You watched him, debating whether that was a trick question. But there was little in his eyes at all to betray any emotion. 

“That’s correct,” you said. 

“Anaia will work with you on the details and timetables,” he said. “I do recommend you follow the path The Parable Initiative had originally outlined for you: join as their medic and do what must be done from there. Anaia will retake her position as one of The Thirteen, perhaps with the story that she was saved and freed by the new medic.” He tapped his fingers in front of you as if you weren’t already dead set on watching his every movement. “I am particularly fascinated with your unique situation with your unsalvageable status, and it’s why I agreed to your participation. It provides far more leverage than you realize to destabilize this strange regime, especially with your own brother in The Thirteen.” You must have given some look, because he said, “Jed was disdained once. Until he wasn’t.” 

You had nothing to say to that. You’d known so little about Jed, other than his status as a demagogue and the revered leader of this strange group. But that was not what you were. Mai was the talker, the influencer. You could not topple TPI that way; you’d looked to the darkness to upend them. But it appeared the darkness had looked back and shoved you into the light.

It was then you knew you needed to ask the one question you had.

“How do I value my skills above my unsalvageable status?” you said. Yes, you could heal exceptionally well, but would that be enough?

“Many ways,” he said vaguely. “I have found over the years that organizations like this one will take what they despise when it benefits them. You are to be a tool you will let them use.”  

“TPI would have killed for access to your healing abilities…” Anaia paused after she saw the look of terror on your face. She spoke like she wanted to keep it vague. “... that day. When it didn’t go as planned.” You pressed your hands below your thighs to keep them from shaking as Anaia continued. “Hippocratic oaths don’t mesh well with the terroristic tendencies of TPI. And the scientists they have on hand are strictly working on the bodies TPI collects for testing. I can force a vote among The Thirteen to spare you and use you as a doctor.” 

“But there’s the chance I’ll die if I hand myself over,” you said softly, not adding that it meant Feitan would die too. 

“Marco and I will fight for your value,” Anaia said, “and I know a few others in The Thirteen that would too. I will bribe or threaten the rest. I don’t think you comprehend how influential I am with the organization.”

“I don’t,” you said honestly.     

The man cleared his throat and you both paused your side conversation.

“The Association is getting restless. We’d like to see this handled within the next year or so, before The Parable Initiative grows out of hand.” He adjusted his glasses and his face darkened as he watched you. “And you do not want this to deteriorate into needing my involvement.” The darkness permeating his stare slipped away as drawers squeaked. He rummaged through his desk. When he found what he was looking for, he passed it towards you. It was a file folder, with no more than a few pages inside. He handed Anaia a much larger folder of information. “This,” he tapped the folder in front of you, “is a gift of good will. It is information I believe you would like to have.” He retook his perfect posture as he waited for you to open the file. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction. 

Both he and Anaia had shared so much information unprompted. Why inform you of this? There had to be something you were missing. 

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I would tell you this at all,” he said. The glint in his eyes burned more black than bright. “You’ve already bound yourself coming here,” he said, pointing at the door like he was indicating the entrance deep down the hall. “Betray me at your own peril.”

Before you could ask specifics, Anaia stood and slipped an arm under yours to drag you up. 

“And we can consider it a test-run,” he said. “I would very much like to add you to my collection, if all goes well.” 

Anaia froze, facing away from her boss as she held you up, because you too had paused. Did you dare contradict him? Tell him you were never going to work for someone like him, that this was nothing more than a business relationship that would be severed the moment TPI crumbled.  

Anaia came to first, turning with a tight smile to look at her boss.

“Let’s make sure we handle TPI,” she said. “Then we can discuss employment opportunities.” 

Her boss didn’t speak, but he smiled with his pointed teeth as Anaia dragged you out of the room and down the hall. 

His smile followed you until you were safely outside in the land of the living, because there was nothing but purgatory in that building. You were glad you'd escaped at all. 

There was no way in hell you’d ever work for a man like that. And how Anaia did it, you couldn’t understand beyond the looming threat that there was something he could do if you betrayed him. Something he would do. The dozens of portraits on the wall with torn-off faces was proof enough of that. 

How were you supposed to know who was good and who wasn’t when the Hunter Association, TPI, and the Spiders looked so, repugnantly similar. 

“What happened to all the other people in your unit?” you hissed to Anaia as she dragged you down a busy street to a packed coffee shop, far, far away from the office. 

Anaia looked both ways and jogged across the street, forcing you to follow or be left behind. 

The line was out the door, but Anaia practically slung you over her shoulder to force you into it. Apparently you were waiting for food after another experience with a man you wished you’d never met. 

Anaia peered around and turned her back on the person in front of her in line. There was something uncomfortable and tight about how she stood. Shifting side to side, she tapped her lips and mouthed “he killed them .” The way her lips moved to accommodate the words almost made you sick. If you’d had food or drink, you’d have spilled it across the sidewalk. 

“He did that to his own team?” you said, already knowing it fit well into the profile you’d built off of your brief conversation with the man. 

“I can’t know for sure,” Anaia said, softly, like the wind would carry the words back to her boss. “But he takes his job very seriously. Either they died in the field or they betrayed us. He handles it, whatever the situation.” 

Now it made sense – the strange ability Anaia had to withstand horrible conditions, pain, and torture, and still smile. She expected to die doing this job whether at the hand of her marks or her own boss. She’d said as much when you’d first spoken to her.

You shifted closer to Anaia to say, “He doesn’t know that your Marco’s…you know.” 

“No,” Anaia said, the terror seeping into the breath escaping with her words. “And he won’t.” 

“Is there no way out for you?” you said, clutching Anaia’s arm like she’d turn and run from the conversation. You’d gotten good at attaching yourself to that kind of person. 

“His threats are credible,” Anaia said, shuffling forward as the line moved. Sweat beaded her brow like the very subject unnerved her. “Never, ever take his offer of employment. You can’t be free under his thumb.” 

“I have no plans to work for him,” you said, feeling more constricted than you’d like as you made it into the shop. 

Anaia didn’t respond and instead you both stood in silence, but both paid close attention to everything around you. 

When you made it to the counter, the barista paused to examine both your faces. Anaia ordered one too many drinks in a bland voice and you looked away as the barista slipped her a key card back below her change. 

Anaia tugged you along and you whispered, “what’s that for?” 

“Since the boss said yes to you working on this,” Anaia said, “I figured I should prove to you that you’re safe with me. I understand you’re still concerned, so I want to help.” 

“I trust you…” you said as Anaia gave you a look like she didn’t believe you, “mostly.”

Anaia nodded as she turned a corner. The chatter from the shop quieted and there were no more wandering eyes. Multiple, identical doors stood in the hall – a few restrooms, a kitchen, and a couple other doors you assumed led to break rooms and broom closets. 

“We have a safe room in the basement,” she said. “You can come here if you ever need to escape.” 

“Great,” you said, not enjoying that you were being given a space to hide if you needed it. As if you couldn’t use the mansion or somewhere with Feitan as a safe location. You were sure anywhere you were with Fei was a safe place. 

Anaia swiped the card and a lock disengaged. She pressed herself against the door multiple times, grunting as she did, like the door had been so unused, it had rusted over. It unnerved you how even-keeled Anaia became since leaving the office. 

“Promise you won’t scream,” Anaia said as the door clicked open. “Or try to kill him, please, because I don’t want to deal with that.” 

Dust coated each step down to the basement, and the dirt on the handles dragged down with your hand as you gripped it. Breathing stalling, you wished Fei was there with you, but he wasn’t. All you had going down into the unknown to prove to Anaia you could trust her, was Shalnark’s antenna and the knife in your sleeve, which now sat more in your palm. 

“I can’t make that promise when I don’t know who it is we’re seeing,” you said. 

“You might not have come if I told you,” Anaia said gently. 

“That doesn’t help me trust you,” you said, hopping down the last few steps just to get over the uneven footing. 

Lights clicked on, revealing a small studio apartment. No more than one or two people could reasonably live in the room. The bed and kitchen nook took up much of the space. But a small sitting area sat across from the bed where a man with your hair color stared at a blank television. 

You froze, and so did they. His shoulders tensed and you heard the release of breath before he turned.  

“Do not kill each other,” Anaia said, stepping between you both. 

But it didn’t matter because Marco leapt over the couch and threw himself at you. You had no time to react or grab your knife. But it wasn’t necessary, because it wasn’t an attack, it was an embrace, which somehow felt eminently worse. 

Chapter Text

You couldn’t understand the greetings you and Marco shared. It felt too normal, like nothing had ever changed. 

Marco was cold, his skin tight against his bones. Stress had consumed him and left his remains in the desert to rot. Last time you’d been so set on running him through, you hadn’t had time to consider if he was doing well. In fact, you’d wanted him to be suffering when you’d seen the bags under his eyes.

Cuts and bruises speckled his skin like freckles. His right eye was dark and half-lidded from the puffiness and his grimy, split hair fell over his eyes. He was in need of a haircut. 

You rested your palms on his face and he flinched. You wanted to hit him for being the stupidest person you’d ever met, and you wanted to smack yourself for jumping to conclusions from your blinding rage you could hardly feel without it consuming you whole. 

But there was one thing you couldn’t yet forgive him for. The one thing you wouldn’t compromise on. 

“I can heal you,” you said, itching to try out the strange development in your Nen that had left Feitan better than before that you could only attribute to the Blood Bind. “But on one condition.” 

Marco’s open gaze closed off, but he didn’t look away. He nodded for you to continue.

“If you harm or help in harming Feitan,” you whispered, gripping his face until he flinched at the pressure against his purple, bruised skin. A trick you’d learned from Fei. “I’ll chase you to the ends of the earth and make you suffer before I kill you.” 

Marco withered under your touch and it made you want to throw him out in the cold. He dared wilt under the confirmation of the actions he himself had taken?

“I said no killing each other,” Anaia said, arms crossed as she came to stand beside you like the parent preparing to separate the siblings.

“I’m not killing him right now,” you said, not bothering to look Anaia in the eye. “I’m making a promise since he thought he could murder my soulmate without repercussions.” 

The thought alone made the bond ring in your chest; pound and claw at your rationality that slipped quicker every passing day when you considered what Marco had meant to do to Fei. 

“You tossed Anaia in a dungeon and tortured her for days,” Marco said, his own hand flying up to clutch at your collar. Your neck cracked as you were jerked up towards him. A move so uncharacteristic of the brother you thought you knew. But even in his anger, sadness seeped through the cracks in his words. “I have never touched Feitan, but you almost killed Anaia. You’ve already harmed her.” 

You didn’t have it in you to ask if he didn’t hurt Fei because he decided it was wrong or because he never found him. 

“Because you both blew up an entire town and did it while working for a cult trying to kill people just like you and I!” you said, slamming your wrist into his. Your bones rang at the impact, but Marco’s did too. He pulled his arm back and shook out his hand. Murderous intent flickered in his eyes before perching closer to acute helplessness. You’d assumed Anaia’s request was for you not to kill Marco, you hadn’t realized it went both directions. “I never targeted her like you targeted Fei.” 

It didn’t matter that he’d never succeeded, what mattered was that he’d had the intent.

“I did it because I know what you’re like,” he said gently, as if it could placate you. “You weren’t safe from yourself as long as your soulmate survived.”

“That was never your decision to make, Marco,” you said. “Whether or not I chose the same path as Mom, it was on me, not you.” 

“Feitan isn’t the kind of man any of us would have wanted for you,” Marco said. “The kind of man who would encourage you to do something stupid like a Blood Bind.” You stiffened. Feitan had never once pressured you about the Blood Bind. You’d wanted it as much as him. “The Phantom Troupe…” Marco shook his head and looked to Anaia, who wasn’t paying much attention. She had migrated to the couch, pretending not to listen. She must have told him all about her time in the house. “There’s no safe life with people like that.” 

You were going to scream if Marco became the second person in a day to ask you to run. Especially when they lived trying to topple a cult. 

“Don’t you dare think for a second I don’t see the Spiders like my family,” you said. Fury hummed in your bones as anger flooded the bond. “You,” you waved your arms around at him, “should know better than most that a soulmate isn’t interchangeable with someone else. I know I made a death pact, I know I’m going to die from it one day. But I’ll tell you what I told Anaia so we can get this cleared up, because I don’t like how you both seem to think you know what’s best for me…” 

Your ears buzzed along with the other sounds permeating the deathly silence in the room: the hum of the refrigerator, the click of a brewing kettle, the sound of uneven breath. This was nothing like how you expected your reunion with Marco would go. 

“I love him, just like you love Anaia,” you said so clearly it cut the air like sharp glass. “I will not run; I will not hide; I will do everything it takes to keep him safe, no matter the cost. So if your plan today is to convince me to leave the Spiders and leave Fei, I have to decline.” 

You knew Anaia had some ulterior motive dragging you out. And that was it. 

“It will be more convincing to TPI if we can vouch that you’ve denounced – or killed – your soulmate.” Anaia said. “But one of those options is no longer viable since we'd kill you in the process.” 

Red. The room was red and your skin burned with the churning fury mounting so deep in you, you weren’t sure if you were about to do something very stupid you would regret later. But Marco knew better than anyone how to get under your skin, and Anaia had decided for you that it was time to see him again. 

You weren’t ready; you weren’t okay. 

“This is the line in the sand you want to draw?” You couldn’t help but laugh. “You can’t just be happy for me with however much time we have together?”

“I can’t be happy if we’re in danger,” Marco said.

“Feitan isn’t a danger!” Your voice rose so high it echoed off the walls and ceiling, and up the stairs into the darkness. “To me,” you clarified, lips barely moving with the words. 

"He is a danger to everyone," Marco hissed. "Even you. Especially you."

Marco grabbed at your collar again, and you did the same in return. Perhaps you’d strangle each other and end it all. But you and Marco just watched the other, panting and tense, waiting for someone to act. 

Marco’s breath hitched as he looked past your head. 

“Hello, brother,” Marco said icily. 

Fei pushed himself between you and Marco – a physical barrier neither of you had the skill to cross. A knife caught the limited light as he held it to your brother’s throat. Marco raised his head to avoid the touch, but Fei flicked his knife and it thunked against the underside of Marco’s jaw before landing near an artery in his neck.

“Enough,” Feitan said, his focus shifting to Anaia who looked more concerned for Marco than herself. “You both have a death wish?” 

It took everything in you not to fall against him. Marco was wrong – you were safe as long as you were with Fei, and he was safe with you too. 

“I should have known you’d follow us,” Anaia said. “She didn’t complain at all about the bond hurting.” 

“I don’t tend to do that audibly,” you said, even though the strain isn’t something spoken in words – it’s on your face, in your posture, in your eyes. You’d seen it in Shalnark and Anaia, so it was definitely clear as day on you as well. 

“Not a danger to her,” Feitan said, eyes flicking back to you and then returning to Marco. His voice sounded as cold as ice shattering on a frozen lake. “Won’t promise you the same.” 

You could let Fei continue whatever methods he deemed fit to extract the information you wanted, but you needed to get the truth on your own. 

“Put the knife down,” you said to Fei, who had the decency to drop it enough that you could breathe again. But now it sat at Marco’s heart, where Fei twisted the shirt fabric like a whirlpool. 

“Tried to hurt you,” Fei said, his anger rippling from him in waves that could bring you to your knees. Vibrant fury bled through the glassy haze of his eyes. And you could feel it deep enough you couldn’t separate his fury from your own. “Won’t allow that.” And he didn’t. Feitan pressed the tip of the knife through the fabric and it pooled with red where he’d broken skin. 

"Thank you, but I think it’s okay," you said carefully, guiding Fei’s hand away from where he’d cut Marco. 

In a way, Marco was correct in how he saw what happened to Anaia, especially with how he was looking at Feitan now. You knew Fei had harmed her, but you weren’t sure to what extent he had tortured her beyond seeing Anaia’s body bruised and torn when you’d first spoken to her in the dungeon. And you'd harmed her too, but you had a guess that Marco blamed Fei far more than he blamed you. 

"Hasn't earned the right to touch you," Fei said, his eyes wide, almost unseeing. 

"Touching me isn't a right," you said.

"That is why it is earned," Feitan said, looping his arm around you as he shoved you behind him. He wanted you caged against him, but you doubted Marco had any intention of permanently harming you. 

“You don’t want anyone touching me for any reason,” you said. “Earned or otherwise.” 

Fei’s stare darkened as he said over his shoulder, “Only I should touch.” 

And you thought Fei’s malice would combust into something distinctly physical, but you couldn’t explain why as the feeling of it burned under your skin like a fever. Until Marco snorted and looked away when the group caught his laugh. It brought Feitan back down. He blinked the glassiness from his eyes as you leaned over his shoulder to kiss his cheek. The anger was there one moment and gone the next at your touch. 

"Still plan to kill me?" Feitan said to Marco like the idea was ridiculous. And it was, with what you knew of your brother’s abilities. 

Marco examined every inch of Fei, like he could understand him with nothing but a glance. Years he'd spent knowing the name as well as you. And you doubted Feitan in the flesh aligned with Feitan is his mind. 

"I'm tired of killing," Marco said, not quite meeting Fei's eyes. "And I won't jeopardize my sister by harming you."

"Don't worry," Feitan said. "You can't."

Marco smiled tightly, but his posture had relaxed as you plucked the knife from Feitan’s hand and threw it on the end table beside the bed. Fei glowered at you from over his shoulder. 

Fei, you don’t need a knife to kill him. 

More fun with tools. 

You bit your lip and looked away to cover the smile that was entirely inappropriate for you to have at the moment. 

Don’t take that as approval to kill him, you clarified. 

Had an agreement.

To let you torture him before I kill him?

Good memory. 

That was before I knew he wasn’t murdering my whole family. 

Don’t know that for sure. 

Fuck you. Don’t be correct. 

Can fuck you later. Busy right now.

“You really are doing the Blood Bind,” Marco said, taking his chance to step back a few paces from Fei. Not that it made him any safer. “You’re talking to each other, aren’t you?” The gentle lilt of his voice had returned – the one you spend your entire childhood and youth with. This cautious, gentle-mannered man was your brother, but something was broken in him. And you didn’t like how he watched Fei, condescending him with nothing but a look. No wonder Anaia hated Fei – Marco really did despise him, even knowing nothing about him other than what he did for work. 

Sighing, you slithered out of Fei’s grasp and ambled over to Marco. 

“Do you still want me to heal you?” you said as Marco nodded. “Then tell me everything, I’ll pay you back by healing you.”

Marco closed his eyes with a gentle smile reeking of pain. “We’re trading favors now.” 

“My trust in you needs to be re-earned,” you said. On the off chance he was a filthy liar (which was still possible), you needed something out of this meeting beyond the emotional turmoil. You pulled the knife from your sleeve and slashed your finger, holding it out to Marco expectantly. “Show me.”

Marco blanched, his chest heaving as he looked between the blood bubbling over the pad of your finger and your face that felt too tight to appear calm. 

“I could lose the memory,” he said, cradling your hand in his. “I could destroy you.” 

Feitan made a guttural sound and you shoved him farther away with your leg. There was no other way for Marco to give you the information honestly. To share his consciousness and thoughts and real feelings, he needed your open wound mixed with one from him. While you worked with the body, Marco worked with, shared, and broke minds. And if he wanted, he could do it to you before you’d know he’d shattered you. 

“Do it,” you ordered, gripping his hand until divots pressed into his skin from your nails. “Unless you’re a liar.” 

Marco was a liar; he’d always been a liar; he’d always be a liar. You just hadn’t seen it. And you needed to know what he had hidden.

“Just let me tell you.” Marco said, trying to tug his hand away as you gripped harder. “This is too risky.’ 

“Absolutely not,” you said, pressing the tip of the knife into the skin of his palm. Feitan appeared beside Marco and placed a hand on his shoulder – a warning to stay in place. “I can’t trust a single word you say.” 

Then Anaia was beside you so quickly, you didn’t recall her moving in response to Feitan’s silent threat. Her hand sat on your shoulder too while she watched Fei with unmasked loathing – a look he returned in kind. It was mutually assured destruction and you weren’t sure you if Fei could stop her if she tried to slit your throat. Anaia was a threat you hadn’t fully dissected and now was the worst possible time to do it.

“Feitan,” Marco said, his head barely moving to address him. “You can feel her thoughts, feelings, and emotions?”

Why does he want to know?

Answer him, you thought. 

Fei’s scowl deepened but he answered that he could. 

“If you’re losing her,” Marco said, his soft voice hardened so quickly, even Feitan blinked in surprise, “drag her out before she shatters.” 

He didn’t wait for Feitan to respond. Marco snatched the knife as slashed his finger, pressing his wound against yours. 

And everything burned. 

Your house, the one you’d torched, was perfectly crafted to resemble the lovely place it had been before it was marred with sorrow. The home base you’d constructed with your family once you’d stopped traveling every year or two for reasons you never learned. 

Soft, cushy couches circled the living room, facing each other since your mother always insisted a television wasn’t meant to be where the family congregated. A myriad of family photos, old pets, and cherished acquaintances littered the walls to the point it overwhelmed, barely revealing the floral wallpaper behind it. If your mother could have covered the windows with photos, she would have, the windows that let in a Spring breeze out of season for the time you were supposed to be in. 

You crossed your arms and the movement sent an uneasiness down your spine. The wrong arm sat over the other. Shifting uncomfortably, you tried to flip the direction and caught the length of your fingers in the process. 

Also wrong. 

“Marco,” your father said. 

Your head whipped up and you nearly stumbled. But moving was impossible as your body held heavy like weights hung from strange places - your arms, your legs, and even your neck. 

“Yes?” you said in a voice that wasn’t yours. Between breaths that misaligned with how you breathed.

“Did you send your sister out?” Your father said, his mustache wobbling. His face twitched in uncomfortable situations.

You choked back a sob at his voice, and his distinctly ‘him’ outfit that was in style twenty years ago, and his kind but anxious face. He was too corporeal for a dead man. Jerking, you tried to run to him and throw yourself in his arms, but you were stuck in a body that refused to move. 

“She’ll be gone for a few hours,” you said. No, Marco said. You shivered as you felt the helplessness of inhabiting somebody else’s body and mind. This was Marco’s Nen at work – you were seeing the world as he saw it. “If something’s wrong, we need to tell her too.” 

“Don’t burden your sister with this,” he said. “We’ll handle it and she never needs to know.” 

“We can’t keep her in the dark about everything,” Marco said. “She deserves to know.” 

“Quiet,” your father said, his brows wiggling like he lingered on the edge of hysteria. “I can trust you with this information. You have no interest in this… this… abomination your mother-” not his wife, apparently, “-is partaking in.” Marco looked away and you wanted nothing more than to stare into the strange vitriol in your father’s features, but instead you got an embroidered cushion. “She will do it, Marco, if she ever finds Feitan. You know she will.”

You didn’t like the way your father said his name. Like Fei was something to discard, to eliminate. He hated Fei and had never met him. 

“She wouldn’t…” Marco said, with no conviction. Because you could feel it in his mind that he believed more than anything that you would. 

“Her ambition, her curiosity, her soulmate will ruin her if she discovers this and discovers him,” he said. “Just like your mother.” 

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but the body wasn’t yours. 

That is what your father thought of you. And it crashed through you at the realization that he was correct. Never once had you considered not doing a Blood Bind. 

“So we’re what?” Marco said, staring past your father’s face, his body (your body) shivering with an acute chill that locked your limbs in place. “Killing her? Killing Mom?” 

“Not your mother,” he said, “and not your sister.” 

“Their soulmates,” Marco said, clutching at his thigh where you now knew his own mark resided. Marco’s mind careened to the edge of reason with thoughts of Anaia, a woman he’d never met. He wanted to know if their father would go after her too. 

“It’s the only way to free them,” your father flailed his arms in a way that looked too much like your own. You didn’t know how you’d never noticed the similarities. “They are trapped and it’s our job to set them free.” 

Marco thought so quickly, you could barely follow the threads. But it was more organized than your thoughts, a linear progression that led to a clear conclusion. He had no qualms now that he’d decided something.

“Then Mom is still having the affair?” Marco said, his voice cracking. “She said she’d stopped.” 

Your father stilled, but his fingers twitched like he wanted to wrap them around your mother’s throat. 

“Legally it is not an affair,” your father said. “I come behind her soulmate, regardless of our marital status.” 

“And you won’t let her go?” Marco said cautiously, tiptoeing around a statement he knew could set off a landmine. He didn’t speak the rest of the statement he kept in his head that ‘if he loved her, he would.’

If only you knew your father had been this man, maybe you wouldn’t have revered him so desperately. Your heart shattered in another’s body. 

“My name might not be on her body, but I made vows to that woman,” your father said, so detached, there could be little affection left. “She is sick, and your sister is in danger of following her path.” 

Marco’s fingers twitched towards a knife he had hidden in his boot. You never knew him to carry weapons.  

“I will do it on one condition,” Marco said, his voice distant and cold as he accepted a task he could never atone for. Your father nodded for him to continue. “Anaia is never touched. If I ever find her, she is innocent. Kill me before you kill her.” 

Apparently you were the only one unaware Marco's soulmate existed. 

“I’m not killing you,” your father snapped, “and we aren’t killing her. You can be trusted with this information. Anaia never needs to be involved.” 

Marco didn’t believe him.

And he didn’t yet know how correct he was.  

“Dad, this needs to stop,” Marco said, clutching your Dad’s shoulder across the booth at some diner you didn’t recognize in some town you didn’t either. “We couldn’t find them, okay? Let her go. Let Mom go.” 

The diner was quiet in the middle of the night. It was aged and out of style. Something from a bygone era with striped booth seats and round lights swinging above the tables. 

“We made vows!” Your Dad slammed his fist on the table and eggs and toast toppled onto the floor. Coffee sloshed and Marco scooted to dodge a burn. 

“Stop it!” Marco gripped his fist and sent placations and apologies to the staff who watched warily from the other side of the room. “You’re going to ruin this family.” 

“I am?” Your father’s voice shook as he pointed to himself and then back at Marco like an accusation. “You and your mother are ruining this family.” 

“What do I have to do with this?” Marco said. And he was scared, so scared you tried to reach for him in his own memories. 

“You’re tipping them off, aren’t you?” he said. "That's why we can't find them."

Marco stood so abruptly the table shook. 

“This conversation is over,” Marco said, and left before your father could respond. 

The house was cold and dark. Winter had crept up fast and taken over quicker. Marco’s breath sputtered in front of you as his breathing quickened and thinned. 

“Dad?” Marco’s voice quaked like the world had shifted. “Dad? Where are you?” 

You stumbled into the house, hitting the side table in the entryway. Marco was terrified, shuddering with something deeper than the cold could elicit. This was a terror you’d only known a few moments in your life. For you, it smelled of explosives and fire and formaldehyde; for Marco, it was cold and rot and the unnamable scent of your family home. 

Marco called out again, gipping a knife at his side. It shook wildly. He wasn’t a fighter, he wasn’t trained, he wasn’t a Hunter. You shoved against him to correct the grip and turn it properly. But your clawing and screaming went unheard against an immovable barrier. This was Marco from months ago. You were utterly alone in his body, your own terror beginning to grip you as Marco’s blended with yours. Memory and reality twisted, knotting you together until you couldn’t tell what was your mind and what was his.

“In here.” Your father’s uneven voice was overshadowed with a wail so bloodcurdling you slammed your hands against your ears. And your knees rattled so hard they gave out and you landed on the floor, barely catching yourself before your nose shattered. 

“Get in here!” Your father hollered, demanding you listen. “Marco. We can end it. Hurry before the bastard gets away!”

He had the man – your mother’s soulmate. You don’t know how he’d found him, you’d tried to hide him, tried to hide your mother too. But they’d come back. Somehow they’d come back. You’d failed and he was going to kill them for it. 

And if her soulmate died now, so would your mother. But they weren’t gone yet or else you wouldn’t hear the thumps of bodies against furniture from a struggle or the screams that would stay with you forever.

You crawled down the hall until your entire body thrummed with the brandishing heat of adrenaline. The terror burned so hot, you stumbled to your feet and barreled into the living room, arriving just in time to see the man fall into blood that must have already been there from the intentional, matching cuts on his and your mother’s body. The light in his eyes flickered as he collided with the floor, his limbs careening out at strange angles. 

Your mother threw herself at him. But it was too late. Her eyes changed, from one moment to the next. She was there, burning, until there was nothing but emptiness in her gaze and looseness in her muscles, sending her to the floor. She breathed, but she was gone somewhere so far beyond the world. 

She had shattered. 

That was not your mother. 

Her breathing slowed.

Everything slowed. 

By the time you reached her, there was no pulse and no light. 

“No,” your father said, clawing his way towards his wife, your mother. “No, no, no, no…” and on and on it went. He knew no other word. Just ‘no, no, no, no’ until his flailing and terror covered you both in blood you would smell until the day you died. 

But then his words changed. 

“Marco.” Your father gripped at your face. Bloody prints streaked down your cheeks as he dropped his hands to clutch at your soiled shirt. You saw him, but he blurred with the wetness in your eyes. “Just-”

“You didn’t,” you said, refusing to believe what you saw in front of you, because the reality was too impossible to accept. “How could you?” 

“I don’t–” your father said, his voice gravelly, strained with his uneven breaths. “–please.” He tugged your arm, bringing the knife to his own throat. 

You fought it with every part of your soul – thrashing, yelling, pleading, begging him not to do it too and not to make you watch. But he was stronger than you. 

It was slipping. Everything was slipping. 

Your father fell and you stumbled back, staring at nothing until footsteps echoed down the hall. You scrambled to your feet, reeking of iron, but refusing to look behind, knowing she was there. 

It was cold.

Everything was unraveling in you. 

It was too late for your mother, but not for your sister. You could stop it before she ever met him. If your sister learned what killed your mother, she’d destroy the world to understand it. If Feitan died, your sister could live. 

Covered in blood and bathed in scars that would never heal, you turned towards your sister - one look before she’d hunt you to the ends of the earth for what she’d seen. You saw it - the retribution in her eyes. You were dead, but so was Feitan. As long as you found him first.

And so you ran. 

You woke up in the basement you’d been in. You were set free. But your throat clenched as you choked on your brother’s memories. Feitan held you with a look you’d never seen. Ashen and trembling – he cradled you in his lap speaking the language you couldn’t understand. 

It was demands and expletives. 

It was unadulterated fear. 

“Are you real?” You clutched Fei’s face to ensure this wasn’t something from Marco’s memories. “I couldn’t tell if I was me.” You were panting, clawing at Fei like a lifeline. “I got lost in it.” 

“Shut up,” Feitan said, clutching your hair so hard it stung, but he caressed your back as you sat together on the ground like he’d caught you as you’d fallen. “This is real.” 

“But how do I know?” Your voice cracked with terror as you vibrated with the haze of adrenaline. “How do I–”

Feitan nipped at your lips as he kissed you, coaxing you into something nothing could replicate; this couldn’t be anything but your own experience. Sinking into his touch, you melted against him, realizing what he’d done and needing him against you.

He’d pulled you out as you were slipping. 

You’d have broken if he hadn’t been there. 

Fei’s hand shook as he grazed it up and down your back, trying to sooth you as you huddled in his lap. Tears streaked your cheeks but you couldn’t hear yourself crying over the ringing in your ears.

This is real, he said between you. Breathe slowly. 

After a dozen slow breaths, you looked up to see pure loathing in Fei’s stare. But not directed at you. He looked past you as he caged you like you were something delicate and breakable he would give everything to protect. 

Venom and rabid fury seared down the bond as he looked at your brother. It cracked like a burning whip and spread so quickly, burning hot as a star. 

Anaia should have added a condition to her request from earlier when you’d arrived. 

Because Feitan was going to kill Marco. 

Chapter Text

Violence came naturally to Feitan Portor – you didn’t need the bond rumbling with a pending explosion to tell you as much, even if the feeling did make you woozy. But what you couldn’t have expected was the veracity of the rage you’d thought only you could muster for your brother. 

How wrong you’d been. 

Feitan unlatched the door – either willingly or unwittingly – to his feelings you only caught glimpses of across the bond when he wasn’t suppressing it. His ire teetered on the cliff of madness smoldered like embers burning low before a blaze ignited. 

Fei, you cooed, tracking every shift of his body – the rattling hands, the cold indignation hardening his features and illuminating the intent in his eyes, and the twitching lip of a predator assessing the inferior capabilities of his prey. Remember our deal, please. 

Even your airy and placating thoughts were insufficient in stopping Feitan from harming Marco if he was decided. So the next best thing was ensuring he didn’t drain him dead in the process. Marco who wobbled on his legs like a fawn. Marco who risked losing his sense of self as he offered you his memories. Marco who clutched the back of the couch where Anaia had previously been. Now she stood as his defender while the sweat stippling his brow cascaded to the floor between strangled gasps for air. And the carpet was exactly where Marco would be soon if his legs gave out. Homicide might not be necessary if Marco dropped dead from the strain of his ability. Which must have been great with both you and Feitan traipsing through his consciousness, even for what was likely a few fleeting moments spread out to hours and days and years in your head. 

Feitan lifted you from his lap and placed you softly beside him, never once looking at you. 

Don’t recall a deal, Feitan thought with an intonation like he knew very well what you meant and had determined it was insufficient in deterring him. Things changed. He was going to kill you.

To his credit, or from his almost inebriated state propelled by his Nen, Marco barely moved as Feitan rose. But his fear couldn't be latched shut. It was a strange sight seeing Feitan, smaller and less overbearing, force your brother into submission with nothing but his unquenched bloodlust. 

Feitan was a force of nature.

But even natural disasters can falter – and Feitan did, along with the rest of you as the world popped and fizzled like fireworks careening towards earth after bursting. An unseen force knocked you back and you fell through galaxies and blackholes, or some strange crossroad of time and space. 

It wasn’t familiar. It wasn’t your galaxy – you’d know that one until every whisper of your name had succumbed to dust – this was a whirlpool of light and memories so vivid that the feelings they evoked ripped through you as you watched lives born and die. Then it wasn’t stars and inky blackness, it was light warming snow atop cottages and the paleness of twilight, dusting oceans and the creatures leaping through the water. Barreling towards the salty sea that wouldn’t break your fall when you hit, you closed your eyes. But you kept falling, even past where you should have landed.

You were weightless, unable to guide your body, but so heavy you continued to fall, being dragged towards something you couldn’t imagine. Until your fall subsided and the wind was knocked out of you just before you hit dewy Spring grass. Airborne pollen tickled your nose as you hung suspended, just a moment before you dropped into a heap on the ground. 

Spring was meant to be tepid and inviting, but this was the midnight dew fighting the morning sun. It seeped through your clothes and you shivered, along with the chill from the grass and the earth beneath. 

“Fei,” you called, your voice rickety like it hadn’t been used in a hundred years. Your chest pulsed – Feitan was very near, but over hills with swaying flowers and the unending cobalt sky, he was nowhere to be seen. It was like he was right on top of you, but in another world entirely.

Fei, you tried again in your head.

But there was nothing; there was no Fei and for a moment, you felt there was no you without him.

“Your menace and Anaia are fine,” Marco’s gravelly voice called from a patch of peonies. Whatever caused this had favored his landing and given him loose soil to rest on when he dropped. But you envied him less when he stood and half his body was coated in soil. Earthworms, beetles, and other friends therein slithered around his body like they could dig through his skin. He looked grotesque, but nursed no new injuries. Unless a spider or beetle or whatever else was in the dirt decided to crawl in his ear canal or down his throat. “It’s Anaia’s Nen. We haven’t really left the safehouse.” 

That made no sense when you could see nothing but planes of grass skimming uneven ground for miles and miles into the rising sun. But that would explain why the bond wasn’t thrashing and screaming like a creature desperate to escape. 

“She made a simulation that feels real?” you said, fury and awe intermingling until your stomach churned. “She could have escaped from the dungeon?” 

“No, she was well and truly locked up,” Marco said from a distance, and you were glad because he looked like he was ready to kill you at the reminder that you’d incarcerated his girlfriend. And it wasn’t that you’d think you’d lose, it was that you didn’t also want to be covered in mud and creatures like you’d been brawling in a sludge pit. “This isn’t a simulation; this is real. And it’s likely how she didn’t crack under your lovely soulmate’s torture.”

And yours – your torture. 

“She had somewhere else to go,” you said, “even with her body captive.”  

“She had another time to go,” Marco countered with a clarification that sounded more like a dressing down than a statement. But his dropping eyes, hunched back, and the accompanying exhaustion repaired his tone. It slipped back into something kind when he said, “This is the safehouse, some time long in the past, before humans destroyed these fields and leveled the hills. We’re in the same spot, just a different time.” 

“If I ran that direction,” you said, picking a random way, “or that way. Would I find Anaia and Fei?” 

“You’d be stopped if you got too far,” Marco said, examining the distance like he could pinpoint where they would be deterred. And whether he found it or not, you didn’t know because Marco lowered himself back to the ground and patted the space beside him for you to join – just like you’d done as children. “There are limits to the space. And Anaia and Fei aren’t here, they're in some other time. Which is good because Feitan was about to kill me.”

“You deserve it,” you said, sitting beside him, notably his side without the soil. What harm could he really do when he looked like he was moments from falling asleep. 

“I do.” Marco smiled softly. He really knew his one way to atone. “But I’d like to correct my mistakes first. Then you can find a creative way to kill me.”

“That can be arranged,” you said. It was better he believed for the rest of his life you would one day come after him. No one knew what other rabblerousing, terroristic nonsense Marco could produce. He could ruin your life again; he’d done it before, so assuming he wouldn’t again was a dangerous gamble. Especially since he and Anaia just threw you and Fei into some locked tomb masquerading as a pretty field of flowers. But what you would give him was freedom from the cult that snared him, and that was all you could promise. “I’m a little worried Fei is just killing Anaia in your place right now.” 

Marco’s smiled slipped into a scowl that somehow looked right. You could differentiate now between the Marco you knew as your brother and the Marco he was now. This Marco was easier to hate; easier to hurt. “She’s a hell of a lot tougher than me, and a better wordsmith. I don’t think she’s going to die before we’ve had a chance to talk. You forced us into our backup plan when your lacky arrived.” 

“You should have known Feitan would follow,” you said. 

“We had no way of knowing that,” Marco said. “I haven’t seen how he treats you. We made assumptions based on the kind of person he is.” 

“A selfish criminal,” you said, now wishing you’d sat on his other side so you could slam the soil into his mouth and make him choke on it for talking about Fei how he was. You were probably going to heal him after this anyway, so why not start an infection with his current wounds for fun and let it fester for a while. You didn’t want Fei to hurt him yet, but that desire to maim, to harm, to burn was clamoring in your bones like a rapid bell toll.

“Your rabbid guard dog. He really seems useless for something claiming to protect you.” Marco lulled his head back to look at the sky. How long would it take to reach the limit of Anaia’s ability if you were able to fly? “I'm surprised he didn't kill you on sight when you met. People like him don't need people like you. And you don't need people like him. Soulmate or not, he'll drag you down into Hell with him. He's seen enough – doesn’t he know by now you can handle yourself? You’re still alive, no thanks to him.”

“No thanks to you either,” you said, clutching at the grass to keep the fury tempered. It seeped below your fingernails and you focused so intently on the discomfort that you’d avoid what you wanted to do most. But it was too late to contain it. Sprouts and worms came up with your hand as you slammed your fist into his cheek. “I’d have never needed help if you hadn’t joined a fucking cult you piece of shit.” 

Marco tumbled over but caught your wrist just before it collided a second time directly into his nose. Marco's blood dripped down your hand back onto his face. Shaking like a frigid winter air engulfed you, you hovered over him, pushing against his body strength to make it the rest of the way and shatter something, anything on his face. Your hand didn’t budge. You used his counterforce to adjust and slam your knee into his gut. Marco shuttered and coughed blood as you retreated to strike again, but he took his chance. He caught your leg to flip you off him. It half worked, but as you jerked, you gripped his wrist and took it with you. The crack of bones was enough to make you pause, but not long enough to stop. You heaved yourself at him again, shoving him down and trying a punch again and again and again. But he caught those too, with his good hand. 

You pushed harder and growled at your lack of progress. You didn’t want this to be quick – not a snapped neck, a broken back, a severed heart. This needed to be slow and painful with a blunt edge only something as gritty as a punch to the face could provide. You wanted to brawl until Anaia realized something was wrong – until she let you out of the Hell she’d dropped you in.  

Panting, knuckles moving ever closer to his face, you said, “I’d be lying if I didn’t say everything would be easier if you were dead.” Your free hand went for his throat but Marco heaved you off and threw you to the ground. He didn’t reciprocate your attack, but he was ready to. Barely, because he wobbled as he stood. “Or if I’d killed you that day when I had the chance.” Hand clothed in dirt, you still hadn’t released your fist as you laid in the flower bed. Muscles tight, you flexed your hand lest you do something reckless. But, head fuzzy and adrenaline gurgling in your veins from the first strike, you said, “Or if I killed you now.”

You lunged at Marco and he dodged exactly the direction you’d expected him to. He was an under-practiced fighter, his movements were predictable and his thoughts were plain on his face. Swerving, you raised your arm and he collided, his throat crashing into your elbow. Marco wheezed and you took the opportunity as he toppled to clutch him by the hair. He hung like a puppet from your hands, his knees hovering above the grass. 

Shaking, raging, seeing more red in your vision than the green pastures in every direction, you leaned over in a fury that felt too much like yours to be Feitan’s, and said, “What else do you have to say about him? You can tell me.” You dug your nails into his scalp and tugged hard on his hair. Marco hissed. “Come on – quickly.” Snapping your fingers in front of his face, you leaned down to meet him eye-to-eye. “Say it.” The words came out clipped and the threat was apparent. 

Marco was damned if did and damned if he didn’t. But either way his blood would be on your hands. 

“You have no idea what you’ve let him do to you because of the Blood Bind.” Marco choked and coughed his way through it. “He’s using you.”   

You threw him to the side and watched as he hit the ground hard. If you didn’t kill him, you could heal him. But you could also heal him to give him false hope and then let him die slowly in the hell Anaia sent you to. 

Marco dabbed his bleeding nose and looked up at you like he’d never experienced terror before that moment. 

Something about the pleading in his eyes shocked you out of the strange trance that had guided your movements. You jerked as you came back to yourself, like you’d been evened out. The scales had been tipped and you’d taken a mixture of your rage and Fei’s. But it had been righted, so you wobbled in place until you reached equilibrium. Ears ringing and muscles aching with the strain of your skirmish, you stared with wonder between your bloodied, dirty hands and the brother you’d been so ready to kill. 

“I don’t –” you said, air struggling to filter through your lungs. It felt more like grass and dirt stuck in your throat. “I’m so sorry. Is this what you mean? Is this what you think he’s done?”

You looked every bit the monster on the outside that hibernated on the inside. 

“You can’t tell me that reaction is normal,” Marco said, pushing up on his good hand to sit uncomfortably in the uneven ground you’d kicked up while you fought. 

You cursed internally and scooted over to his side. Marco jerked like he expected a strike, but you grabbed the wrist you’d broken. It was already stippling with reds and purples as it swelled.  

“We didn’t know we had even started until we found that infernal book,” you said. There was one amendment to that statement – you didn’t know, but you guessed Feitan had suspected all along. 

Marco didn’t need that information. 

“You’re willingly losing everything that makes you you ,” Marco said, hissing as you gripped a little too hard on his wrist - a warning to watch himself if you were going to heal him.

“This has always been what I’m supposed to be,” you said. “You disliking it doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” 

Marco shrugged like he was the arbiter of wrong and right. “If the Blood Bind’s so great, what else has it done?” 

He watched as you debated whether or not you should even try what you were imagining. That were a dozen things different that were none of his business, and a few which he already knew – the silent speaking, the seemingly uneven distribution of emotions, the burning mark. But there was one even you’d been too scared to try as the thought of it ruminated in your mind. 

Marco was an excellent guinea pig. 

“Before you heal me and possibly pass out,” Marco said, looking around your sides for a knife that you had no intention of using, “you’re not going to like what I have to become with – them. But you have to let me play my role while you play yours.” 

“What you become?" you said, getting sick of the idle conversation. If he kept running his mouth, you might try to kill him again. "Or what you already are?”

“I wish I knew,” Marco said with a sad smile. “Do you need a knife?”

“I’m trying it without a cut.” It came out softly, like the words were testing themselves in the morning air.  

Marco floundered, his mouth hanging open. “Blood Bind thing?” 

“Yes. This is what I’ve become,” you said. “And I don’t regret it.” 

You sat quietly, cradling the broken wrist you’d gifted him, mulling over how healing could be done with nothing to adhere your hands to other than skin. He was warm under the protection of the dirt. It wasn’t wholly different from what happened with Feitan that day. Though, you'd gotten in his wound to heal him. But now you wanted to see if you needed to, because something whispering in the back of your mind said you didn’t. 

“Wait!” Marco said and you jerked. “One more thing before you pass out from healing.” You must have given him a strange look because he took it as an opportunity to keep talking. "I want to say I’m sorry. I made choices for you without realized you should be the one to choose.” 

It was said with so much sincerity, you decided to humor it. 

Cocking your head, you said, “And?” Because God knew there was far more than just that he had to apologize for. 

“For not telling you about Mom and Dad,” he said, wilting in on himself and staring off into some memory. “And then joining a cult.” 

“And?” you said with more force than needed, because he was forgetting on very critical apology he still needed to make. 

Marco scowled, like he hoped you’d forgotten. 

“For trying to kill Feitan,” Marco said. 

“Thank you,” you said, not sure you could accept his apologies yet. Once you’d seen Marco do the right thing, then maybe you could begin to heal and forgive. Until then, this was a tentative truce, and it looked like, with the disappointment on his face, Marco knew it. 

But you had the chance now to give him a real opportunity to repent and repair the things he had ruined. 

"We have you," you said. "We can take you back with us, we can work on this from a distance."

There was his condescending, sad smile once again. 

"I can't," Marco said, gently. "You know this has to be done from the inside."

“We could have done that together from the beginning if you’d been honest with me,” you grumbled, shifting and suddenly feeling uneasy about the direction of the conversation. 

“It wouldn’t have been a positive experience,” Marco said, as if anything you’d experienced the last year had been positive. “TPI is vile and dangerous.” Which sounded quite a bit like the Spiders. “But we’ll all be there together.” 

"I have no intention of crossing paths with you once I'm there," you said, ensuring the expectations were clear: Marco was to stay out of your way.

"We're working through Anaia, then?" he said and you confirmed. 

It didn't matter if he liked it or not. He didn't have a say in it. This surprise encounter certainly didn't change that. 

“A few more weeks and I'll be ready,” you said. If you asked for any longer, Anaia would likely proceed without you. “I just need to figure one more thing out.” 

“Then figure it out. We’re running out of time.” He rested his head in his good hand and pressed his palm into his black eye. He was exhausted and terrified, just like you. "Is there really no talking you out of this?"

"I'm decided and my choice isn't changing," you said.

"Then I won't apologize for what happens when you get there," he said. “And bring the book as a sign of goodwill when you do.” 

“Deal,” you said, even thought it wasn’t a deal you could make. The Spiders would want to keep the book, so if it came to it, you needed to steal it. “Now shut the fuck up so I can focus on healing you.” 

Marco opened his big mouth to speak and snapped it closed when you shoved a finger in his face to shut him up. 

The warmth of your Nen seeped through your fingers and onto Marco’s skin. It shouldn’t have worked because it never had before, but somehow the Nen didn't need contact with blood or tendons or organs to succeed. It maneuvered differently than before, leaping between your fingers until it landed on a break and bruises like frogs on lily pads. When it hit injuries, the golden, gleaming warmth crackled out like a spider’s web and seeped into the skin. 

Marco hissed and dug his fingers into his thighs as the glow spread. It twined up his arm, moving down to his chest and up past his collar towards his face. It paused to latch onto every injury before continuing on. You could feel the heat emanating from him like a furnace. But he wasn’t writhing in pain from your healing either.  

“Does this mean –” Marco said, struggling for words as the warmth seeped into his neck, but one it passed to his face he said, “you can do the opposite too?” 

“I think I could kill you with a touch, yes,” you said, shivering from a cold that seeped into your bones, like you’d given your body warmth to Marco in the healing process.  

You watched in awe as his bruises and cuts and breaks fizzled out like steam. You wanted to laugh and scream, but words weren’t possible as pain thrummed your temple and light permeated your vision. But you fought the oncoming darkness to watch Marco’s skin glow so bright, there was no question – the Nen worked on the outside instead of inside for the first time. 

Chapter Text

“Thought you were smarter than this,” a recognizable voice said. It reeked of a strange mix between excitement and disappointment. You cringed at the feeling it was directed at you. “Glad to be wrong.” 

"I don't particularly care what you think you do and don't know," Marco spit like he was allergic to the words. "You haven’t lived this life with us. You ruined my sister and you’ve nearly broken Anaia."

Feitan laughed that wild laugh. What a beautiful thing in his eyes – ruining you. What an extraordinary compliment for the man who’d declared he wanted to watch while he broke you; hurt you so nicely; make you perfect for him.

Ruin and beauty and perfection were all the same to your soulmate, and somewhere along the way, became the same for you.  

Fog muddied your head and prickling lights dotted behind your eyes. But the dizziness and accompanying nausea relented quicker than it should have. Days of recovery should have been needed after what you’d done to heal Marco. But the discomfort subsided and you felt nothing at all.

You opened your eyes. There was a dazed Anaia on the grass, searching her surroundings like she didn’t know where exactly she was. From the looks of it, Feitan had beaten the sense out of her. But she was breathing, at least. So your own plan wasn’t entirely ruined by your brother’s stupid backup. 

Marco glared in your general direction and dropped beside Anaia to assess her injuries that somehow looked more psychological than physical — but there were a myriad of physical injuries as well.  

Feitan grazed a hand through your hair and coaxed you up to a full sitting position. Joints creaked and your back cracked as you adjusted, the dirt and blood coating you warmed with the rising sun and you picked at a few pieces dried against exposed skin. 

As much as you needed it, Fei wasn’t watching you. He watched Marco. His comment about being stupid had been directed at your brother. You released a shaky breath. Fei calling you an idiot in earnest would have devastated you. 

Even with you covered in earth and blood, he had to touch you. His cold fingers strummed up your neck and pressed into your skull to ease the pain you should have had. 

He looked down at you like he had all the time in the world. With a quick glance at Marco and Anaia in which he determined there was no immediate threat, he crouched and focused back on you. His breath warmed your lips as he gripped your chin with his thumb and forefinger, angling your head so he could drag you in for a kiss so slow and meticulous, you thought you’d forgotten how to live for anything but him.

He pulled back and you wanted to follow, but an odd expression on his face held you back.  

“The rage,” Feitan said, closing his eyes a moment to remember the feeling – perhaps one of the few moments he’d had relief from the fury that lived just below the surface. And when he opened them, his eyes scorched with your galaxy – the thousand rampaging, swirling colors you couldn’t count in a lifetime. “Stole it from me, pretty girl.” 

His pale face shone bright in the morning light as the sun peeked over the hills and brushed away the dew. But a burning star was nothing in comparison to the purest personification of rage building in the bond like a sickness. And the unearthly colors crashing into and encircling his irises. 

He was the eye of your universe. 

As you caressed his face, dragging a thumb below his eye to marvel at his strange beauty – the galactic storm infected his irises until there were little of eyes left at all – Fei was the galaxy, ready to burn and reform. He was lovely and ethereal and dangerous. Everything you could have ever wanted. 

He was terror and rage personified. 

But you were not scared. 

Not of him. 

Never of him. 

“Give it back,” Feitan commanded in a sickly sweet voice that made you keen. His lips met yours just enough that you yearned for more as his tongue caressed and teased until you opened your mouth for him. “Give me yours too,” he said, not giving you what you wanted. “Need it now.” 

No, you said in your head, because words weren’t possible as he dragged his tongue across your lips and bit until your skin bled for him. 

Oh, yes, Fei said. Or I take it like you did.  

I’m not letting you kill Marco.

I am not merciful enough, Fei thought, to kill him. He kissed you deeper, like somehow he could take what he wanted if he kissed you more, caressed you more delicately, wooed you with pretty words in a way only he could. You will do worse to him than me. 

Promise? You could barely feel yourself breathing and your throat ached with the feeling of oncoming tears. 

You will be so beautiful. 

I’m beautiful now.

Feitan, his eyes burning with nothing human, still found a way to look unimpressed. 

Fuck your mouth later and shut you up. 

Okay. Take the anger, even your voice in your head sounded breathless, asshole. 

He hummed. Good girl. 

Feitan stroked your jaw with his knuckles and kissed your cheek so delicately, you barely felt the graze of his lips beyond the inherent electricity of his touch.

Deserve relief.  

And then everything was light as tension evaporated from your thoughts, your chest, your limbs. And every second more, your fear and anger and desire to destroy syphoned across the bond. You’d never felt this brand of extraordinary freedom which stole physical and emotional responses you never knew you’d had until they’d disappeared. Fei was usurping your pain and leaving exquisite evenness behind that burned through your system like your body fighting a fever. 

The world was clear as you watched Feitan become something inhuman. The endlessness of space and meteors and the storms whirling between planets and stars seeped from his eyes like an ancient tree’s branches below his skin, sending spinning light, and moons, and stars careening down his chest. 

His veins erupted with the colors from his eyes as he bled the bond. Universes lived and died in his soul and it still couldn’t contain him. Stars and wisps of darkness moved under his skin until he glowed from the inside out. This wasn’t his Nen, though you’d never seen it – this was him and you combined into something marvelously monstrous. That night when he’d called you his soulmate after showing you what he felt through skin and touch and his body against yours, the galaxy became something external – a physical entity. Now it was something so intrinsic to you both, it could never escape the binds of the bond you’d constructed. 

It burrowed between two bodies and when moved to one, it was all consuming. 

Feitan raised a hand to his face and cocked his head, examining the way he burned. A ringed, golden planet went with it and fell past the confines of his body to somewhere you couldn’t fathom. Feeling his fury was unnecessary when you couldn’t feel much of anything beyond awe. But it didn’t matter when Feitan was fury; Feitan was meant to be feared. And Marco and Anaia needed to learn that quickly. 

Marco called your name as you admired the most lovely, horrifying creature you’d ever beheld. And it was all yours.  

“You shouldn’t have been able to find us,” Marco said, looking pristine as ever, but not for long. If Feitan said he wouldn’t kill Marco, there were a thousand things he could do just short of it, especially with this strange change boiling below the surface. Anaia and Marco likely thought this was Feitan’s Nen, not something you’d accidentally created by tugging and pulling on an ever deepening well of rage. 

This was the Blood Bind and they were none the wiser.

“Blinded by your fear,” Feitan said like he was speaking to a child, his voice echoing strangely like his words filtered through space and time to reach his tongue. “Can do whatever I decide I can.” 

Marco screamed for you again – a plea to stop Feitan before he rampaged. But Feitan had promised not to kill him and if you couldn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust anyone. 

“What are you?” Marco stood slowly, his hands rattling at his side with no weapons to grip for some false sense of security.

“The man you want to kill,” Feitan said in his faraway voice that sounded too much like and dislike him for comfort. “To save your poor, helpless baby sister.” This was a cold rage, as cold as the desolation of space reflected in his eyes and veins. “So kill me.”  

Feitan lunged. 

The wind was knocked out of Marco as he flew backwards. Feitan flipped a knife in his hands from nowhere and slammed the hilt into Marco’s skull to knock him further off balance. Black, inky wisps of space seeped through Fei’s skin to the surface as he moved, like they were predicting and directing his movements. He advanced like a well-conducted symphony – multiple pieces coming together to form something greater than one alone ever could. This wasn’t just the vicious precision you knew him to have – this was the combination of your unrepentant brawling and his surgical exactness. 

Combined it was utter, lethal perfection. 

Feitan alternated between brutal, bone shattering strikes and expertly placed cuts across Marco’s face and chest as he pushed him back. He moved exactly as you’d move if you were the one throwing Marco back and back and back, and still keeping your brother on his feet so there was no respite of solid ground below him. 

It was cruelty in a way you’d never seen from Fei. Marco would suffer in Feitan’s way and in every way you could ever imagine – because it was you imagining it. Feitan had taken every representation of your rage and what you wanted to do to Marco so he could exact it for you now. 

Feitan threw a leg out and Marco tumbled to the ground amid Fei’s growing, cackling laughter you only saw when he was so far gone there was no reaching him. 

Fei’s timing was ethereal. When Marco tried to regain control of himself, Feitan slammed a booted foot into his chest reinforced with so much Nen, you could feel Marco’s ribs shattering. Grass tore as Marco slid trenches through the ground with the force of Feitan’s strike. 

The knife in Feitan’s hand gleamed red and brown with dirt and blood. He slammed Marco to the ground, who rebounded and bounced another few feet before finally landing. If Marco was conscious, you couldn’t tell – but you suspected he might just be because Feitan was hovering over his chest now, knife to his throat as he whispered to your brother. It was too quiet to understand, but you could feel the ripple of fury and hatred in his voice. Marco shuttered and tried to stand, so Feitan gripped his throat, dragged him to a seated position, then threw him like a ragdoll across the field. 

Feitan simply watched as Marco landed. The nothingness in his eyes mixed with the glee you felt learching down the bond. 

Feitan.

Death incarnate. 

After a few strangled breaths, you struggled to circulate air – everything was getting warm and Feitan’s body was changing again. Or more specifically, the visible aura now surrounding him. Fire and darkness swirled there. But before you could understand how dire your own situation was around Fei’s Nen, the world fizzled like a light snowfall wiping the world clean. 

Anaia was on her knees now, the fury of the Gods in her stare. 

You tried to scream to her that Feitan wasn’t going to kill Marco, but it was too late. 

You were already falling. 

Tumbling through time reinvigorated the nausea you thought you’d avoided. But apparently the after effects of your Nen were still willing to cause issues if you pushed it too far. This time you fell through snowy mountains and searing, golden sands. 

Feitan still had a hold on Marco as you dropped, and you expected Anaia to go for them. But the second you landed in an old, dusty town, Anaia heaved herself at you. She was so quick, it stole your breath as you dodged. Barely dodged. You hadn’t expected her strike to come for you. She swung herself using your arm and twisted it behind your back. 

“Play along before I change my mind and kill you instead,” Anaia whispered. 

“Absolutely fucking not after you attack me out of nowhere,” you said, dropping and using your shoulder to throw her over you. But she flipped and landed gracefully. She stood in front of you, no longer moving to attack. 

The rage was building again, like you were now siphoning it back from Feitan. He and Marco brawled in the background and his movements were changing to something more precise. 

“How are we going to work together if you can’t play along?” Anaia whispered as people in strange clothing giving the four of you odd looks hurried past you. The large bells of the women's skirts kicked up dust along with horses moving down the road carrying people and dragging carts. 

But your focus needed to remain on Anaia. 

“Your soulmate is going to kill mine!” Anaia swung her arm around to look back at Feitan standing over Marco on the ground. “And you can’t play along?” 

“What’s your plan?” you said stiffly. 

“You think when we’re in the field, I will have the time to tell you my plan?” Anaia hissed, gripping your shirt and shoving you back a step. “Trust me for once, damn it!” 

You swallowed your rejection of her peace offering. She’d sprung Marco on you, yes, but she’d also offered up her life to help. She was risking everything to help Marco and help you. 

“You’re right,” you said, gently. “I’m sorry.” 

Anaia didn’t respond. The only hint of acknowledgement was the pleasant surprise in her eyes that shifted to intent. She swung, wider than she needed to, which told you she wasn’t really trying to harm her. You dodged and she shocked you with a wicked, impactful kick to the stomach. Stumbling back, she used your unevenness to lock your arms behind your back and throw you face first into the ground.

The air shifted and you looked up. Feitan was watching. He clutched Marco by the hair, the same way you’d done earlier. 

It didn’t take you long to understand this was a hostage negotiation. 

“Trade?” Anaia said with so little concern, if you’d heard her as an outside party, you would never believe Marco was her soulmate. 

“Don’t negotiate,” Feitan said. "I take."

Thus, he had no counter-terms. You could feel him about to move, but from one blink to the next, everything changed and you were falling again. But this time, Anaia gasped and flailed. 

Before the world disappeared, you heard her say, “I’m not doing this!” And it was real terror in her voice. Something else was taking you all down. 

The new kind of falling was all consuming – nothing like tumbling through oceans and flowered fields. This was utter darkness until a blast of white nearly burnt through your eyes. You landed hard and somebody thumped as they dropped beside you. 

Hands grappled for you and you were about to throw an elbow back until you recognized the gentle, calloused hands as Fei’s. He shook and as you looked back at him, all sense of the monstrous galaxy gone. It was just his gray eyes watching you. Hands wrapped your stomach as he pulled you back into him, pressing you against his chest and placing his legs on either side of you like a cage he could use to protect you. 

Now, now, little humans. The voice made you gasp and sink back into Feitan, because you knew he’d take this harder than you. He needed comfort now, but he was trying to give it to you. Your pettiness ought to astound me. But it does not.  

The book.

The infernal fucking book. 

It had either dropped you somewhere unimaginable or shoved you so deep in your head, you couldn’t escape. The room was angelic, blistering whiteness that burned if you looked too closely. It smelled sterile like an operating room and chilled like a freezer meant to preserve bodies and you gagged, covering your mouth. The book knew what you’d seen that day in the warehouse, you were certain, and it knew what to do to try and break you down. Which meant you were both a target and a threat. 

The four of you stood out like parasites in an otherwise unsullied forest – and it was four, because the entity in the book hadn’t spared Anaia and Marco. They sat together on the other side of the room, watching you and Feitan in abject horror. Whatever fight the four of you’d had was gone in the face of something more terrifying than the group combined. 

At least you and Fei knew the book, Marco and Anaia had never heard its voice or seen what it could do.  

“Let them go,” you said, voice quivering as you examined the room with no exits. “This is between you, Feitan, and I.”

Is it? The book mused. If I had not intervened, I could have lost my two prizes before you were complete. 

So the book wanted you dead, but not yet? 

“If all you wanted was to stop us killing each other, you can let us go now,” you said carefully. “We’re done fighting.” Little did Anaia know a few minutes ago you’d all be negotiating as hostages together. Well, you would be. Marco and Anaia were stunned silent and Feitan shook so aggressively behind you, you weren’t sure words were going to be possible from him. 

Not all, the book corrected you like a teacher to a student. I wanted to see what the little boy of blood and nightmares had become. 

“He’s still the same,” you said, not entirely following the book’s meaning and gripping at whatever you could to push this along. Or else something told you you’d be here for all eternity, waiting. “So let us go so we can fail at the Blood Bind and you can take us.” 

The book laughed a wicked, joyous laugh. 

In time I’ll enjoy you very much. But now I want to taste the boy. 

Taste him? 

You barely had time to consider what that meant when the room changed back to the flowery field where you and Feitan had brawled with Marco. But there were two versions of you all now – the ones from a few minutes ago and yourselves as you existed in the moment, watching the scene through unidentified eyes as Feitan became that lovely monster. 

You watched in horror as the scene was replayed and the book narrated what in particular they liked about the unearthliness of Feitan consuming the dual rage. 

Such power, the book cooed. Such a prize.

“He isn’t yours to take,” you said as the book laughed at how there was nothing you could do to stop it. Both in that moment and in every moment until it reaped your soul in the way it wanted. But the book couldn’t have him, you wouldn’t let it take him or consume him or terrify him. If Marco was wrong about almost everything, the one thing he was right about was that the noxious book was a scourge that needed to be destroyed. 

Not mine yet, no, the book said. But he will be. 

And then it was silent.

The field and sky gurgled like boiling water and you landed on the downy softness of a bed you’d recognize anywhere. 

You were left with nothing but Feitan in his bedroom at the mansion, like you’d never left at all. 

The book was silent.

And Marco and Anaia were nowhere to be found.

Chapter Text

You crawled towards Fei who was sitting dazed atop the comforter. But that distance on his face disappeared as you threw yourself at him. 

“Are you okay?” you said, clutching him so tightly, your muscles strained. “Are you hurt anywhere?” You would never forgive yourself if he'd been harmed. This was your brother and your fight. You’d dragged him into this and it was your duty to bring him out alive. 

“Not hurt.” Feitan shook his head and breathed evenly against your throat like he was trying to regulate himself. He kissed and bit your skin to ground himself. “But – need a minute.” 

“Of course,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder and running your hands through his hair. Scratching now and then, you enjoyed the little sounds he made. You were both dirty and bloody, but that wouldn’t stop either of you. 

"The book," Feitan said. "Tried to get in my body."

Well, that could be what it meant by 'taste.'

"It didn't, did it?" you squeaked, patting him like there would be a physical representation of the book's possession. 

"No," Fei said. You could feel the cocky smile against you. "Just tried. But I am tired."

"Is that from the book or your rampage?" you said. He smiled against your throat and his breathy laugh prickled your skin. 

"Was not drained until the book," Feitan said.

The damn thing had siphoned energy off of him. But as you rested and minutes passed, his exhaustion lessened and more color returned to his face. You hadn't even noticed how pale he'd been since he was pale to begin with. 

“I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. I had no idea Marco was going to be there or that any of this would happen like it did.” Feitan huffed and you continued. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. It’s my family and my problem. I never expected any of that. And it's my fault the book got us at all.” 

Feitan gripped the hair at the base of your neck and tugged. 

“Shut up,” Feitan said, nipping at your ear as you hissed at the feeling of his hands in your hair. “Stop apologizing. My problem too.” 

“But –”

Fei jerked your head back hard, away from his throat, and then guided you in for a lazy kiss meant to reinforce that he was fine. He smelled like soil and blood. But you still clawed at his shirt, needing it gone as soon as possible, and whined when he laughed at your desperation. Feeling him against you was the only way to confirm he was real. 

There was something else you should have been doing, but you couldn’t quite remember as his fingers explored and lips grazed skin. So you crawled into his lap instead.

“You are safe now,” Feitan breathed against your jaw, even though you should have been telling him that. “Did so well.” 

You keened at his praise. “Show me,” you demanded.  

Feitan groaned into your ear. “Take it back,” he said, playfully pushing your hands away again and again until you whined. “So bad.” But he still kissed you like there was nothing that could keep him from it, and lightly guided your fingers back to his chest so you could grip him tightly. But it was too soft to continue without a hint of pain. 

He left your lips and tugged on your shirt collar. Soft hair tickled your neck as he dragged his teeth from collarbone to ear, where he alternated biting hard and kissing the marks he made until you arched against him.

Then you were tugging on his clothes again, begging him with hands and lips to show you exactly how well he thought you’d done, and how you could continue being good for him, how perfect you’d be if he’d just take you again.  

You must have said it loudly in your head because he thought, Always take me so well. 

The downy covers were like clouds compared to the rough landings you’d taken throughout the day. When your back hit the bed, you sighed and then gasped as Fei pressed against you, spreading your legs so he could tease you just enough you’d claw at his back and hips to encourage him to move. Which he did, but so leisurely you whimpered. 

Pretty sounds, he thought as he breached the hem of your shirt and ran his splayed palms up your sides so, devastatingly slowly that you squirmed and gripped his wrists to move him along. The bond scorched as you grazed his mark. 

You could feel so much of him against you when you wriggled under him and locked your ankles in his. And how visceral his enjoyment felt down the bond with his heart racing, breath catching, the way he felt like more every time he rolled against you. Fei paused to grip at your waist and thought, struggle so nicely for me too. Like he was exhilarated to learn new things every time he put his hands on you. Move faster?   

He knew what you wanted so you nodded, begging, yes, yes, yes. 

Feitan made a sound like he was considering. No. 

Please. You looped your hands around his neck and pressed your hips up into him. He hissed and drove his nails into your sides.

“Have a different idea first,” Feitan said with glee that wasn't dampened by the receding exhaustion. The knife gleamed silver and red as he let you admire it and all its possibilities. You hoped he didn’t plan to fuck you with it when it was so grimy. But if it was clean…

There was a bang on the door and you jerked. Feitan made an annoyed sound and mumbled something about not getting interrupted. 

But the knocking persisted. 

“Are you two in there?” Blair didn’t let up on the banging. 

“Let her leave,” Feitan whispered against the shell of your ear as he slipped a hand between your legs to caress your inner thigh – a promise of what he’d do if you were good and didn’t call attention to yourselves. “Need you right now.” 

“This is important,” Blair said, her grumpiness rivaling Fei’s.

“You stupid fucks,” Mai said, banging the door now too so it was a dual assault. “Open the door. Anaia’s on the phone and she’s scared shitless.” 

Oh, yes. That’s what you needed to do: figure out where the hell Marco and Anaia had landed, and make sure the book let them go. For all you knew they could have still been stuck in that sterile purgatory. 

You pushed Feitan off and you were pretty sure he growled as you stumbled towards the door and threw it open. 

Blair and Mai’s hands were in the air and their mouths hung open at you painted in dirt and blood, and possibly little creepy-crawlies (which Feitan might have also counted as). Shalnark and Phinks leaned against the far wall in the background, keeping an eye on the situation. You ignored their looks and snatched the phone from Blair’s hand. 

“Where are you?” you said, not bothering with any pleasantries. She had gut punched you with her designer shoes and force fed you interaction with your brother. But that didn’t mean you wanted her to be in danger. You hated liking her. 

Blair mumbled, “If she didn’t tell me, she won’t tell you.” 

You shuffled back into Feitan’s room and turned away to listen. Blair hearing was not acceptable.

“We’re at the… coffee shop,” Anaia said, catching herself before she said ‘safe house.’ “Where are you and the other one?”

“He has a name,” you said. “And I’m at the house. We got dropped here.” 

“So you’re both safe?” Anaia said with too much care for you to ignore that you didn’t want her to hate you in perpetuity. “Please tell me you’re both safe.” 

“Somehow, yes,” you said. “What about you?”

“We’re fine enough,” Anaia said. “All your healing went to waste. Marco’s a mess.” 

“Do I need to–”

“Don’t,” Anaia said. “It’s better this way. He was beaten up when he got here earlier. It will look the most natural if he returns that way. I’ll head back to you tomorrow. I’m too exhausted to go tonight.” 

Apparently Anaia didn’t have anything else to say because the phone clicked. You pulled it away from your ear and shook your head in disbelief at the ‘Call Ended’ notification. Everyone you knew was a drama queen. 

“Here.” You handed Blair her phone. “Everything’s fine. She’s safe and she’s coming back tomorrow. Now, we’re a little busy, so if you could–”

“Sorry, but you need to wait,” Shalnark said from the other wall where he was resting and enjoying the show. He clearly wasn’t at all apologetic for interrupting you in Fei. And he definitely knew with the sparkle in his eye. “We need Feitan.”

“You do not,” Feitan said, materializing beside you looking just as disheveled as you did. At least the knife was hidden. If he wanted to play with it on you, you’d rather not get more blood on it. 

“We waited for you assholes all day,” Phinks said, kicking off the wall and shuffling past everyone to stand in front of you and Fei. “I ain’t waiting any longer so you two can–” Fei gave him a look that could shatter glass. “–waste more time. Definitely wasn’t gonna say something else.” 

“Good save, babe.” Mai patted him on the shoulder. “We need Feitan to translate something for us, but you both need to clean up first. You reek.” 

“Thirty minutes,” Blair said. 

Feitan slammed the door. 

You all sat together on the lawn. Phinks was yelling about starting a bonfire and Mai was trying to keep him contained, along with whatever fire he’d create. Apparently translation still wasn’t something Phinks was particularly interested in, especially after you rehashed for the group that the book reiterated wanting to reap your soul after it locked you in some room you couldn’t escape from. And after you were powerful enough for its liking. Which raised its own questions about possible interference from the book. Another foe was not what you’d wanted. The book was suddenly more concerning than it had been when you thought it could only insult you in your head and temporarily play with the bond. 

But no, it had to be a powerful object from the depths of Hell. 

And it was that same book that was now in Fei’s lap as he read with an evenness too controlled to be natural. How he could even manage to look at it after what it had done was a mystery. 

You carefully spoke around Marco and pretended he’d never been with you. You couldn’t do the same about Anaia since she’d show up again tomorrow and you knew nothing of what she’d say, other than your certainty that Marco would never come up. 

Shalnark watched over Feitan’s shoulder, not that he could read the book. And Feitan was hunched over, his arm resting on his knee with his hand cupping his cheek. But there was something too measured about the nonchalance.

“How did you know it was Fei’s first language,” you asked Blair. As far as you knew, nobody else even understood it, so it seemed like a stretch to know it was his. 

“It’s just because it's my specialty,” Blair said, more content than you'd ever seen her. “I’ve heard Feitan speak it dozens of times and he’s even shown me how to say a few words here and there. I know the alphabet and some pronunciations too.” 

Feitan caught your stare and shrugged. He must have felt your acute moment of jealousy across the bond. He’d never shown you how to speak his first language. 

Did not think you cared. 

Of course I care. It sounded more scandalized than you expected. 

Not like that. Feitan peeked over at you, but didn’t quite meet your eyes. Already talk two ways. Need another? 

You’re saying we can already have secret conversations in our head.

Feitan gave you a small smile and thought, Should say out loud I want to fuck you, instead?

No! Absolutely not! Do not say that. Phinks will never let up if you do. You jerked and covered his mouth even though he hadn't said anything aloud. And you took great joy in the moment of light in his eyes. 

But that light faded and he swallowed as you pulled your hand away. 

"The mind-speak is weird," Shalnark said, hanging over you and wrapping his arms around your neck from behind, "but I see the appeal."

Both you and Shalnark turned to Fei to see his reaction to Shalnark on top of you, but he had none because he wasn't watching at all. He was so engrossed with whatever was written in the book, he'd entirely lost all sense of his surroundings.

And that was nothing like you'd ever known him to be. His eyes were wide as he turned to the next page. The bond crackled like Feitan was about to shatter. 

He gripped a set of pages hard and tore. 

Everything was silent and still for a few unearthly moments, like the forest life had stalled and the wind second-guessed its course. The world itself had paused. 

And then the book screamed – a chilling sound more like a banshee than a human.

The group froze, stupefied by the wailing of the sentient book. It screamed like Fei severed its limbs. 

Warmth trickled from your ears and nose and when you touched your face, blood came back. 

Feitan gripped the torn pages in his palm and ignored the group's pleas to return as he stalked towards the small fire Phinks had made. Somehow, Mai and Phinks appeared unaffected by the morose wailings of the demon book. Feitan pushed Phinks aside and heaved the pages into the fire. Shiny, onyx smoke burned high into the sky as the pages crumbled. 

"Why did you do that?" Blair yelled, her hands covering her ears as the ringing screams of the book echoed through the night. 

Feitan's form was dark as the fire lit him from behind. But the fury burning below the surface wasn't dulled by the darkness. "I will not."

"Will not what?" you yelled as you clamored for the book to slam it shut. "What could it possibly have said?" 

The wind picked up, adding to the cacophony of echoed screams. Hair whipped in faces, glasses dislodged, and unsecured items flew, barreling towards the fire. The wind heaved everything in its grasp towards the flames. You, along with the group, forgot Feitan's ire to watch personal items smolder to ash in the fire now growing from the unconventional kindling. 

You dove for the book but an unseen force pushed you back on your ass. Parchment popped into existence before your eyes and it sailed down into the book and reattached. The moment the pages sutured themselves, the wind and screaming and bleeding stopped, leaving nothing but silence in its wake. 

The night turned cold. 

"That wind was crazy," Phinks said. "Too bad about all your shit."

You chased Feitan into the house, wiping the blood off your face along the way. He hadn't said a word but he hadn't stopped you from coming. If he'd wanted you gone, he could disappear easily. 

"What the hell could it have said to warrant that response?" you said, waving the general direction of the backyard. "If it's something we can use against TPI, we need to know."

Feitan stopped in a side room and spun on you. You nearly collided with him, but he caught your hip to hold you in place. His glare would have deterred anyone else. You just fell in closer and dragged your hands down his chest. He looked like he was about to combust. 

"Will not lose you," Feitan said, gripping your hip so hard you squirmed. "Will not cross that line."

"We're already doing a Blood Bind,” you said. “What could possibly be worse than that?" 

Phinks and Mai barreled into the room. Another you'd never seen before with high ceilings and an overly ornate fireplace. You weren't even sure half the fireplaces in the house were operable.

"The fuck was that?" Phinks said. "Since when do you hide critical information?"

"Not critical," Feitan said, looking around you at Phinks. "So drop it."

"I will not," you said incredulously, especially since he said it like an owner would say to a dog holding a dead animal in its mouth. “Something’s wrong and I’m going to help.”

"Seems like it is critical with how you reacted," Mai said. "You just don't like it."

"So?" Fei said as if it was a suitable response. "Nothing to do with you."

You peeked over your shoulder at Mai. They gave you a small shrug like it was your choice how to proceed. If there was something useful in what Feitan had read, and he was holding the information hostage, you’d need to provide an excellent reason to give it up. He needed the truth earlier than you’d ever hoped to give it.

“Actually,” you said, gently. “It does involve Mai and I.” 

“What’s that mean?” Feitan blinked more than normal like the words didn’t compute. 

“Fei,” you said, resting your forehead against his and breathing in the soothing smell of him and enjoying the warm comfort you felt in his arms while you still could. “If there’s something we can use in that book, you need to tell us now because Mai and I are leaving.” 

Feitan was a master of harnessing stillness, but there had never been another moment in the time you’d known him he’d been so motionless. So you pulled back when you felt him retreat into himself, not wanting to overwhelm him. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Phinks said to Mai, jumping into the conversation. And you were glad he gave Feitan the leave to sit in his own disbelief. But now you were going to have two dangerous men trying to stop you from doing the only thing you could do to help. 

“I won’t let her go alone,” Mai said like it was obvious and they didn’t care whether Phinks agreed. “If she’s taking this organization down from the inside, I’m going with her, no matter the cost.” 

Phinks laughed humorlessly and covered his face as he paced the room like he couldn’t think if he stood still.

“And you just didn’t bother tellin’ us?” Phinks said, pressing his palms into his eyes and rubbing. “Just forgot during your hours of planning?” 

“You would have tried to stop us,” Mai said with no remorse. It was nothing like how you were speaking to Fei, trying to appease him. Mai was owning their actions and refused to back down. Maybe that was the preferable approach. “We’re leaving soon and we figured it was best if you didn’t know until it was time.”    

“Then what was the point of all that ‘I can handle myself’ shit if you weren’t gonna trust me to trust you?” Phinks said, his arms flailing as his voice strained. “Course I’ll let you go. I wantcha to.”  

Mai was stunned silent for a moment and then said, “Then we’re all on board.” 

“No. Too dangerous,” Feitan said softly, but the tone shocked like electricity. “Didn’t agree.”

“You don’t have to agree,” you said. And he didn’t. Short of locking you in the basement, there was little he could do to stop you. And you looked away when Fei’s eyes flicked to yours like he’d heard that very suggestion in your head and was considering it. "I've decided I'm doing this. It's too late to back out now."

That clearly wasn't a good enough answer for Feitan. He was working through something in his head, his eyes flicking between yours as he considered. His mouth opened and closed a dozen times before he finally spoke with a look of disgust that made you step back. 

“Why?” Feitan said as if already knew the answer and it was the last one he wanted. "Getting back at me?" Feitan looked impatient for an answer and clarified when you looked at him oddly. "For leaving you … in the beginning."

"No," you said. How had he ever come to such a conclusion? 

"Showing me what it is like?" His wide eyes projected how he shattered but the venom in his voice covered it well. "Make me hurt like I hurt you."

"Of course not," you said, grabbing for his hands that sat in tight fists as his side. "I'm not doing this to hurt you."

"But you are," Feitan whispered, "hurting me."

"I don't know what else to do," you said. “We’ve made so little ground against them. I want to do this. I know I can do this. Afterwards we’ll be together again.” 

Even if the odds were against you, you needed to try. You needed to be like Mai – be willing to die for something more. There was no doubt Feitan would die for the Troupe or die for you, so he needed to know you felt the same. 

"Don't leave–" Feitan pleaded, the anger dissipating into an acute terror that didn't feel right for the circumstances.

“This isn’t a debate,” you said. “I’ve decided.” 

“No, you did not.” Feitan swallowed and dropped his voice even though Mai and Phinks had the decency to drift away to the other side of the room. “We did not decide.” 

“Why are you so opposed to this?” you said. “You do reckless things all the time. I do reckless things all the time. What is the real problem?” 

Feitan took a step back like you’d slapped him. For once, you needed him to say what he meant; his words needed to match his thoughts. 

“You already know,” Feitan said, imploring you to save him from having to say it. 

“Fei–” 

He whispered something in his first language. Something you’d heard him say in a distant memory. That day when you thought you would lose him as Hell rained down and nearly took him – he spoke to you, implored you to understand his words as you healed him from the brink of death. Just after he’d kissed you for the first time, he'd murmured something sweet and captivating in that language. It was something kind and woeful and loving. 

You would never forget the sound of those words as long as you lived - and you didn’t then as he said them once more. 

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you breathed, resting your hand on his neck. 

Feitan made an uneasy sound as he shifted. 

"I love–" Feitan whispered with the ceaseless depth of your shared galaxy reigniting in his eyes. "I love you." It was so strained, you could barely hear him, but you could feel the hurt in those three words so deeply in your core, it rattled the very foundations of the bond. And what hurt above all else is that it sounded like an accusation. "Don't leave."

That is what he’d told you that day, when he was certain he’d never have another chance. He’d taken his last moments of consciousness to tell you he loved you, even though you couldn’t understand.

"I love you too," you whispered. It was something too personal for Phinks and Mai to hear, but it needed to be said if Feitan was being so transparent. "I love you so much it hurts. Which is why I will do anything to protect you. Even this. Especially this."

"My job," Feitan said, "to protect you." He stood stiffly like he didn’t know how the conversation was meant to go now that he’d said what he’d put off vocalizing for weeks. The world hadn’t ended by him saying it. Or maybe it had, since you were going to leave anyway. 

All you could do was shake your head. Clearly he’d forgotten everything you’d done since you’d met him. 

“She held your guts in her hands so I think this is a two-way street,” Phinks said, deciding now was the right time to re-join the conversation. “Let ‘em go. We’d go if it was the other way around and they'd support us.” 

“Not the same,” Feitan said, now directing his glass-cutting glare towards both Mai and Phinks, who you were glad to see didn’t back down. 

About to say more, you were interrupted before you could even begin. 

“I have put up with your shit for weeks on her behalf and I’m done,” Mai snapped, stepping back into the ring. And once again, you were ganging up on Fei, like you and Phinks had done the night you’d all met. But this wasn't fun banter and a respite from the pain. This was the culmination of the pain. “We’re doing this whether you like it or not. And if we die over something you could have prevented by telling us what’s in that book, that’s on you.” 

“To be clear,” you said because Fei’s jaw was so tight you weren’t sure who specifically in the group he wanted to lunge at, “we have no intention of dying.”

“But we might if your own soulmate decides he’s too much of a coward to hand over every resource he can,” Mai said to him directly over your shoulder. Feitan’s lip twitched and eyes squinted at being referred to that way to his face. “If he doesn’t trust you, then he’s handing down a death sentence."

"C'mon," Phinks said. "Don't scare the guy."

"Him being scared of the truth isn't our problem," Mai said, crossing their arms and resting back on their hip. "But hiding information is. So, what does that book say, Feitan?"

Feitan simply shook his head and said his final “no." 

Then he disappeared. 

Chapter Text

Feitan was absent for a day. And then two. Then three. Whatever had been in that book was enough for him to snap. He disappeared without a trace, leaving you with nothing but a crater in your chest where the bond strained so heavily, part of you wondered if he'd left the country. 

On the first day, you only worried in passing. He'd done this before and come back. You spent the day reading through the file Anaia’s boss had given you, which she provided when she returned from the safe house. It was a file of everything TPI had on you, and from the looks of it, some of it was Marco provided. You also tried reading parts of the infernal book with Anaia, and you were frustrated to find that whatever translating Feitan had done had reverted when he tried to burn the pages. You didn't try reaching him in your head, because you knew he wouldn't answer. 

You were sad, but not angry. 

On day two, you were dizzy and his bed was cold without him. The pitying look of the Spiders grated on your nerves. Some engaged, like Uvo and Phinks and Shalnark, who seemed more pensive than usual. But most gave you distance. Which made sense. They didn't really know you.

You wondered if Chrollo was displeased, because planning didn't stop with Feitan gone. 

You were angry and confused. 

Feitan wasn't going to run again. But he had and you'd let him off too easily last time. If he was going to shut you out, he needed to understand the repercussions. You called for him over the bond now and got nothing but unending silence. One mind in your head was wrong and unnerving. He was meant to be there. 

By the third day, a violent nausea had kicked in and you spent most of the day in bed. Originally you thought it must be a placebo effect – it was so much worse than what you'd experienced the last time he was away – but the more debilitating it became, the more you accepted that this was well and truly a wall you couldn't cross without something, anything to help. If you were going to be away from Fei for days or weeks at a time, this kind of reaction wouldn't do. TPI would never allow you to return if your only use to them was voided by your own unencumbered illness. 

It was another unintentional side effect to the Blood Bind. This time you weren't an empty shell, you were a violently ill woman physically overwhelmed with the pressure of absence to the point you couldn't exist peacefully. 

Mai and Anaia sat beside your bed in your room, the one you'd had upon arrival. It felt too much like a breach of trust to allow anyone into Fei's room without permission. 

"This is going to be a larger problem than anticipated," Anaia said, tapping her pen against the notepad filled with dozens of pages of notes from the last few days. "Some uneasiness from absence is expected and every soulmate pair experiences it, but I've never seen a reaction this severe." Which you really enjoyed hearing – very much. "We don't know how debilitating the sickness will get until it stagnates – if it even stagnates at all before killing you."

"No dying," Phinks called from the table. "I'm in charge of your safety while Feitan's gone and I'm not giving ya back dead."

You didn't bother reminding him there would be no Feitan to give you back to if you died. 

Shalnark sat pleasantly, looking out the window like he was more content to think than listen to the conversation.

"Feitan might just die before he gets back then because he's probably experiencing this too," you said. "I need something that will curb these side effects. But I don't know where or what that would be."

"I'll keep looking," Anaia said, standing and adjusting her outfit. "But maybe you should go after Feitan," she said to Phinks. "We only have a few days until the rally in the Gordeau Desert and she can't go in this condition."

“Yeah, maybe,” Phinks said. 

"And we need to know what's in the book," Mai said, using the bed to rock their chair back and forth on its hind legs. "It's probably something terrible, but we're almost out of time and we can't just wait around anymore."

"You're correct," Anaia said, and you were pleased to hear they were getting along well enough. “I’d rather not delay, but if we can’t get you two in safely and ensure you don’t die from it in the process, we won’t have another choice but to wait.”

You wanted to be stubborn, complain, insist you could go. But that would have been a lie. You could barely see straight when you sat up. The room wobbled and people doubled, which only made the nausea worse. Thinking too much was also off the table, so you scooted back down into the bed that didn’t feel as great as it had when you first arrived, and wrapped yourself in blankets. Anaia smacked your hand away as you tried to cover your head. Chills and heat alternated in your body that in a few minutes you’d want to throw the covers off anyway.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor? You’re burning up,” Anaia said. “You’re already pushing it with a light blanket. Remove the heavy ones.” You grumbled, but acquiesced. “I’ll bring you more water and something to eat.”

It was a kind thought, but there was little that a drink and a meal could do for you. 

By the time the group was shuffling, preparing to leave, Shalnark finally spoke. 

“I wonder…” he trailed off with a pensive look out into the garden. The group paused to listen. There was something commanding in the kindly way Shalnark spoke that often held more venom than his tone expressed. “If there actually is a way to reverse the Blood Bind and Feitan found it in that book…” You groaned and covered your head with the light blanket Anaia approved. “That would allow you to enter relatively unscathed. You’d still be unwell over time – which was already expected – but not this ill.” Shalnark tapped the mug he clutched against the table as he considered his next words. “TPI already knows you found your soulmate, but as far as we’re aware, they know nothing about the Phantom Troupe or the Blood Bind. If they’re attempting to reverse-engineer soulmate bonds, you would make an excellent test subject because of how far you’re pushing its limits.” You were sure Feitan would have growled if he’d been there. “It’s what I would do if I were them and you showed up in your current state.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Anaia said. “The researchers could raffle you off to the highest bidder for the opportunity to experiment on you.” 

“Don’t make me more sick than I already am,” you groaned. The implications of what she said weren't quite computing in your fever-addled brain, but the thought of being a test subject was enough to shoot terror down your spine. 

“Even though they need a doctor?” Mai said, appalled.

“If The Thirteen decides she is more useful as a guinea pig, then yes, I believe so,” Anaia said. 

“You’re one of those Thirteen freaks,” Phinks said. “Why would you let that happen? If you’re gonna play those games, more of us need to go.” 

“You’re not built for infiltration,” Mai said, patting Phink’s cheek. 

He grumbled something about “sending others then.” 

“I am one voice,” Anaia said, begrudgingly, but with less ire than she had for them before. You liked to think her opinion of the Spiders was changing the more time she spent with them. “It will take time to convince the others once we’re there that she’s more valuable as a doctor since she’s the perfect test subject.” Anaia paused and there was something cold about her silence. “I can’t guarantee her safety until the Thirteen vote. Unless any of you have another idea.” 

“I’ve gotta great idea,” Phinks said. “Massacre ‘em.” 

Anaia made a snotty, displeased sound. “If it were that easy, I would have done it already. I tried, remember? I’m not sure you’d succeed where I failed.” 

You wanted to be annoyed at her, but it was impossible. Anaia had been forced to include more people than she ever intended to. The gag order on her job was still in place, and you had no intention of telling the others who she really was. It was possible Shalnark already knew and hadn’t bothered sharing. 

“Your range was too wide,” Shalnark said. “And there was no control in the blast zones. There’s a dozen things you could have done more effectively.” 

Anaia didn’t seem to like the implication she wasn’t perfect at everything that had ever existed. Just like how she wouldn’t apologize for holding you hostage the other day. 

“I’ll keep looking, but please do not be surprised if I don’t find a solution in a few days,” Anaia said. 

“A Feitan beacon?” Anaia said, tapping a fork against the plate of food she’d shoved in your face and you’d subsequently refused to eat – which she was now eating with great enjoyment. “You’re really going after him in your current state. Your fever’s making you stupid.” 

You were lucid enough to appreciate the compliment. 

“I haven’t heard from him in days,” you said, covering your nose with your sheets because the smell of food stung your sour stomach. “And he’s not answering when I try to talk to him in my head.” You poked your temple to enunciate and it wobbled the room. “I have a built-in Feitan beacon. He’s probably just as sick as me and doesn’t have you and the others to take care of him.” 

“Then bring Shalnark, Phinks, and your demon friend,” Anaia said. “Not to be confused with your demon soulmate.” Your confusion must have shown because she said like it was obvious, “Phinks to smoke him out, Mai to incapacitate anyone who’s seen you together, and Shalnark to record so I can watch afterwards.”   

“I’m surprised you’re not going,” you said.

“Feitan likely wants me dead,” she said, stabbing a piece of cake you suspected she’d always intended for herself. Only a monster would feed cake to a violently ill person. “Rightfully so, of course. But I don’t want to give him any opportunity to stab me in the back beyond what is already available to him.” She bit on her fork contemplatively. “I mean that both literally and figuratively. Your man is quite fond of knives.” 

“Your brother,” you said, knowing it would peeve her, as was your God-given right as her sister. And all it did was get the fork thrown at your head.

“Yes, don’t remind me,” Anaia said. “You’re mongrels, both of you.” 

“And you’re a prissy bit–” 

But Anaia was already throwing any airborne-able items in your direction and laughing. 

“I’m an effective bitch who’s going to keep you alive, you love-sick wretch,” Anaia said. “Besides, how are you going to deal with that atrocious book on your own?” Anaia shivered like she remembered the desolate room within the book. “I never want to be kidnapped by it again.” 

Before you could rehash the depth of your hatred for the infernal book, Shalnark popped his head in the room.

“I heard we’re finding the escapee,” he said.

“How the hell did you hear that?” You groaned. “Don’t tell me the room is bugged.” 

Shalnark shrugged. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, as if that answered either question. 

“I made this ages ago,” Shalnark said, dropping an annotated map in front of you. “It’s a list of the twenty-seven most likely places Feitan escaped to,” Shalnark said. 

It peeved you that he’d never given you this list before today. Apparently he hadn't cared enough. 

The twenty-seven markings were splattered all over the map, including other countries both accessible and not. 

“This is the entire world,” you said, holding the map up close to examine the depth of your search radius. It wasn’t even a radius, it was nearly thirty shots in the dark that would take weeks to scour appropriately. And the thought of travelling thousands of miles with how ill you’d become made you want to die instead. 

“You asked and I provided,” Shalnark said. “Take it or don’t, but this is what I can offer.” 

"Can you track his phone?" you said weakly. "At least it would give us an idea of what area he's in."

"Sure I can," Shalnark said like it was easy and obvious. 

"Then will you please do it?"

"Nope," Shalnark said. "His phone's been off for days."

“Fine. Are you sure this is everywhere?” you said, motioning to the map. Not that you distrusted Shalnark, but rather it felt like options were missing. You pointed at an empty location on the other side of the country. The only marker without an associated name – one that had been drawn on in opposition to the printed markers. “What’s this?” 

Shalnark pursed his lips like he didn’t want to say. 

“Meteor City?” you said cautiously, since you hadn’t seen the city’s name anywhere else on the map. And it was feasible Feitan would go home – if he classified Meteor City as his home.

Shalnark blinked. “I guess he told you. Yes, it’s Meteor City.” He tugged the map back like you’d done something wrong. “I shouldn’t have given this to you.”

“Don’t take it back now,” you said, but there was no fight in you to try and wrestle it from him. “I just need to figure out which direction hurts the least and go from there." And hope he wasn't on the other side of the world. "I don’t know how much longer I can take being sick and getting worse every day.” 

And as if on queue, your stomach turned. With your fever rising daily and your muscles aching so badly you could barely move, you probably only had a few days left before you withered into something entirely immobile. Feitan was likely experiencing it too, which would normally make him easier to find because he couldn’t move, but it was moot when you couldn’t either. 

“You’re his soulmate,” Shalnark said, shrugging. “Figure it out.” 

“You are so unhelpful sometimes,” you mumbled. 

“I’m very helpful when I want to be,” Shalnark said. “I don’t have leave to go with you, but Phinks does. I’m needed here, so giving you this map is the best I can do.” 

“Doesn’t Feitan also have a job?” you said with more ire than you meant, but you rationed it away with the acceptance that you were ill and had no filter, and the question burgeoned from real concern. What would happen to Feitan if he deserted, even only temporarily, when Chrollo had called them all together?

And it irked you to no end that Feitan had derailed your progress so successfully. Didn't he know you were doing this all for him?

“According to Chrollo,” Shalnark said, “he’s doing it now. I offered to drag him back and Chrollo said it wasn't necessary since he'd justified his absence."  

So in the time between Feitan fleeing the room and disappearing, he'd cleared his departure with Chrollo. At least you knew now your soulmate wasn't going to die for desertion and take you along with him. It was a strange feeling knowing that if you died, you'd drag Feitan to Hell with you. He likely felt the same and had acted accordingly. 

“Good because I don’t feel like dying today,” you said. 

“Then I’d figure out how to find him.” Shalnark patted your head in an oh, so condescending manner and tossed the map on your bed. “Good luck!"

Blair knocked at your door as you were preparing to leave. You'd packed extra clothes and everything you'd need overnight in case the search went long. Just that alone had exhausted you, so you laid sweating in your bed with your hands over your eyes as you called for Blair to come in. 

She crept in sheepishly, like she thought she was interrupting. 

"I brought you some food that shouldn't make you worse while you're gone," Blair said. She placed a large bag on your bedside and opened it to show you the contents. Thermoses of soups that were warm to the touch, a dozen varieties of crackers and breads, and other light snacks you could safely consume. She also wiggled a thermometer and gave you a pointed look telling you to continue checking your temperature.

"Thank you," you said, struck by her overwhelming kindness, "but you didn't have to do this." It felt like too much to accept, even though you'd barely earned your keep with the Spiders when they housed and protected you, this felt so much more difficult to allow. 

"No, I didn't," she said, but not in a haughty way, "I wanted to." She fumbled with a bag at her side and pulled the infernal book free. So there was another reason for her visit. "I really hate this book." She clutched it like she meant to throw it or burn it like Feitan had. "It whispers to me." You gaped, because you hadn't known the book had been speaking to others without your knowledge. Not that you were the books keeper. "And Chrollo too. It wants us next.” 

“Are you…”

“He hasn’t asked yet,” Blair said. “I don’t think I have it in me to decline if Chrollo wants it.” Her gaze flicked up to yours. “Especially if it works in the end for you and Feitan.” 

You just nodded lamely from where you’d shoved your head in the pillow, because who were you to tell the leader of the Phantom Troupe they couldn’t do a Blood Bind? But then you realized it was likely they couldn’t do the ritual.

“Do you meet all the qualifications?” you said, warily, trying not to be too vulgar and pry needlessly. 

“The book is trying to bargain,” Blair said with a shudder. “It’s offering us work-arounds for the now impossible criteria. Which makes me think there is something in either Chrollo or I that it wants desperately.”

And you couldn’t help but think that Blair knew exactly what it wanted and wasn’t willing to say. If they were willing to pay the price, and the book allowed it, then why tell the book it was wrong? 

“There’s one other thing before I get out of your way,” Blair said, and you waited for the uncomfortable question you’d tried avoiding for days: what were you doing with Anaia? But shockingly, that wasn’t what she said at all. “The book was humoring me, just a bit.” Blair scowled like it was an offense to academia itself for the text to dictate to the translator. “Probably to soften me up to the Blood Bind. On top of the aspects I already know of Feitan’s first language, I was able to decipher the general idea of this ritual.” She paused and considered her next words. “This is strictly conjecture based on limited information, but I believe the core of the ritual, and why Feitan refused and tried to destroy the text, is that it–” Blair cleared her throat like she was waiting for you to stop her. But you did not. “–It’s a way, or rather, I’d assume the only way, to break a soul bond.” 

“And the book happened to have that in his language specifically.” Your voice was airy and you felt like you were going to be sick for the dozenth time that day. “Like it was waiting for him.” 

“I understand you’re attempting infiltration and that your mark is causing delay,” Blair looked towards your arms wrapped in your blanket. “It’s a drastic measure that I’m not sure can be undone, but it is an option nonetheless and I thought you ought to know.” 

Feitan would never agree to something so heinous, and you weren’t certain you would either. 

Turned out it was more difficult to scour the entire world for a single human than it was in a single town under duress with your wits about you. So you gave up most of the fight after hours in the car, letting Phinks (and Mai, who had opinions on this for some reason) lead the search. The best you had done was guide the drive an hour each direction and figure out which hurt the least, but that was difficult to gauge when you could barely see straight and your entire body was burning up. And you suspected Phinks was only okay with the detours because he liked driving his sports cars. 

So you were displeased when the book had whispered in your head that you were heading the correct direction. But you refused to give it any credit. Apparently distance didn't change the book's access to your brain. 

“Shoulda let us go without you,” Phinks said, adjusting the rearview mirror to see you curled up on your side in the back seat, wrapped in a very not Anaia approved blanket. “You look like you’re gonna die.” 

“But her Feitan beacon,” Mai said, and you respected their enthusiasm, but now disagreed. 

“Hasn’t done shit,” you said, covering your eyes with the blanket. Even though the windows were tinted, it was still too bright. 

It was long past the time where you would let Feitan run with little recourse. Now he would deal with the full extent of your wrath. And it was getting worse every moment in the moving vehicle making you feel worse. 

"Time matters here,” Mai said. “If we find him ten hours away, that’s twenty hours until we get him back to her if he agrees to come at all. That’s a whole day for their conditions to worsen.” 

"And I'm worried Feitan's worse off than me," you said as a kind dismissal of Phinks' thought to keep you home since it was born from concern. "I've been resting for days and Fei's been working. If he's done anything too strenuous, I can't imagine he's doing well." 

You could barely keep your eyes open. You slept for what felt like no time at all and you were jostled awake by Phinks, who Mai implored to be gentle. 

Ready to cocoon yourself back in your blanket, you tugged it up to your lips until you realized you didn’t feel anywhere near as horrid as you had. Still ill, but you guessed you could sit up for a while. And not only that, the feeling of him was closer; the bond wasn’t thrashing and something content hummed in your chest like the inconsolable beast of a soul bond was more appeased by the minute. 

"We need your direction help. There's a few different routes we can take." Mai tossed you a bottle of water and it almost hit you in the face. It got your shoulder and landed on your blanket. You kicked Mai’s seat as a thank you and drank it in one go to soothe the ashy ache in your throat. 

You fumbled for Shalnark’s map that had been abandoned somewhere when you’d tried to sleep. Jostling your arm under Mai’s seat, you found it ripped and crumpled. After figuring out where you currently were, you frowned at the map. There weren’t any more ‘where Feitan could run’ points for hundreds of miles. But the bond was too even for him to be that far away. 

Scanning the map with your finger since your vision hadn’t fully returned and parts of the colored lines and innumerable landmarks were wobbly, you looked closely to keep everything straight. 

“None of these spots are right,” you said, watching Mai and Phinks examine you in the rearview mirror. Mai noticed too and shoved Phinks’ face back in the direction of the road since he clearly forgot he was driving at least thirty over the speed limit. “It's something much closer. The bond is too calm.” 

But where? You skimmed over the map until you landed on a town you'd hoped to never set foot in again. 

“So we now have zero leads,” Mai said.

“I didn’t say that,” you said, waving a finger at Mai to ‘hold on’. “I think –” You choked on your own breath. “Oh my God,” you hissed. “That fucking idiot. I know exactly where he is.” 

“I like what you’re saying so far,” Phinks said. “Keep insultin’ him.” 

“I can’t believe he was stupid enough to go there.” You laughed at his absolute idiocy while ignoring Phinks’ goading. What could Fei possibly have wanted? There should be nothing worthwhile left if TPI was intelligent – which unfortunately, they seemed to be. 

From what you could see out the tinted windows, the warehouse was just as dilapidated as the day you'd found it the first time. It was audacious for Phinks to drive right up to the entrance with his sports car. The sun was setting and barely any street lamps worked, and the ones that did only flickered occasionally, but it still felt too obvious. 

Humming, you considered whether this awful town was the right place. The bond still felt distant, too distant for Fei to be in this small town. But being so ill, you started questioning the efficacy of the bond at the moment. Was it better because he was closer or better because he was here?

You moved to get out of the car and Mai grabbed your hand. 

"Don't," they said in low tones until Phinks' door shut. "I know you want to find Feitan, but let him check. You and I have no reason to be here and if we want TPI to believe us when we show up, we can't be seen skulking around here like petty criminals."

"We are petty criminals," you said, wrapping the blanket around your head like a poncho. 

"I don't think a museum heist and your triple murder is petty criminal behavior," Mai said.

Mai really didn’t need to bring that up, but they had, and they were right. So you both sat quietly in the car while Phinks did whatever Phinks did. 

You watched the clock tick by ten minutes, then fifteen, and then twenty. The sun had set entirely and the street was nearly pitch black. 

Somebody knocked on the passenger side window and you jumped. You smothered your scream with your hands. Mai looked unnerved and turned to hold their finger to their mouth like you were the one that needed to be silenced. Which apparently you were since you’d screamed. 

Whoever was knocking didn’t let up and they were yelling to get out of the car. 

The glove compartment had a litany of weapons – guns, bullets, knives, little tiny bombs you hoped were of the smoke variety – all things that shouldn’t be in a glove compartment. Mai reached for a miniature crowbar and handed you a knife over the back of the seat. 

It was unlikely the person now tugging on the handles of the car was anyone you’d want to come in contact with. And it was also possible it was somebody from exactly the organization you hoped wouldn’t find you here. But Phinks just had to go use his fucking sports cars for everything. 

“Do we open it?” Mai mouthed so quietly, you almost couldn’t hear them.

You shook your head and it did nothing but make you dizzy. “We’ll be seen on the security cameras. I know they exist because Shalnark used them last time.”

“There’s cloud cover and almost no moon,” Mai countered.  

A body thudded against the glass and the door opened.

Both yourself and Mai screamed now, but your momentary terror was soothed by Phinks leaning over the passenger door with a man hanging limp in his hands. 

“Here to rescue you from this guy screamin' about not having a visible permit to enter TPI owned property or some shit,” Phinks said, trying to kiss Mai who was grumbling about being able to handle themselves and scooting back farther into the car to avoid possible detection from security cameras. They still clutched their crowbar and Phinks seemed to very much enjoy that. 

“We didn’t want to get out and be seen,” Mai said. 

“Well, gimme a minute to tie this guy up and drop ‘em in the trunk,” Phinks said, jostling the man. Phinks then did exactly that, and had the supplies to restrain a man already too. Apparently every hidden location in the car was overrun with criminal things. 

Phinks slammed the door and drove without consulting you and Mai. And he continued checking his mirrors to ensure you weren't being followed. The people of the town seemed content with your leaving. 

“Fei’s not there,” Phinks said. “And none of the TPI medical crap is either. I went downstairs and everything was cleaned out. I don’t know if Fei did that or if TPI did. But either way, there’s nothing left.” 

"I don't think he's in this town at all," you said, dismayed that your only idea had been a dud. "It still feels like he's a bit far away."

It would be a shame to keep driving aimlessly. Wasting the little time you have left. 

You jerked in surprise, immediately thinking it must be Fei until you soured at the realization it was the book. 

I don’t need your 'help,' you thought, looking out the windows as your sickness continued to ebb. Better then worse, better then worse.

Oh, but you do, the book crooned and you wished more than anything it had burned when Feitan tried. 

What I do want to know is how you kidnapped us.

How? It drawled like you were asking the stupidest question ever posed. I am a part of you. I simply locked you in your own, empty head. 

“You’re hilarious,” you grumbled, wrapping yourself tighter in the blanket. 

“I know!” Phinks said, slamming a hand on the wheel, “and nobody thinks so but me!” 

If you aren’t going to help, get out of my head. You ignored whatever conversation Phinks and Mai were having, even though Phinks looked back at you for support. 

I have a question, the book mused. Then maybe I will assist. 

Your eyelids fluttered as you fought against rolling your eyes. 

What is your question? 

The book was quiet for so long, you thought it had disappeared. But then it spoke. 

I’ve been curious, the book said like students gossiping in the school yard. What would you give to speak with your mother again? 

“My what?” You jerked so hard the seatbelt skimmed against your neck and scratched at your skin. 

Mai and Phinks looked back at you like you were about to die. 

“The book,” you said. “It said–” 

Hello? you probed, the desperation in your voice apparent even in your mind. Please, tell me how. Tell me how!

But there was nothing. The book had again gone silent, letting you simmer in thoughts of what it meant when it said 'speaking with your mother.' It could be any number of things and you settled on believing it would be nothing more than a visage. Unless the book saw fit to raise your mother from the dead. 

Your phone buzzed and you rushed to see who had reached out. It could be him, you hoped it was him. Perhaps the sickness defrayed the connection, making it impossible to speak mind to mind. What if he'd been begging for help for days and you'd done nothing but lay about like a useless royal being tended to. 

But it wasn't Fei.

It was a note from Shalnark: His phone's back on. He wants to be found. 

Shalnark sent the location of the last pinged cell tower. 

You froze.

It was right near your house. 

He was at the fucking house. 

“I know where he is,” you said, voice gravelly like the conversation with the book had taken everything out of you. “I’m positive he’s there.”

It might have been your desperation or the sliver of hope that this time he would be where you hoped to find him.  

“You sure? You were wrong last time,” Phinks said and you heard the ‘oof’ he made when Mai swatted at him. “What? I’m just sayin’.” 

The person in the trunk must have woken too. Strangled cries echoed from the back along with the thudding of someone trying to escape. 

“I’m sure,” you said. “His phone's back. Shalnark traced him." You read his note again, just to make sure you weren't incorrect. "And we can even bring Fei a gift.” 

By the time the car pulled up to your old house, the bond was practically purring. And thoughts of your mother were pushed back until you had time to process.

You didn’t wait for Phinks and Mai who yelled after you. Why would you give a shit that Phinks wanted to clear the property? You stumbled, vision uneven as you trampled across the now overgrown grass. The walk felt longer than it ever had and you laughed humorlessly at being the sick one getting hauled to your guest house. Now you knew what the patients experienced and you felt a modicum of guilt for how detached you had been about their care. 

You pushed the door with your foot. Unlocked. You couldn’t bother remembering if you’d locked it before you left last time. 

Buzzing lights illuminated and you would have fallen if the wall hadn’t caught you. 

Blood pooled across the floor like puddles after a rainstorm. Five men and women lay lifeless on the floor. Bodily fluids had soaked their clothes until the colors were unrecognizable, just dark blobs of fabric. Wood met skin as you gripped the door frame for support.  

But you didn’t care about the people you didn't know on the floor, you needed to find–

He lay in the middle of the bed, feet dangling off the side like he hadn’t had the energy to lift them. He’d simply passed out where he was. 

You didn’t move as you waited for his chest to rise with breath. And after an excruciating few moments, it did, just a little. So you threw yourself at him, smothering him with your embrace. 

Feitan huffed and he wrapped a weak arm around your waist. 

“Won’t even let me run from you,” he said through a strangled breath. “Evil woman.” He sounded pleased, and you could just feel the rise of his small smile from the crook of his neck. “Missed you.”

Chapter Text

“Not asking about bodies?” Feitan shifted uncomfortably on the bed as you stood in a pool of chilled blood after shoving him painkillers from the back of a cabinet and water from what was left in the taps because he looked like death. But he wasn’t dying; you would have known if he was about to slip to the other side. Perhaps your face heralded death because Feitan looked – in one of the few moments you’d ever gotten to see it – terrified. With wide eyes, pale skin, and a tightness in his lips. He was scared of you. Of what you’d say and what you’d do. His terror rang in the bond, sending you shocks of adrenaline into your veins, making you want to run just like him. 

“How many times?” you whispered. 

“How many what?” Feitan said in a tone that matched your own. He fiddled with his shirt as his stare shifted to something akin to angry and confused and very aware he was about to hear everything wrong with him from your lips.  

“I have let you run,” you said, arms uncomfortably stiff at your sides, “so many times now. And I’ve never made an issue of it because I knew you needed the time to think and process and talking to me in the beginning wasn’t going to help.” You swallowed and found it difficult to look him in the eye when he stared at you like he wanted to eat you – in a more cannibalistic than sexy way. “How many more times are you going to run? Just every time something gets a little difficult with us?” 

Feitan didn’t answer.

“So, always?” 

“No,” he said. “Wanted to come back but… work.” He ended lamely and you were distinctly unimpressed.

“So that’s why your phone was off for days?” you said. “That’s why you weren’t responding to me when I was reaching out over the bond? Work for the past four days straight? Not a single moment you weren’t working?”

“Got sick,” Feitan said and looked away with a scowl. It felt more like a scowl at the repulsive idea of being sick than something directed at you. 

“From disappearing on me!” you said, not feeling so bad about his current state anymore. Even if he hadn’t known how horrific a sickness the separation would cause, he still knew it would be difficult. 

“How will you leave if we get this sick?” Feitan said, looking down at the bodies below like they were an interesting décor piece. They hadn’t been dead all that long, so the smell of decay hadn’t yet crept into their bones. But the tangy, metallic scent of blood brought back too many memories for you to focus on it. You would break if you thought too hard about them. 

“I don’t know yet,” you said. “And wanting to come back isn’t not leaving in the first place. What if I upset you like the other day or do something you don’t like? What if you decide one day you’re over it or it’s too much and just never come back? How do I have hard conversations with you if you keep running from me?”

 “Would have said something I would regret,” Feitan said carefully, like you were going to start yelling and he wouldn't be able to take it. 

“Then tell me you need a minute and we can pause and talk later,” you said. “Let me work on this with you instead of just running away.” 

“Can do that?” Feitan said, like this really was a revelation to him. Which on some level you appreciated because he was truly considering it. He wasn’t rejecting it outright; he was compromising. 

“Of course we can do that!” you said, more exasperatedly than you’d intended. The cooled blood was now sloshing around your feet as you paced. Shaking and trying to contain your voice, you turned away for a moment to cover your eyes. You almost tripped over a body and stepped on fingers instead. 

“If you are mad,” Feitan said cautiously, “why would you want to see me?” 

“Because I love you and I want this to work,” you said like it was the most obvious answer. And you turned just soon enough to see a flush rising on Fei’s cheeks. But he swallowed and looked away before he could make eye contact with you. “Speaking of – telling me you love me to get me not to do the one thing you promised to help me do? What the fuck was that?” 

“That is not–” Feitan said, his shocked look fading to something more confused and pleading. He looked down at his shoes. “You are leaving. Needed to tell you.”

“You dictated to me that I couldn’t go, as if you have any right to tell me what to do,” you said. “And then when I said I was doing it anyway, which I am well within my rights to do, you dump that on me. In what world is that okay, Fei?” 

“It is not,” he said softly. “Bad time. I am sorry.” 

“And then you have the gall to try and destroy those pages so you can hide the information!” You waved around like the book was in the room with you. “You have no right to hide the contents of that ritual from me.” 

“Hid your leaving,” Feitan said, squinting at you. “Hid the pages.”

“I’m sorry, I should have told you what I was doing and not sprung it on you. I was wrong. So then let’s not hide things from each other anymore,” you said. “And that includes you showing me who you are. Stop hiding yourself from me. Stop running. Don’t worry about being palatable to me.” 

“I don–”

“Don’t say it,” you warned, thinking back to the times he’d mock what you said in lieu of giving a serious answer. Times when he’d just denied things even if it’s not what he truly believed or felt. Apparently he hadn’t completely gotten past that. 

Feitan swallowed and finally looked you in the eye. “I don’t– don’t hide…much anymore. But,” Feitan said with a look you’d seen a dozen times, a look begging to not say it. But you were relentless, and you wouldn’t accept his attempts to run away either physically or like this, where he diverts, confuses, or as much as begs you to let him off the hook. When he saw you wouldn’t relent he said, “Need you to like me. I don’t…like me. Why would you?”  

“I just told you I love you,” you said. “I’ve told you that multiple times. And I think I’ve shown you enough by now too.” 

“Why does that matter?” Feitan said, squinting to decipher the massive mystery you’d dropped at his feet. 

“That means I like you too,” you said, almost laughing at how strangely he’d taken what you said. But you sobered yourself with your next question as you considered the implications of what he’d said. “Do you not like me, even though you love me?” 

“Don’t like anyone,” Feitan said. 

“Fei–” you pleaded, not entirely sure he was joking. 

His eyes widened just enough for you to see his realization that you were taking what he said seriously.  

“Always liked you,” Feitan mumbled, messing with the bed sheets between his fingers to ground him. “Easier than me to like.”

“Why are you like this?” It wasn’t so much an accusation as a musing that bubbled up with an inappropriate timed laugh. He was always so difficult. Not for no reason – the reason was he didn’t think he was worth it and it was easier to hide than face the possibility that in showing someone who he was, they would throw it in his face. 

Feitan’s open gaze closed. “Like what?” It was terror and defensiveness laced in every letter.

You smiled fondly and said, “Difficult.” 

"Told you,” Feitan said, his lips curving down and something close to dejection clear on his face. “Not easy to like.” 

“I know you’ve been trying to make me like you,” you said, creeping forward to sit beside him on the bed, “but I’ve liked you from the beginning.” 

His head turned enough that you could see his shock as he stared at your hands. You didn’t touch him until he tore one of your hands from your lap and loosely hitched his fingers with yours. He met your eyes for a quick moment to make sure you weren’t about to reject the touch and then went back to staring at anything but you. So you settled for rubbing your thumb over his dry hands, marred with days of doing who knew what (other than the quintuple murder that just didn’t feel relevant at the moment).

“I was devastated when you kept leaving,” you said, gently. Thinking back to all the times he’d broken your heart and you’d accepted it felt like nothing but pain. 

“Never said anything other than that one night,” Feitan said, his hand shaking in yours, “thought you didn’t care.”

“I didn’t want to push you,” you said. “It would be wrong to try convincing you to be with me by making you uncomfortable.” 

Feitan scowled. “Always uncomfortable around you.” 

You covered your mouth to block the laugh bubbling in your throat at such a ‘Feitan’ answer. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“Can’t control emotions around you,” he said. “Can’t think straight. Tried to leave because I don’t deserve–” 

He went silent for a while so you offered, “us?” 

He shook his head, and when he caught your eye, you thought he’d burn through you with his stare. “No,” he said. “You.” 

“Where did you get that idea?” You couldn’t help but gape at him. He’d mentioned on and off before that he wanted to ‘earn you,’ but the fact this concern dug so deep, he honestly believed he couldn’t deserve you terrified you. 

“Don’t deserve me either,” Feitan said and he clarified when you looked at him funny. “Deserve better than me. Too selfish to stop, though.” 

“If I told you that you do deserve me and I’ve never thought you didn’t,” you said, daring to look at him again and wait for him to watch you out of the corner of his eye, “would that help?”

He shrugged quickly and looked away. “Want to fix this.” 

“Then come back with us,” you said. “Translate the book for me and let me figure out what I can do to make sure we both don’t die after a few days when I leave.” 

“Wish you wouldn’t,” Feitan said, “leave.” 

You raised a single brow. “Are you still telling me I can’t?”

“No,” Feitan said, hopping off the bed and poking his toe at the face of one of the people he’d killed.

“Good.”  

“Don’t like it but you want to,” Feitan said, ambling towards you on the bed and slipping between your legs. He pressed his hands down on either side of you and leaned in to whisper against your lips, “Kill them all. For us.” 

You gripped at his shirt and shivered as he urged your hips forward so he could press himself against you. Strong fingers dug so hard into your thighs. You hissed as he wrapped your legs around his waist, which sent blood down his legs from where you’d stepped in it. Moving to kiss him, you were glad to find he wasn’t toying with you. For once, he was caught between breaths with the kiss. Warmth ran up your chest and neck at the thought of him being at your mercy this once. Running your tongue over his lower lip, he groaned and opened for you. Adjusting against him, he gasped and smacked your thigh for catching him off guard. 

“How recently did you kill them?” you said breathlessly, which was an absolutely absurd thing to say breathlessly, practically begging him to fuck you. But there you were, falling apart in his arms.  

“Not as fun killing,” Feitan said into your mouth, “when I can’t fuck you afterward.” 

“So, recently,” you said.

And apparently that was you copping an attitude with him because he gripped the waist of your pants and heaved you forward so aggressively, you shifted for a comfortable position as you felt him hard against you. 

“Who are they?” You gasped as he shoved you down by the shoulders, using them to hold his forearms as he rested over you. It stung in a nice way. Just getting on the bed would be easier but apparently he wanted to do this instead.  

Feitan smirked at your question like he’d been waiting patiently for you to ask. 

“Found another facility close by,” he said. “Got researchers and bodies.” 

“So you didn’t kill all of these people?” you said.

“No,” Feitan said, dragging his nose against yours, “unfortunately.” 

“How sad for you.” 

“Need your help with bodies,” Feitan said. “Look at them for us.” 

“I don’t know,” you said, squinting, “I’m still mad at you.” Feitan huffed like he very much didn’t like that. “I just need a little time to cool off and I want to see that you’re serious about fixing this.” 

“Won’t run again,” Feitan said, skimming his nose up your neck. Warm breath tickled your skin as he said, “I am sorry. Deserve better.” 

The guest house door slammed open and you jerked. Feitan didn’t react beyond looking to see who it was.

“I know you two are a little weird,” Phinks said, examining the bodies and blood on the ground, and surely Feitan on top of you, “but this is too much.” 

Turns out you couldn’t fit four alive criminals, five dead bodies and one alive, tied-up TPI grunt in Phinks’ sports car. So a quick call to Shalnark got you a much larger vehicle. By the time you were back at the mansion, the feeling of illness was fading quickly. Feitan had kissed you one more time before giving you space like you’d done for him so many times. He promised to give you whatever information you wanted on the book when you were ready. But first he wanted to have a talk with the man Phinks found. 

 You'd gagged your way through autopsies with Shalnark because all you could see when you looked at them were the newer versions of the bodies below the freezer. But now you also saw yourself and Fei, and Mai and Phinks, and every other soulmate pair in the lifeless faces of people who had done nothing wrong. Except for the two researchers, they deserved what they got. 

Shalnark seemed to be enjoying himself and had an unnerving amount of skill in the autopsy department. He was able to determine the cause of death, how long they'd been dead, and what had happened to them since. You'd given up on helping after the last person's mark was hanging off a strip of skin like looked like it had been in the process of being cut while Feitan, and as you later learned, Kortopi and Machi (who were still out working), had arrived at what they'd suspected was a wealth repository for TPI. And in a way it was, just a wealth of information instead of monetary assets. But what had sent you over the edge was something else entirely. 

Their mark was red. And where the skin had been chiseled off, brilliant, glowing tendons floated like jellyfish tentacles suspended in water. It was the color red you'd seen in Feitan's bedroom that night you'd first slept with him. You'd healed enough people to know that no soulmate mark did that under any other condition. And TPI knew it if that information had been recorded before The Troupe invaded their workshop.

Now, as long as that mark was on your arm, there was no better use for you than experimentation. Your plan was ruined. You'd need to tell Anaia that you'd find another way. Feitan would be thrilled, you just wanted to scream and throw something. You'd over estimated yourself and somehow underestimated TPI. 

You'd failed spectacularly and the entire Troupe would know. You'd embarrass yourself and Feitan at the same time – the very last thing you'd ever wanted to do.  

"Look at this," Shalnark said, holding a folder in your face as you clutched the examination table and barely kept your breathing even. "It was grabbed from one of the researchers."

You snatched it from his hands, not because reading it was what you wanted to do, but because you needed something other than what you had to do. 

Skimming the pages, you felt weak. You stumbled and Shalnark caught you.

“We’re not letting that happen to you or Feitan,” Shalnark said with so much conviction, you wanted to sob and then laugh because Shalnark knew better than to touch you in Feitan’s presence. But Feitan wasn’t there. “That’s why we’re doing this, remember?” 

“I know – my plan,” you croaked out the last word like the plan itself was an animal dying in your hands and there was nothing you could do to save it. “I can’t go in. Anaia can't talk me out of this to the Thirteen. I'll become a test subject.” 

“It was possible you would anyway if we didn't find a way to obscure the mark,” Shalnark said as he guided you to a chair and pushed you down. You slumped forward and glared at him from between your fingers. “But… this makes it certain. You and Feitan are the perfect experiment and doing the Blood Bind makes you far too valuable. The moment they see your mark, they’ll know. And they’ll go after Feitan so they can complete the transplant. It looks like from the notes there they need the pair first.” Shalnark crouched down and forced you to look at him with a gentle hand on your face. “We’ll find another way to handle TPI.” He patted you and dropped his hand.

“But they’re killing people now!” you said, voice cracking. “They were in the process of using this person to test a mark transplant. I didn’t even know that was possible.” 

You blinked and froze.

So did Shalnark. 

“You don’t think you could…?” Shalnark trailed off, looking at you like he’d never seen you before.

“I very well might be able to…” you said, stomach churning. “I can’t go. I will not be used in that way. Doing their Frankenstein work – healing some innocent’s soulmate mark with the weird Blood Bind jellyfish veins onto someone of their choosing… I’d rather be dead than the perpetrator.” 

“This changes everything. I don’t think Jed wants the book destroyed,” Shalnark said, eyes wide like he’d understood nothing before. “He wants to use it on himself.” 

"That fucking bastard," you said. 

"If you complete the Blood Bind," Shalnark said and you glared at him. "When you complete the Blood Bind, you and Feitan will be our biggest weapon. But if TPI can do this, it takes away that advantage and possibly puts us at a disadvantage if they complete this first."

"Which means Feitan and I need to finish the Blood Bind as quickly as possible," you said. 

"Unfortunately," Shalnark said. 

“And since Jed doesn’t have a soulmate mark, he’s trying to take it from someone else after a successful Blood Bind,” you said, throat aching with the thought of Jed and his trusted advisors as some sort of super-soldiers. "I can't even imagine the medical implications of putting a mark on someone else."

“Since we don’t know what they’ve already accomplished,” Shalnark said, "I take back what I said. You have to go in. We need somebody inside watching.” 

“What?” you said much louder than you meant to. “You just said we’d find another way. And that I need to finish the Blood Bind as quickly as possible.” 

“If you won’t, we’ll need another soulmate to do it in your place.”

“Not a Troupe member?” you said. 

“Not when we have a traitor in the TPI ranks who knows all our faces and tactics,” Shalnark said. “They boxed us in.” He sounded almost impressed. “No, it has to be you or Mai. He knows everyone else.” 

“Then whether or not we have a solution in two days, we have to give me up at the Gordeau Desert rally,” you said. “I am not letting Mai go alone.”  

Shalnark looked contemplative. “You can say no. But this is your window to act. The sooner we get someone inside, the better. Or else we’ll be dead in the water if they’re able to successfully transplant a Blood Bind mark.” 

"But I can't finish the Blood Bind without Feitan," you said. 

"Then we get you in and only keep you there until we know how much they've accomplished. We might have more time than we think. But we also may have less."

“In case you’ve forgotten,” you said. “If I die, so does Feitan.” 

And you'd both be violently ill in days. If you were going, Fei needed to be near. And the risk from that felt too high. 

“They won’t kill you,” Shalnark said, stretching as he stood and hurrying for a paper and pen to write down whatever was going on in his head. “At least not right away. You’re an opportunity they never saw coming and if they kill you, you’ll decompose before they can make the transfer. They’ll need Feitan to use his mark too. They might even try to force you to complete the Blood Bind before killing you. I wonder if where you are in the ritual process impacts the quality of the outcome." 

“I need to talk to Feitan,” you said, jumping up and hurrying through the room. 

“I always tell you not to take too long and you do every time,” Shalnark said without light in his eyes. “We don’t have time, so make it quick.” 

You waved at him over your head and hurried up the stairs, dodging Troupe members as you went, including Chrollo who smiled softly at you. 

As you ran, you considered how only one of two things could be true: Marco was locked out from the aims of Jed's true inner circle or he was a filthy liar and you'd played right into his murderous hands.

Chapter Text

Feitan hadn’t been in his bedroom, or the kitchen, or the common areas where swaths of Spiders wandered. You passed Hisoka and the dead smile he gave you sent chills down your spine, making it difficult to breathe evenly. Playing cards twisted between his fingers like weapons. If only Feitan had hit him successfully with that dagger. 

You even braved the basement and nearly got yourself lost in the twisting, damp catacombs before breaking and asking him directly.

Where are you?

Feitan laughed in your head. 

Please don’t say you knew I was wandering aimlessly. 

See how long you would go. 

That conniving little rat. 

I’m still pissed at you, so watch it.  

That sobered his voice in your head. 

Forest. 

Why? you thought. That was the last place you’d think to look for him. He was more of a basement dweller than outdoorsman. 

Heard that, he snapped.

Good. So what are you doing out there?

Show you when you get here. 

The bond went quiet so you started your trek through the house, into the backyard, and on to the forest you’d never stepped in. You’d only admired it from afar, never giving much thought to who or what was dwelling between the trees and below the brambles. The full moon rose over the horizon and the dregs of daylight slipped through the branches as shadows chased them west. 

Feitan tugged on the bond to show you the direction towards him, so you wouldn't get lost among the darkness.

The trees rustled with a breeze that chilled your cheeks and supplemented the sounds of nocturnal creatures creeping free of their burrows. There was no set path, so you stomped over fallen logs and through overgrown greenery with prickly thorns. Creatures darted past as they caught the scent and sound of your presence. Your skin prickled when you realized it was possible you weren’t the apex predator lurking in the trees. 

Mushrooms and evening flowers bloomed with sparkling dew that skimmed across them like little rivers through open planes. Lightning bugs flickered, illuminating the mossy undergrowth and towering leaves in a barrage of colors, until it became a swirling kaleidoscope guiding you on like Charon to the Underworld. Fresh berries blocked your path and you avoided touching them, for fear they were poisonous – the Spiders could tend perilous flora for their own personal and professional use. Shalnark had been out in the garden of vegetables and sunflowers before, perhaps he spent his hidden hours in the forest, doing the same with something far more wretched. 

Did you hear the conversation I had with Shalnark? you thought, begging you didn't need to repeat what you'd found.

Yes. Already a target. Can't go in with your mark. 

There's only one way I know to remove it and I'd kill us both because of the Blood Bind.

Feitan's silence was indication enough. He had a way he could give you now – or rather, the book did.

We have to stay as far apart as possible so they can’t do anything with our bodies. 

Feitan was quiet for a while while he considered his words. It was fascinating feeling how he thought and you wished you’d spent more time just listening to him inside his head. He said very little without purpose or consideration. 

Will not get us both.

As you stepped and dodged through the forest, a pulse of life pressed into your bones – there was something insidiously alive about the Spiders’ forest. This was a dangerous place by their design. 

No, they won't, you thought. It wasn't a positive thought, it was a vow. They could have you, but they could not harm Fei. 

Light flickered in the distance, not like the lightning bugs, like something man made. 

Feitan sat cross-legged in a small clearing. The book was open on his lap as he skimmed the pages with a finger tracing each line. You admired him from the tree line, memorizing every feature on his face, the way he sat focused but aware of his surroundings, and the way the moonlight repelled from him, cutting him with stark shadows. His eyes flicked to you and then back to the book. Clearly you hadn’t been cunning and undetectable with your approach. 

Stupid, lovely bond. 

A small, iron fire pit sat in the middle of the clearing with a crackling fire that seemed to barely contain itself in its nest. Smoke twisted high past the tree line and obscured the moon when the wind caught it just so. Mismatched chairs sat between pinecones and fallen debris from the trees, like this place had remained unused for months or years. It was a soothing place, and a shame it went vacant for so long. 

Feitan sat outside the touch of the firelight. 

You stepped past the threshold and into the clearing, like you’d shattered a strange truce you and Feitan had both decided upon your approach. He was resting on a blanket with a variety of knives spread in front of him like a crescent moon. Along with a bowl of what looked like ash and a box with a lid that couldn’t fit more than a piece of jewelry. 

“You aren’t going to carve me up to stop me from leaving, are you?” you said, examining each knife in his small collection. Their metals of silver and black sparkled, adorned with everything from wooden ends to intricately detailed, metal hilts. It appeared how he prepared to harm – meticulous and beautiful. 

You caught a small smile in the firelight. 

“Don’t also have a death wish,” Feitan said. 

Smart man. 

“So you considered it?” you said. Though he’d never harm you on his own behalf, you wondered when push came to shove, what he’d do to protect you from yourself. A cold breeze tranced across your neck. You shivered at the chill mixed with the heat in Feitan’s nearly unhinged stare.

“Considered every way to stop you,” he said, that smile that had caught his lips fading into a mournful acquiescence. “Can still find a different way.”

His last tool – bargaining. It would have been unlike him to let options pass without consideration. But, no. This was where you drew the line.
“This could work then?” you said, dropping beside him onto the soft blanket that bunched unevenly on the forest floor. 

Feitan nodded as he traced his fingers on your jaw and guided you in for a kiss. Like words were more acceptance that he was able to offer. Because he would never truly accept what you were going to do – whatever was in that book, he only wanted to do it because of you. 

“There is no world where we or the people we love can be safe while a single one of them is alive,” you said, placing the book beside you and falling into his lap. His arms circled you and dragged you against his chest. You sank into him and rested your chin on his shoulder.  “This is my sacrifice for us and the people we love.” 

“Sacrificing everything,” Feitan said, his voice wavering, “doing this.”

Everything you had built with him. 

“Tell me how it works,” you whispered.

Whatever the ritual did, it was a chance. And if it meant sacrificing one opportunity for another, you’d do it still. 

He whispered every gritty detail about the process against the shell of your ear and you nearly choked.

It wasn’t a ritual; it was devastation. And it was everything you needed and wanted least in the world wrapped into a parasitic juxtaposition that you’d question until the day your galaxy consumed you. 

How had trying to find your brother spiraled into this?

“I love you so much,” you said, clutching wildly at him like he was smoke from the fire disappearing into the night air to chase the stars until it fizzled out. “I’m so sorry. I think it could work.” 

“Know it can,” Feitan said, stroking your hair.  

“That’s why you’re out here?” you said, and he nodded. “Are we doing it now?” 

“Yes.” And it sounded much more like a begging "no."

“Is there a time limit?” you said, tears warming your eyes and threatening to coat your skin. The book laughed across the bond and you’d never been more horrified that it was listening – always listening. 

“Few hours,” Feitan said, lifting you from his lap to lay you delicately on your back. The soft fleece of the blanket cradled your skin as you sank under his body against yours. Like an angel’s brow on a Renaissance painting, his knives circled your hair to herald the horrible fate you’d soon endure at your soulmate's hands – and he at yours. “Have to finish in time.”

"And we're using the knives on each other?" 

He stroked away a tear falling towards your ear. "Wanted to for weeks. But not like this."

While knives haloed your head, Fei’s halo was something different and ethereal. He wore a crown of glimmering constellations and shooting stars interlaced with the twisting smoke of the fire. Shadows tumbled across his face as he held himself above you.

“Fei,” you whispered into the night. He leaned in closer so your breath would mix with his. His focus felt different now. This was a goodbye and he needed every word from your lips. “I’m terrified.” 

“Don’t be,” Feitan murmured. “We are together.”  

“Then what about the day we aren’t?” you said, a well of panic building in your chest until Feitan kissed another tear falling down your cheeks. Soon you’d be gone and you had no clue when you’d see him next.

“Just one more day until we are together again,” Feitan said.

You laughed in surprise. What had the world come to that Feitan was the optimist? 

“Thank you,” you said, pressing your forehead against his. “You told me once you didn’t understand love,” you said, clutching at his shirt as the lifeblood of the forest sank away – no more sounds, or smells, or hints of life beyond you and him. “But you do. This is it.” 

“Pain,” Feitan said, grazing his nose against yours. It sounded like the word itself infuriated him. 

“Exquisite pain,” you said, swallowing back tears before more fell when they’d do no good. “And happiness.” 

“Happiness?” Feitan laughed with no joy. “Loving you is agony.” Your chest shuttered as he let the words hang until he said, “And never been happier.” He stroked your neck like he couldn't live another moment without memorizing the way your skin dotted with chills and then warmed under his touch. “But– can’t be happy again. Not without–” 

“– you.” You finished for him because you felt it too. “No matter what that book says or what this ritual does or how fate twists our lives, nothing can destroy how I feel about you.” 

Feitan smiled against your lips and it was as sweet as any praise he’d ever given you. “Even demanding of fate.”

He’d never been more correct – telling fate to snap the bond it built itself. How fate had constructed it, you didn’t know, but it made an immaculate choice in giving you Fei. If only you could make the decisions fate could, you’d never worry another day. 

How true to your nature to destroy it. 

“Fate might have made you my soulmate,” you said, sighing as Fei pushed a hand under your shirt to stroke your waist. He watched your features shift and change with your words. “But fate can’t dictate the way I love you.” 

“Never believed in fate anyway,” Feitan said and curbed your sad laughter with a hand on your thigh, guiding your leg around his waist. He cradled your head and you felt the overwhelming safety in his arms. 

But there was one more thing you couldn’t shake. 

“Can one ritual in the book override another?” you said. "Will this break the Blood Bind?" 

What little you humans have learned, the book whispered. And for the first time, you were relieaved to hear its voice in your head. Did you trust it? No. Did you trust it to always act in its own best interest? Above anything else. And what it wanted above all else was your two souls once they were ‘complete.’ Killing you now by allowing Feitan to read the ritual would mean it was acting outside its best interest. Once the Blood Bind has started, it cannot be stopped. 

"So we won’t meet the failure clause," you said. 

"When we…break it," Feitan said. "Need to bring it back. Soon. Mimics a soulmate killing the other… until it is not temporary anymore.” 

So every moment the bond was cracked beyond recognition, the opportunity to revert dwindled. Your heart rammed in your chest. This was a risk beyond anything you’d done before – now you were gambling with the bond itself. The only thing worse than dying with Feitan would be living without him as your other half. 

A severed soulmate bond. Something you hadn’t know was possible to do without death involved.  

“Marco wants the book as collateral,” you said, sure you would have shivered without Feitan’s warmth around you. “It has to stay with the Spiders or we’re throwing away our path back to one another.” 

"Do not trust them with it," Feitan said. "Trust no one there."

"But Mai and Ana–"

"No. One," Feitan said. "Promise...come back alive." 

If you didn’t, you both would never know because it would be the end. 

"I'm bringing Mai back alive too," you said, deciding that mentioning Phinks would appreciate it wouldn’t do any good on Feitan. Or that you intended to get Anaia and Marco out alive too. And do it without dying in the process or you’d be taking Feitan down with you. 

“As long as you are with them,” Feitan said, and it sounded like a concession. 

"What if I can't do this?" you said so softly the wind barely carried your voice. 

Feitan huffed like the question frustrated him. "Born my equal," Feitan said with such resolve and a hint of disbelief that you questioned your ability at all. "Show us what that means."

His equal? 

How had you never considered that fact before, or broken down what it truly meant to be someone's soulmate? A pair did not mean one uneven part struggling to meet the abilities and standards of the other – it was instead two matching parts filling in the dents and bruises that made the other human until you were something perfectly flawed for each other. 

“Then what do we do now?” you said. 

“Trust me,” Feitan said, nipping at your lip. “Let me lead. Take care of us.”

You nodded your agreement. He was the one who knew what the book said. He was the one who could lead you through this. He was the one who agreed even though it was the last thing he wanted. The least you could do was trust him. 

A cool, soundless breeze pushed through the clearing, sending smoke twisting and fire rising towards the treetops. Like the forest itself realized that something had begun. 

“Grab a knife,” Feitan said. 

Reaching back, you snagged a knife from the corona of daggers. It was heavy and uncomfortable in your hands. The book’s pages flew with the wind and landed on the page Feitan needed. From the side of your eye, you could see steps outlined. 

Whatever this calamity would be, it had begun. 

Feitan snatched a knife of his own and kissed down your cheek. You would never grow accustomed to how gentle Feitan Portor could be when he thought he was holding something precious. As much as you yearned for his perfect cocktail of pain and pleasure, there was a calm-inducing charm to his gentler sides. Feitan whispered something in his other language, over and over like a mantra. It was beautiful, lethal, and you couldn’t understand. The dastardly book was suppressing your ability to hear what he meant.

But you let him speak whatever was needed for the ritual. Part of you was relieved you couldn’t understand, because it would only increase the pain. 

Look at me, Feitan thought as he cupped your face with the hand that also held the dagger. Cold metal pressed into your cheek as you stared into his eyes. Watch me one last time. 

Haze overtook the world as everything but Fei blurred. The definition of the leaves on trees above disappeared and the menagerie of stars and planets in the night sky became a maelstrom of undetailed color and light.

Feitan whispered death into your neck as he kissed and bit every inch of your skin he could find. You dragged your nails and the blunt end of the knife up the muscles on his back, guiding his shirt over his shoulders and tossing it towards the tree line. Conflict rattled the bond – Feitan struggled separating how desperately he wanted you with how desperately he wanted to stop you. And how relieved you were to experience it for just a little while longer. Because once the bond snapped, you would be alone in your mind again – the last place you wanted to be secluded. 

Clothes were strewn across the clearing as Feitan whispered something new. He held your hips and kissed you as he adjusted you under him. The chilly metal of his chosen knife grazed your skin and you gasped at the contrast, right into his lips which made him groan and press his tongue into your mouth to capture the sound. 

Perfect thing, Feitan said in your head, but it wasn’t as close as it had once been. Like he was speaking to you from across a busy room instead of murmuring against your ear. 

You clutched at his hips now too, your own knife pressing into his skin as you tried desperately to get him closer. If you couldn’t feel him in your head how you wanted, you needed to feel him any way you could. 

Feitan’s hands travelled to your thighs and he pressed them apart. The flat side of the knife followed his hand the entire way. As he gripped at your legs, admiring how you struggled for him to try and encourage him to fuck you quicker, the tip of the knife nicked your skin and you froze. It was an odd, alluring feeling – a quick spark of pain that dulled into a warm throb. Feitan held your stomach down and leaned to kiss the spot where he’d broken skin, and lick across the cut taking warm blood with him. His breath and lips made you arch, which only made him smile. He was so close to where you’d been trying to get him to go, you wriggled even though his strong hands held you down. If he just moved inwards a little more, you could have his mouth on you again. 

No, Feitan drawled in your head. One more reason to come back to me.  

You are highly overestimating your skills at going down on me.

You, Feitan’s eyes shifted from between your legs to your eyes, bad liar. 

And you’re a bastard. We’ve established this. 

Feitan cackled and you felt his warm breath between your legs. He moved like he’d changed his mind and was going to go down on you anyway, but he kissed your hip bone and all the way up your chest until he met your mouth again. 

You were going to complain about something – you couldn’t quite remember what – until he dragged two fingers up and down between your legs and pressed them inside. You wriggled and pushed against his hand to guide his fingers in further. 

He moved in and out slowly, watching how your lips parted and eyelids sunk low. His knife now sat beside your head, and when you caught its presence, you stopped your uneven movements, and then picked them up again when you remembered how lovely the small nick from the blade had felt against your leg. 

Hearing your silent plea, Fei dragged the flat of the knife across your cheek, just like he’d done that night in your guest house. But now the dots of blood dripping down your cheeks were your own. It was a beauty you would have killed to see from his eyes. But when you tried, there was a deep wall of shadow between yourself and him, a meteor storm in your galaxy that you couldn’t quite traverse. 

Feitan was speaking again in the language you didn’t understand. He hadn’t even experienced your attempt to see the world through his perspective. Instead he dragged his fingers out from you and up your stomach, breasts, and chest like he was marking you. Still speaking in words you didn’t know, he paused to press the two fingers into his mouth and smiled over the taste of you on his tongue. He moved quickly then, gripping your jaw with his wet fingers and kissing you so you tasted yourself too. But he let go quickly as he instead fumbled for something beside him.

Coarse, acrid ash met your throat as he gripped you with coated fingers. If you’d been able to see through his eyes, you would have seen an ashy handprint across your throat. 

Doing so well. It was distant, like he’d said it through a bustling street. 

You wanted to tell him not to praise you when you’d decided to do the unforgivable and break the bond, but he whispered, “Me now.” 

You reached for the ash and gripped it in your palms, coating your hands. He watched you reverently as you gripped his throat and pressed down tight, like he’d done to you so many times. Feitan groaned and his eyes widened, like he’d never considered how much he’d like being really choked like you. So you pressed down harder and gasped when Feitan fumbled for your hips and rolled against you. When you pulled your hand back, he grabbed it hard and shoved it over your head, somehow missing the knives that had scattered as you’d moved together. 

Then everything stopped, if just for a moment – the swirling, foggy smoke, the maelstrom in the sky, and breath moving through your lungs – and everything became nothing but him with you. 

Then the world began again. 

Fei panted as he used his other hand to guide your leg back around his hip. Spread for him, he admired you from the tip of your fingers above your head to where he was so close to just giving you what you both wanted. 

“Please,” you said, letting the blunt side of the knife drag across Fei’s side as you begged. This wasn’t the kind of playful desperation you’d expressed with him before, this was a terror that this could be the last time. “I can’t leave without being with you one more time.” And you couldn’t feel how he thought of your request in his head. “I need you,” you said, and you meant it in a way you never had before – with a depth that made your chest ache like your ribs were being torn apart by something trying to get at your heart. 

“Need you too,” Feitan said, softly. “One more time.” 

He kissed your next words from your lips and there was nothing you could say in your head that he could hear.

His hair tickled your face as he pulled back to watch you. 

Feitan pressed into you so slowly. It was its own kind of torture. But he wasn’t watching himself enter you, he was watching how you watched his reaction too – the way his brows raised slightly, how his lips parted, the way his eyes widened like he’d never experienced you before that moment. 

Had he always been so easy to read? Now seeing him without the voice in your head, you realized you’d learned so much about him outside of what he let you experience in your mind. 

Maybe he was thinking the same of you. But now you had no way to know for sure – because he was gone and it felt like the creature tearing at your ribs had swiped at your heart. 

You choked back a sob and Feitan’s awe shifted to terror. He tried to pull out of you but you placed a reassuring hand on his hips, shaking your head that the problem wasn’t him – it was that–

“I can’t feel you in my head,” you said, lip quivering. “And I already miss you.” 

Feitan nodded and you could see his own devastation clear on his face, like your voice had slipped from whatever was left of his soul too. And it never occurred to you until that moment that having you in his head had meant something to him too. 

“Keep going,” you said, tears sliding down your cheeks and cutting through the ash on your throat. “The sooner this is all over, the sooner we can be together again.”

Hopefully. 

If you weren’t delayed too long. 

If the bond could be rebuilt. 

If. If. If.

And you hated every moment of that ‘if’ and you would until you were bound to him again. Or until you died without him. And he without you because this wouldn’t stop the Blood BInd. 

He pressed back inside you and rested his face into the crook of your neck. You ignored the spots of wetness hitting your skin as he rocked against you like he savored the feeling of you. You also ignored the way his hand in yours above your head shook so hard, you felt the pebbles and leaves below the heavy blanket. You also ignored how his lips moved with words in his other language that he couldn’t say aloud or say in your head. Because now there was no one there but you. 

When he came back up, there was only severe resolve in his glassy eyes. 

“Are you sure?” Feitan said like he wanted you to affirm for him that this was not the end, but the beginning.

“Do what you have to,” you said, swallowing back the tears at how he struggled so desperately to be strong for you. The least you could do was be strong for him too. 

“Repeat what I do,” Feitan said, and started speaking the words in his other language that sounded more like the ritual than a plea. “Opposite side.” 

Fei’s knife pressed into your neck and you gasped in shock as Fei drew a thin line down the side of your throat through the ash – his favorite place was where he carved you first. Shocked, you shuttered as the cold metal pulled back from your neck.

The fire in the pit flared as a gust of wind tore through the clearing. 

But you didn’t stop. 

You held your knife to the opposite side from where he’d cut you. The sharp blade tore into his skin so easily, you pulled back until you were certain the depth wouldn’t really harm him. You dragged it down his throat, through the ash you’d placed, and dropped the knife the second his blood pooled in the wound.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Feitan said, softly, like he wasn’t sure what to say. 

Reaching for him, you said, “Let me help–”

“No,” Feitan said harshly. “Can’t heal them. Need to move quick when they heal. Means no time left.” 

So you’d nearly expedited the time limit by forcing the healing? You wanted to argue, but he knew what he was doing. You had to trust that he would see you through this is the safest way possible – even if that meant wounds you couldn’t heal for him.

“The book thinks it’s hilarious, doesn’t it?” you said. “Healing us before it kills us if we’re running out of time.” 

“Full of contradictions,” Feitan said. “Likes to play.” 

And you didn’t bother saying that was so much like Feitan himself, but you thought it in your head so he would feel it across the bond. Until you remembered there was nothing there.  

So no more useless words and thoughts then, just action. 

Feitan urged you up and motioned for you to place your knife beside his he’d just dropped. He crossed his legs and tapped your hip to get you to hover over his lap. His Phantom Troupe tattoo wriggled with the darkness. It too felt the power alive in the air around you. 

“More control this way,” Feitan said, “for you.” 

Whether he meant with the knife or over him, you didn’t know. You couldn’t know now. And not knowing was the intruder in your chest stroking the arteries on your heart, threatening to rupture them. 

Feitan stroked up and down your waist as you shifted to a comfortable position. Wrapping your hand around him, you let yourself revel in the breath he expelled as you gripped him. 

Stroking him a few times, just to watch his reaction, you finally aligned him and sank down.

Feitan gripped your hips to hold you up as you clutched his shoulders for support while you found your rhythm moving on him. You’d done this before, but not for long, and you wondered if he’d let this go on now. He kissed your collarbone and nipped down to your chest, taking your nipple in his mouth. 

“This is why you wanted this position, isn’t it?” you teased, and you felt his wicked smile against your breast. 

He nipped and tugged. You lost your rhythm for a moment as you tightened around him at his unexpected (but entirely expected) move. He smacked your ass and it felt more like praise than an admonishment. Fei flicked his tongue against your nipple and you wriggled in his lap. He blew warm breath on you and you threw your head back, reveling in the diverse sensations he gave.

The entire world was fading now. There was nothing but blurry darkness without stars where the sky had been and near-black outlines where the trees had been. The only light was the scorching fire that now sent sweat trickling down your back to match the heat from Feitan’s chest against you. But the heat felt too heavy to be just the fire pit’s flames. 

It felt at odds with the cool breeze raising the flames higher that felt like ice on your skin. 

“Keep going,” you demanded as you moved on him, looking down at him. 

Feitan opened his eyes and you were so intent on the haziness of his stare, that you barely registered the handprint of ash he placed on your arm. But you did feel the cut of the knife. Feitan gasped as you tightened around him so aggressively, your thighs pressed against his legs. He pulled the knife back and held it between you both. 

You smiled, because you knew exactly what he wanted. 

Feitan licked the side of the knife where your blood was dripping. 

Grabbing your own handful of ash, you marked his arm and snagged your knife. This time, you felt more in control as you rode him. But you slowed as you pressed the blade to his skin, cutting down with such surgical precision, you thought Feitan hadn’t even felt it. But his silence was because he was enraptured with the way you moved the knife across his skin – carving him just like he was doing to you. It was like the day you’d met where he’d watched you heal the wound he’d made himself for an excuse to enter your home. 

“Watch,” you whispered, and grazed your fingers under Feitan’s chin so he’d look up at you holding the knife. His hair fell back from his eyes as you licked his blood from the blade. Feitan dug his nails into your hips as you leaned down to kiss him. He lifted you so effortlessly and slammed you back down, making you nearly lose your balance. 

You were going to admonish him but he’d already grabbed more ash and smacked it onto your thigh.

"Feel so good for me," Feitan said, guiding your movements on him. "Doing so well. Pretty whore deserves to cum."

Yes, that's exactly what you needed. 

"Please make me cum," you said so desperately Feitan laughed. "Please, Fei. On you, on the knife, I don't mind. Please just let me cum for you, however you want."

"Cum on the knife?" he said, like it was the most intoxicating idea he'd ever heard from your lips. 

"Sure, you can fuck me with it," you said breathlessly. "If you want."

"Fuck you with it?" Feitan said, his own disbelief at his luck seeping into his words. 

You knew who Feitan was, what turned him on, what drove him wild. 

That day in the guest house when he'd tortured Emmett and you'd helped, you'd seen the first glimpses of the dormant monster living under his skin. When he'd looked at you like he wanted to consume you and touched you like a lover, just from the sight of you harming another person. Then the time in the basement when you were sure he was going to pin you down and fuck you after he nearly killed Anaia. Then when he made it clear he fully intended to fuck you after killing one day. 

Yes, you knew what he was, and you wanted it all. 

He grasped at you now like he was struggling for purchase. 

"Cum once on me," Feitan said as he lifted you and dropped you on himself over and over, "then the knife. Need both."

"The hilt," you clarified, knowing Feitan's propensity to take things to extremes. "Not the pointy side–"

The darkness shuddered. 

You both paused, hearing something you hadn't before. 

The forest rustled like the faint hints of life you’d felt earlier were finally coming to fruition. Something was moving the woods, but nothing could penetrate the darkness that you couldn’t decide was real or made by the book in your mind.

Feitan had stilled and you froze too as you heard the screams. He held you closer to himself and even though you couldn’t feel what he felt, you could sense the sudden tension in the air. 

“Hear that?” Feitan said, his own focus shifting to whatever lay outside the blackened barrier around the clearing. Or what had been a barrier that was now fizzling away like mist as the sun rose. 

The clearing came back into view. Your ears rang until they faded to a low hum that finally disappeared entirely back into the sounds of the forest. Voices sounded from the distance, somewhere past the woods. And it was Mai’s yell for you that horrified you to your core. 

Fumbling off Feitan, he looked mildly frustrated until something in the chaos of voices and screams caught his attention too. 

And that’s when you both looked up instead of out through the trees. 

A massive, roaring fire with smoke as black as midnight rose from the other side of the wood where the house was. That was not a bonfire, and from what you could see, it was moving closer to the trees. If you didn’t move now, you and Feitan would be burned alive. 

Adrenaline honed your senses as you ticked through your options. There weren't many  and every muscle in your body urged you to just run right at the danger and figure it out as you went. 

“Do we have time before we have to finish the ritual?” you hollered. It was difficult to hear over the crackling of the rising flames. You tumbled off the blanket and reached for pieces of your clothing strewn all over the clearing. As you found Fei’s too, you threw them towards him and he did the same for you. 

“A bit,” Feitan said, his voice barely audible over the cacophony. 

And it wasn’t reassuring. 

You shouldn’t have dawdled or enjoyed yourself like you had. This was karma or the books doing. Or fate punishing you for taking its selection away. Feitan was dressed first, and lunged for the book and the box he’d left unused on the blanket. After you stumbled into your pants and shoes and hissing as fabric caught the open cuts on your body, you grabbed knives and threw them towards Fei. You split them evenly, not knowing what the hell you were about to barrel into. He caught his with ease and you shoved your own everywhere they would remain in place. One stayed out in your hand so you wouldn’t be caught without a weapon at the ready. 

Maybe Uvo and Phinks had made a bonfire too big and it had lost control. 

But that didn’t feel right. 

“Move,” Feitan commanded, and you ran forward. But he caught you by the throat and pushed you sideways. “That way. Going around. Not into the fire!”

You thought you’d never heard him so exasperated, but you decided not to comment and simply follow. Reaching for reassurance in his mind, you searched the bond and remembered it was slipping away. 

Careening through trees and over branches, you ran faster than you had since the day the bombs detonated. Feitan clutched your hand and guided you through a forest that now felt dead, like it had accepted its fate; like animals had run the other way to safety; like whatever had been alive in the forest had done its work and was now watching the flames. 

The trees thinned and you found yourself under the bright moonlight. But Feitan didn’t let you rest. Part of you knew he would be faster if he went ahead on his own, but he wasn’t going to leave you behind. 

Panting and bleeding with new wounds from plants and branches you hadn’t noticed as you’d run, you landed back on the side of the forest you’d been on when you started the night. 

You choked and stumbled at the site in front of you. Feitan caught you before you fell and held you to himself. Fire burned – so high in the sky you couldn’t tell where smoke ended and sky began – just like the day with the bombs. 

And for the second time in a year, you watched your home burn.

Chapter Text

Chest heaving and struggling to move air through your lungs, you shook against Feitan. Tears of terror cut rivers across the ash building on your face, then dried in the heated wave of flames. You’d seen enough death and fire for a lifetime. It set off a reaction in your body and mind, stunning you into inaction. 

Pale blue cloaks, contrasted with the orange, pearlescent flames, clashed with Spiders. So many, and so quickly, you couldn’t count. 

They dodged and struck, tricked and out maneuvered a pack of people you'd never thought could be challenged. They weren’t the run of the mill cultists you’d encountered before – it was a cadre of Hunter-level exterminators who were putting up a real fight. 

A fight you needed to join. 

But there was no fight left in you. Shallow breath gurgled in your throat as everything went blurry from lack of oxygen. 

So this was that day all over again. 

“Not there, okay?” Feitan yelled against your ear over the roar of the flames. And even so, you could barely hear the words. “With me this time. Both fine.” 

You were already bereft without the sound of his voice in your head. How could someone be present and so far away?

Lone trees around the house crackled and burned black as the wind carried flames. 

The fire continued on, catching Shalnark’s garden. And something about Shalnark’s name snapped you back to the present. You no longer ran through flame-marred streets hunting for Fei.

That day had been a stain but nothing more than a memory dead to time. 

This moment was all that was real.

And it was like they knew what would hurt you the most. Except they didn’t know you were with the Spiders. A vile coincidence or creation in the storybooks of fate.  

As your vision unblurred, your senses focused on every face. 

Mai was your first concern. You caught sight of them with Phinks, who was tall enough to pinpoint in the cacophony. Both furious, they matched snarling scowls. Phinks played some sort of game where he pummeled the invaders and tossed them to Mai to finish them off. 

You thought yourself brutal, but it was nothing compared to the striking efficiency with which Mai could kill – a side of them you’d never seen before. They moved like a work of art, and you knew you’d made the right choice enlisting them to join you on your upcoming journey.

Then you needed the third of your trio. 

Anaia stood on what was left of the patio. Blonde hair sizzled bright against the ash, caught in a gust of wind that sent the fire behind her flowing with the current. Did she know the progress TPI had made or that her own soulmate could have entirely different aims than her own? 

Anaia was too backlit to see her expression, but she was deathly still – a stillness you'd only ever seen in one other. You laughed at how blind you were, not realizing the strange similarities Feitan and Anaia shared, which didn’t bode well for your struggle to believe you and Marco were different. 

She glided down the steps like death itself, her stare locked on a blue cloak at the base of the stairs. She grabbed them and they both disappeared.

Body vibrating at the realization of what you had to do - you sank inside yourself, into your head where you were now alone with it.

You knew what you needed to help.

Give me his rage, you whispered to the book. There was no need to whisper, really, because you couldn't feel Feitan, but the ask felt so astronomical, like you were stealing something precious from your love. 

A broken bond does not allow that, little human, the book responded and the sound of its voice was like ice water down your back. 

If the Blood Bind didn't stop, neither did its effects. 

That’s not what the ritual does. It's not completely broken, you thought, I can still take it.

Something rustled on your other side. 

Pushing away from Fei, you heaved a knife at a cloaked figure who hadn't seen you in the shadowy tree line. It lodged between his eyes and his hood fell back as he tumbled. 

Practically a child.

You should have felt shame, disgust, remorse – but all you felt was fury. 

Find a path, then, the book said. 

You smiled like you too were death itself. 

I will, you murmured, like a threat. 

There was only one way you'd ever known how to get to the bond. You grabbed Feitan's jaw and dragged him into a kiss. 

"What–" Feitan said. 

"Trust me," you whispered against his lips. If he understood the ritual correctly, it mimicked a broken bond. And now you were going to find out if that meant what you thought it did. "Getting at the bond."

Feitan slammed you back against a tree, cradling your head at the last moment before the bark dug into your skull. But the scraggly bark still ground against your back and legs as he kissed you. 

Did he understand what you were doing? There was no answer in the unending silence occupying your head. 

Fire roared and Spiders hollered; cultists screamed and mayhem swooped in. But every terror that woke you from your sleep at night, every fear that bubbled to the surface in the dark, and the terrifying realization of your impending separation from Fei subdued as he kissed you. 

And then there was soothing but unearthly quiet that could have shattered your eardrums with its emphatic presence. Without Fei, the bond was lifeless. 

It was cold and everything was still. An unmoving galaxy. Like a switch flipped and paused the universe. The bond was not destroyed, it was stalled. You choked out a hysterical, joyous laugh that echoed into nothingness. What would have been glimmering planets were stagnant and still. Meteor storms hung in place like the ashen rocks were held by string in a diorama. Even stars refused to shine. 

But the bond wasn’t gone. At least not yet.

You walked like there was a secure platform below you, even when there was nothing but burning stars and smoky darkness. And when you were certain it wouldn’t give way below you, you ran in the direction that felt most like him. 

You collided with a hard surface and fell back. Dazed, you looked up and up and up. The smoky mirror of your galaxy side stared back. The book, or the ritual in the book, had locked you out. 

It stirred a rage that should have been ephemeral, but it built and clung to you like a parasite you wanted to cradle. Who was the wretched book to tell you what your bond was? It wasn’t something it had made, only something it could attempt to destroy.

Feitan was here somewhere. 

Running across the side of the barrier, you dragged your hand across the mirror, feeling for anything that would let you through. Cold, ethereal space erupted at the strange feeling that Feitan was just on the other side. 

You ran until your lungs burned and stumbled when you felt it – a ripple in the glass, a chink in the armor. 

The foggy glass raised gooseflesh as you drove your arm through the barrier, flailing wildly as you pushed further, only to find you couldn’t proceed. The break in the glass was only large enough to fit to your shoulder. 

Come on, Fei. Find me on the other side. 

Moments ticked by and you reeled your arm back. Adjusting so you didn’t accidentally shatter bones, you heaved yourself at the ripple. The glass rattled, but it didn’t budge. Again and again you slammed yourself against the barrier. The pain in your shoulder was a perfect reminder that it was all real. 

Until you heard it.

The faint thought of your name, weaving through space like a distant memory. So far away, you stalled, thinking you’d imagined it in your desperation. 

Until you heard it again like a repeating prayer. 

Pushing your hand back through the glass, you waved your fingers widely and screamed his name until your throat burned and the emptiness of space consumed the sound. 

Nails drove into your mark from the other side.

You sat up languidly, blinking slowly and cat-like. People moved through the mayhem like a silent film – black, scroll to action, back to black. Spiders played, cloaks fluttered, blood spewed. And time slowed for your taking.     

Inside you, each nerve ending scorched cold. It stung from your heart to the joints joining bones and numbed the rationality in your mind, like everything you were was consumed with icy flames. 

Fingers caressed the back of your neck. You turned leisurely. Feitan devoured your image like you were death incarnate he’d released into the world. 

He looked in a mirror, and in that mirror was you. 

Fei breathed unevenly. You caught every moment from the shock widening his eyes to the miniscule shutter of his fingers, to the way his body tensed upon realizing you’d taken part of him. 

You could slit Fei’s throat before he knew what happened. That is what you were to him too, what you’d always been in the face of a predator you could never compete with. 

But you could borrow his claws. 

As if he’d heard the thought, his shock tumbled into awe. A single blink passed between those feelings. Blood pumped in his veins, air circulated in his lungs, tension rippled in his muscles – and you felt it all. A power entirely new and overwhelmingly addictive. No wonder Fei got off on this feeling of pure, unadulterated power. You’d felt the monster before, seen it, kissed it. But now you were the monster. And Fei had never looked at you quite so reverently. 

Never had the lines between you and him been so blurred. 

Fei’s calloused fingers grazed your chin and you chased the feeling of his hand on your skin. 

"That's it." He smiled with rabid glee and said, “Go.” 

So you stood. 

It was nothing more than walking – Feitan could move so swiftly, time slowed and you caught every detail. An untied shoe, a pounding heart, a jerk of the head as you glided towards a man in blue. 

The urge to sever struck like a compulsion. Skin itched and nothing would satiate the unquenchable need to harm but your hand through his neck. Not a severed artery like you'd have done, but a head struck from a body.

The compulsion burned your hand from an instinct not your own. Flexing your fingers, razor pointed nails protruded from your skin. Crude and uneven, blood seeped from your nail beds like your body wasn't fully equipped to handle the change.

But it would work. 

The man barely blinked before you tore through his skin like rain through air. With perfect precision, his head dislodged. 

That should have quenched the itch. But it only made it gurgle closer towards the surface. 

You needed–  

More. 

More.

More. 

The rabid smile that strained your lips wasn’t your own. It was vividly, distinctly Fei. 

A single strike and another went down. Not nearly enough yet. The itch expanded, running through your veins like a cancer expanding. It pulsed, like the need itself was alive. 

Weaving through Spiders and twirling past flames, you flowed effortlessly, like this was the easiest thing in the world to Fei. The most natural representation of himself. 

You cackled as heads rolled. Not your laugh, but one you loved.

Smoke burned your eyes but you felt bodies fall just as well as if you could see them. They became a part of you as you formed a bond with the dead you couldn’t sever. You’d never seen that bond as a positive thing until you felt how it roared in your blood. An entirely new form of connection.  

Cloak, hand, head. 

Over and over you caressed the neck of your victims before setting them free with a single, lethal strike. 

You too were free. You could live forever in this cold heat of hatred and bloodlust if you just let yourself go. But the little flame of you left inside insisted this was a temporary reprieve – a moment of forgetting what you couldn't usually escape. 

It was a place you truly belonged. 

A knife moved past your head, and you dodged leisurely before moving to where it originated. Another blue cloak, perfect for grabbing as you collided into him and struck with your hand. 

Blood splattered your cheeks and you savored the coolness compared to the searing heat of the flames. 

Sweat trickled into your eyes as you threw your head back and laughed at your own salvation. Flames burned close and you moved again. You were by the remains of the house, but the bloodlust ran so deep, there was no pain – only joy. 

For once, you were free. 

Blinking like your consciousness was slipping, you spun like a dancer on the stage, hunting for the next victim. You were an island in the glimmering blue sea as cloaks floated towards the ground like waves. 

Someone stroked your wrist and you turned to swing. Your nails stalled right before tearing through Feitan’s throat. But even as you nearly mutilated him, he looked at you like you were the sun. 

Instead of speaking, he pulled you to himself and cradled your head like you were something precious. You saw it in slow motion - how he tugged you towards him; his hair flowing in the wind, black as midnight compared to the flames; his small smile that looked gods-crafted when you watched it slowly change. He was incredible. While the fire burned, Feitan raged and you’d lived it for him. 

He hushed you and said, “You are beautiful.”

“I’m a monster,” you whispered. 

“No, you are perfection,” Feitan said, his chest heaving. “Wounds are healing. Time to go.” 

“But–” You hadn’t felt the way your body was healing. So lost you’d been until Feitan had touched you again. 

“Handled them already,” Feitan said. “So well.” 

You turned to the scene around you. The Troupe was already putting out the flames and the dead bodies littered the ground all had blue cloaks. Except for the two Mai and Phinks wore like prizes. You whimpered. You could have killed them if Feitan hadn’t stopped your euphoric rampage.  

Chrollo utilized some water-based ability. His book was open in one hand as he used the other to control the water. 

“Now we finish our business,” Feitan said, gripping your jaw. “No more interruptions. Do not run from me anymore.” 

Feitan looked back at the Troupe that was now congregating. They looked over and Feitan waved the book in the air. A few of them seemed to get it – Phinks, Mai, Shalnark. And the sadness in their eyes could be seen even across the yard. 

“Isn’t it weird if they know what we’re doing?”

“I do not care,” Feitan said, dragging you by the wrist towards the other side of the house. “Not dying because you are embarrassed.” 

Smoke spread across the sky as it dissipated, and Feitan dragged you towards the line of trees again, in a direction you hadn’t been before. 

Not even a quarter mile in was a greenhouse shrouded in the shade of the trees but illuminated in spotty places by the moon. Feitan turned and clutched your jaw to guide you into a gentle kiss. It felt too loving. 

“Don’t we need ash?” 

Feitan plucked a small fabric bag from his pocket. “From Blair.” 

She had been able to read some of the ritual, you recalled and almost choked back tears at the gesture. During the mayhem, she’d realized you and Feitan might need help and time, and she’d saved you a few critical moments. 

“Inside,” Feitan said, shoving you towards the frosted door. 

The greenhouse was the size of a small home. Rows of shelves held a menagerie of plants and flowers, much like the forest, like somebody took the forest and expanded it inside. Flickering fairy lights and potted plants hung from the ceiling, swaying in some phantom breeze. The shelves broke in a circle in the middle of the room which was filled with pillows and blankets. 

“Does the Troupe spend much time here?” you said, spinning to revel in the ethereal feelings the greenhouse evoked. 

Feitan shrugged and gently guided you down onto the blankets. Grime collected on every surface as you laid out for him. He took a moment to examine every detail of your face and your heart shuttered at his gentle smile. But it was gone as quickly as it came. Feitan kissed you as he guided you back out of your clothes. 

“Prefer to take my time fucking you,” Feitan said like an apology. “Not much time left for that.”

“When I get back,” you said. Once you returned to him, you’d have all the time in the world and you’d never leave him again. “And we can do the thing with the knife.” 

“You will be stuck with me for days,” Feitan said, with a glint in his eye that made you shiver. “With no escape.” 

He removed his own clothes and pretended to ignore you as he laid out the knives, the ash, the box you hadn’t recognized in the clearing, and flipped the pages of the book back to the passage he needed. He watched the wound on his arm like it was a timer, determining how much time you had left. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. He didn’t match the beauty of the greenhouse with blooming green leaves and brilliant, pastel flowers. Fei was a beauty all his own as he kneeled like he was praying at your altar, preparing his final sermon. Feitan was shadow slashing through light during the afternoon sun. 

“I love you,” you whispered, and gasped as he came to hover over you. While the stars had haloed him outside, the spiraling vines and flickering lights crowned him like a king. 

Feitan huffed. “Love you too.” 

He handed you the same knife you’d used in the clearing. Metal glinted as he twirled his knife around his fingers and came to tap it on your waist. The next spot he’d cut. Fei dropped the knife and fumbled for the bag of ash. Soot covered his hand as he pulled it free. It marked the blankets as it fell from his hands before he spread it across your side in a loving caress. 

“One last time,” Feitan said.

You closed your eyes and nodded. “One last time.” 

It was a mistake because you felt the world tumbling behind darkness. When you opened, you landed on top of Feitan, who rested against a stack of pillows. He held you steady and took the initiative to spread your knees and align you, watching enraptured as you let him guide you how he wanted you placed. Feitan gripped your sides and stroked his thumb across your hip bone as he examined how you took him as he pushed up into you. The moment he was satisfied with his angle, he shoved you down on him harder and smiled up at your conspiratorially. You wriggled and let out a small gasp. 

“That’s it,” he whispered, clutching your hips harder and rolling you against him, which made him hiss. You repeated the movement a few times until you captured the rhythm he wanted, and clutched at his shoulders for support. Feitan bit down on his tongue to stop the needy sound he was going to make, but a small whine still got free. “Just like that. Perfect thing.”  

Feitan reached for the knife and brought the tip to your side. He was speaking again in his language of death. The same words over and over again from the forest that sounded like a song you’d never forget. Playing with him just a bit, you continued moving as he dragged the knife down your side. It was a scraggly cut and Feitan brought the side of the knife to smack it between your legs. 

“Watch it,” Feitan warned and you smiled softly, reaching for your own knife. 

There was no trace of him in your head now. You were all alone like you’d been before. The cuts on your neck and arm continued stitching back together and Feitan was tracking the movement on your skin to confirm how long you both had before everything went dark. 

“But I like that,” you said, leaning down to kiss him after he pulled the knife away. 

He looked angelic with his hair spread across red and purple pillows. His lips were parted and his eyes were hazy. 

He continued speaking in his language as you pressed ash to his side. This time you did stop moving, taking your time to ensure you didn’t harm him as you cut him.

Again and again you cut lesions on each other's skin as you went back and forth until your bodies looked cut-infested. It mirrored the strange severing happening inside the bond.  

Feitan pushed you back slowly so he was on top of you again. He slid back inside and rocked against you so gently, it nearly evoked tears in you. Everything about him was perfect to you. It meant so much you could still love him so desperately when he wasn’t in your head, when you were locked out of the bond. You didn’t love him because of the bond, you loved him because he was him.  

And there was power in that realization. 

“Most dangerous cut now,” Feitan said softly into your ear. “Stay still. Trust me.” 

You nodded as Fei gripped the wrist with your mark. Ash cascaded down your arm as he held it beside your head, mark face up. He angled the knife so only the tip caught your skin. You gasped and bit your tongue when you realized he was cutting through the mark, which meant he was cutting directly down your wrist. An impossibly dangerous slash to make. Metal touched skin and your body felt like it caught fire. You cried out in agony. But it wasn’t just you that felt that unbearable anguish – the bond knew it was being mutilated and sent adrenaline rampaging through your system that you fought to control yourself through tears and tension in your muscles that made you want to run.

“Hurry, Fei,” you said, choking through tears that burned your eyes. “The bond knows. Please hurry. It hurts.” 

He didn’t answer you. He kept speaking the ritual as he made the cut. 

Your heart and soul were aflame. You’d been heartbroken before, but this was a cataclysmic misery that dragged you down to the bottom of the ocean to suffocate your will to live as you drowned. To kill you twice – body and soul. 

You were destroying a part of yourself as necessary as any organ. The tears came harder and you couldn’t tell if you were screaming from pain or the agony of your actions. 

“Please, please, please,” you repeated over and over as Feitan finally tore the knife back. “I can’t do this to you!” you said it so loudly it echoed across the walls, but it sounded like a whisper compared to how you wanted the entire world to hear that you wouldn’t hurt your soulmate this way. 

You clutched at your wrist as he let it go. Blood came back warm and alarming. Turning your wrist, you choked on your own breath. The mark was mutilated, fizzling away like smoke from the fire. It slithered and broke like ink meeting water. Feitan’s name was nothing but dust in the wind branded on your wrist. 

“Me now,” Feitan said, gripping at your hair to force your stare. But even as he spoke assuredly, the terror in his eyes was clearer than any word he’d ever spoken. “Do it now.” 

You choked as you sobbed, throwing him back so you could hug him sitting up. Everything in your body ached and you would never again question if the soul itself was real – because you knew now as cracks rampaged through it, that you had never once appreciated it until it was dying. 

“I can’t,” you sobbed into his shoulder, blood from your mark seeping down his back. “I’m in so much pain. I can’t – I won’t do this to you.” 

“We will die,” Feitan’s voice sounded distant and panicked. “Choosing to die together now?” 

There was nothing but hellfire in your soul, and any form of darkness would be better than that agony. 

You choked hard as you sobbed. You couldn’t breathe evenly enough to speak, so it came out strained as you said, “Please, just make the pain stop.” 

Feitan stroked your hair but you could feel his body trembling. 

“Not ready to die yet,” Feitan said, softly. “But,” he kissed your temple, “if you have decided. Will agree to go with you.” He stroked your cuts like he was determining how much time you had left. “Have only ever loved you,” Feitan said against your hair. “If this is our time… will follow you anywhere, even into death.” 

“You don’t want this pain,” you said, shivering as your body felt like it was boiling your blood, ready to overflow. 

Feitan laughed humorously, but his gentle hands caressed you. 

“All I am is pain,” Feitan said. “What is a little more?” 

“You want this agony?” You sobbed so hard the words were barely coherent. Everything was on fire and your vision was going blurry. 

“Bear this with you,” Feitan said. “Keep fighting. A few more moments.” 

You pulled back to look at him. His determination mixed with his acquiescence that you’d decided both your fates and he was going to chase you as dust through the stars into eternity. And there was something in that acceptance that made you pause.

“Have a reason to live now,” Feitan said, stroking your cheek, and pushing your tears from your skin. “Want to love you one more day. But I understand.” 

Your shaky hands reached for your knife, never once looking away from him. The way he watched the knife broke your heart, just like how the ritual broke your soul. He knew you were ending it for you both and he wasn’t stopping you. Feitan looked back to you and smiled, guiding your hand with the knife to his throat. 

“Me first,” Feitan said. “Can’t watch you go.” 

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I can’t do that either.” 

There was no anger in Feitan’s stare, just an understanding built from misery. 

“Don’t let the book take us,” Feitan said, pleading with you as he stroked your face like he could remember it in the afterlife. “Do it together.” He shoved the knife farther into his throat and you yelped, trying to pull the blade back. But he was stronger than you and the shallow cut was deepening. “At your hands only.” 

“I can’t own your life that way,” you said. It was easier to stomach the book taking you both. Then you could go into the darkness pretending it wasn’t your fault. If you’d never been who you were, Feitan would have been safe. But because you were broken, so was he. 

“Owned my life from the beginning,” Feitan said. “Do whatever you want with it.” 

Feitan kissed you, which only made the knife drive deeper. 

You dropped the hilt and the knife clattered beside you both. Feitan’s breath caught and his eyes flickered open like he’d only now accepted you wouldn't do it. 

“You’ll love me one more day?” you whispered, gripping to him like you couldn’t let go. 

“Until you decide,” Feitan said, his gaze so reverent, “that you are done.” 

“Even though I’m about to hurt you?” you said. 

“Make your choice or the book will,” Feitan said, kissing you softly like he just needed one more tender moment before the inevitable darkness. 

“Make our choice, you mean,” you said, not like a question, like a statement you already knew was true. 

Feitan was quiet for a moment. “Yes.” 

You shoved him back with a fervor he didn’t expect. His eyes widened as you gripped his marked wrist and slammed it beside his head the way he had yours. Hovering over him, you fumbled for ash to stroke across his hand and arm. Kissing him softly, you apologized and grabbed the knife before you could change your mind. Everything inside you was revolting - your soul wanted to live and your body wanted to die, and neither could reconcile. You couldn’t bear that decision without Feitan. 

One calming breath later, you touched the tip of the knife to his mark and this time, he called out in pain. Even when he’d been dying that day you’d healed him, he’d never screamed like this. You wanted the pain back. If you'd made a different choice, he would have slipped into death without knowing this catastrophic, searing anguish. 

With surgical precision, you let your years of practice guide your movements because your body and mind weren’t connecting – you were acting and instinct was all you had. 

Feitan’s screams were so unbearable, you covered his mouth with your arm as you traced down his wrist. His pain would send you to the brink of madness and him biting marks into your skin grounded you. Fei’s eyes burned with tears and his head shook like he was trying to plead with you, just as you’d pleaded with him. But you’d made the decision for you both, and now you’d live with the consequences. 

You finished the cut and tore the knife away. Then threw yourself into his arms, holding him and stroking his face as sweat trickled into his eyes. The pain in his eyes was like another strike to your decision. 

“I love you so much,” you said, shaking as you kissed his cheek. “What do you have to do next?” 

He groaned but there was a brightness in his eyes. Feitan shook as he sat up. Hands running through his hair, he shoved his head between his knees like he was trying not to be sick. Instead of words, he pointed to the box with the contents you didn’t know. You fumbled for it as you caught sight of Feitan’s cuts almost fully healed. 

Time was running out. 

You placed the box in front of him.

“Keep fighting one more day, okay?” you said, stroking his hair as his hands shook. Your own pain was disappearing and you hoped his was too. 

He hung his head before you and he opened the box like he was offering you the world. 

“No–” You choked on your words. “How did you…?” 

“Followed you that day,” Feitan’s voice was nothing more than near incoherent sound scratching his throat. 

Your fingers slipped through the chain of the fire opal necklace. You remembered how you’d described it that day at the festival when you’d found it at a derelict stand: magma sloshing through mountains and fire burning through forests. 

“It had six opals. It reminded me of each letter of your name. I couldn’t help thinking of you when I saw it,” you said. “But why did you get it? I don’t need lovely things like this.” 

Feitan found the strength in him to shrug. 

“Knew that moment I loved you,” Feitan mumbled, still not looking up, like he couldn’t face you. “So happy looking at the necklace,” he said, like it nearly repulsed him. “Hated you for it.” 

You smiled. “What do we do with it?”

Feitan started speaking his language again. With shaking hands he stroked the cut on your neck, collecting blood from the wound. He swiped it across the necklace. The blood seeped into the necklace like it had never been there. “Holds the bond.” 

“I see,” you said, reaching for his neck to do the same. 

You pressed his blood onto an opal and watched it disappear. Now the fire in the opals really came alive. 

Feitan continued whispering his chants and you both took turns collecting blood from your cuts and placing it on the necklace. Feitan looked faint as you took blood from his wrist. You let it fall on the necklace like a water droplet. 

Fei’s small smile came into view as he looked up at you. “Done.” You knew he wasn’t smiling because you’d completed the ritual, but because even without the bond at the moment, there was still time for you and him. 

The necklace was warm as you placed it carefully back in the box and handed it to him. The opals burned as bright as the galaxy. 

“Keep this safe for us,” you said, knowing you couldn’t take it where you were going. 

Feitan Portor was sorrow masquerading as massacre. And you felt everything in your soul that made you him and he you for the last time as the bond slammed shut. Even if it wasn't a true death, it was a kind of death. 

You would go forward with the conviction that you had killed him to save him. But with the understanding you could have the bond back one day.

And you’d do it a thousand times more for the chance at one extra day to love him.

Chapter Text

There hadn’t been time to check the house for anything before the sirens wailed in the distance. For a single moment, you worried the Spiders would kill them out of convenience, but Feitan tugged your hand and pointed to the others with their varying emotions clear on their faces as they moved. 

“Everyone meet in town and I’ll find us cars,” Shalnark said, cupping his hands over his mouth to yell, “Then we’ll meet at the cabin.” 

The Spiders split but your smaller group of friends remained just a moment. Shalnark waited for you and Fei to catch up to him. He had no mask left to cover his pain. 

“Blair told me earlier what you two were going to do,” Shalnark said. “I’m–” He struggled to meet your eyes. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to move so quickly.” His pleading eyes made your heart sink even deeper than it already had. 

“What did you do?” Feitan said to Shalnark. 

“He told me the truth,” you said. “I chose to do the ritual with you tonight.”

“Everyone knows?” Feitan said, his eyes squinting at Shalnark like he was about to pounce. 

Shalnark nodded. “It’s a sacrifice none of us would have made.” His ‘thank you’ was implied because honest feelings weren't going to come from him. 

The time to question your decision has long since trickled away, but with Shalnark’s opinion other Spiders would have found an alternate path, it sparked a moment of disbelief at what you’d done. And repulsion at yourself for pushing Feitan to do it too. 

You paused for whatever thought Feitan would have in your head. It was silence for grueling moment after moment and you were again reminded there was nothing there. But at least Feitan glared at you, like he too was trying to decipher your thoughts. 

“Then keep Mai and I alive as thanks,” you said, a strange emptiness in your voice. “That’s all I want.” It was useless to ask Shalnark to keep Anaia alive. 

“You’re all coming back alive,” Phinks popped into the conversation. “But now we gotta go.”  

The embers burned low on the house you’d come to love. The others already moved, but Feitan remained as you enjoyed the presence of the house one last time. 

“When this is done,” you said, turning to Fei who now had a hand around your wrist like he was going to drag you now that the sirens were louder, “we’ll find something nice for us.” 

Fei’s eyes widened. “You want that?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to sleep anywhere but your bed so I don’t really know how to avoid it,” you said, trying to joke, but there was too much hollowness inside for it to come out as anything but bland. But Feitan didn’t seem to hold your tone against you. Especially when it was a promise you’d return to him.

He shrugged. “Okay.” 

“We should probably run now,” you said.

“Think so,” Feitan said. 

The multi-story cabin cut above the tree line beside the lake. Shallow water lapped at the abruptly dropping shore, like the lake had lost depth over time. 

Rounded logs with nicks and breaks made up the outside. Just like the mansion, it was grand but aged with nobody present to care for it. Smoke twined above the trees from the fireplace inside. But you and Feitan sat in the patchy grass between the house and lake, enjoying avoiding the light of the moon in the dark, early morning shadows. 

You sat between his legs on a small hill. No clotted blood yet covered the cuts he’d made with that knife. At some point, blood from the ritual started glimmering the hellfire gold you’d seen on your mark before the Blood Bind. Like the bond itself seeped from the lesions, slowly trickling further and further away. Droplets landed on the ground, sizzling and burning the grass where they fell. 

You and him bled like the universe itself rained through the wounds. 

You'd healed the cut from his knife across his throat – which had never turned gold – but were wary to touch any involved in the ritual. 

“Is it safe to heal all the cuts?” you said. The first mark on his throat you’d made for the ritual bled red again above a graveyard of gold blood branding the earth. “This one’s not gold anymore.” 

Feitan nodded as you pressed your fingers against the cut. Skin stitched together and the wound closed like it had never been there. 

“I didn’t really get the chance to talk to you the past few days,” you said. “I don’t have to be in a wound to heal it, and it doesn’t have to be dire either.” You stroked your thumb down the spot the cut had been, “I can heal just by touching…”

The implication lingered just like it had with Marco, and Feitan’s lip twitched up. “And to kill?” 

“Probably the same,” you said. Then gasped and pulled your hand back from his throat, realizing you could have harmed him. “Aren’t you worried I’ll accidentally kill you.” 

Feitan lifted a brow. 

“Not scared of you,” he said. “Sorry.” 

It was difficult to laugh through the emptiness, so the sound came out like a breath of air. 

"I feel like I should be scared of you after what I did outside the house," you said, "but I'm not. It was actually freeing, being part of you like that for a while."

"Was nice in the field too," Feitan said.

"I wonder what it says about us that we only feel free when we aren't ourselves," you said. It made you shiver in the morning air. 

"Don't really care," Feitan said with a shrug. "Just another ability."

You smiled sadly, unsure if that was a good or bad way to look at it. So you dropped the subject. 

One by one, you healed his cuts as they stopped bleeding gold. He was quiet through the process, because there were no private, snarky remarks he could make in your head.  

“What about your cuts?” Feitan said when you’d finished working. He skimmed a thumb across your neck where he’d cut you. 

“I’ll wrap them or something,” you said, hoping nobody in TPI knew about the particular ritual you'd used and could recognize it by the exact cuts. 

Feitan cocked his head like he was considering his words. He weaved his fingers through yours and placed your hand on your neck. “Bleeding red. Heal it.” 

You blinked. It sounded like a command. 

“But I can’t heal mysel–” 

“Heal. It.” Feitan’s clipped voice caught you off guard. 

You watched one another, breathing heavily for a few moments before you acquiesced. The worst that would happen was nothing. You activated your ability and gasped a sting and a pinch. 

“Holy shit,” you said breathlessly, both from the unnatural feeling of healing yourself and from the way Feitan watched you like you were something both accessible and out of reach to him. “When are you going to stop figuring things out faster than me?” 

“Just too smart,” Feitan joked, plucking blades of grass from your clothes and wiping dirt from your face. 

“What about you?” you said. “How do we know if your Nen is changing?” 

You’d never gotten to see what he could do with his Nen. Only fleeting moments here and there where you felt like you were preparing to burn from the inside out. 

Feitan’s lips thinned. “Not here. Would kill you all.” 

“Well aren’t you full of yourself,” you said. It meant to be teasing, but it came forth lifeless. 

Feitan blinked, staring past you. 

“You fix. I just break,” Feitan said. And you wondered if he realized that it was two sides of the same coin. Or that you were equally as capable of breaking as him. But even with your ability being able to cause harm, he didn’t see you as destruction. 

You took to healing the rest of your wounds until your entire body tingled with the remnants of your ability. That day you’d healed Fei from the brink of death, you’d felt glimmers of your own ability. It was agony, but it wasn’t your agony. But this was your own sting, administered on yourself – something you shouldn’t have been able to do. Or even more harrowing, something you were always capable of and accepted as impossible. 

Perhaps that was the real curse of the Blood Bind: it revealed the truth of what you were. 

It grew quiet between you and Fei, more silent than usual when there was nothing to say with words or in your mind, so you settled for touch. You leaned back against Fei and watched the moon drenched lake from a distance. 

“What are you thinking?” Feitan said with so little emotion, it was only possible he was experiencing your same emptiness. It wasn't his practiced disinterest, it was a desert in the form of words. 

“About you,” you said. “Did you break into my mind often?” It was probably an invasion, one you'd never done much to Fei, but you would give anything for this all to be over and have him lingering in the back of your mind again. 

Feitan stiffened and his breath stalled. But finally he said, “Was always in your head.” Feitan rested his forehead on your shoulder. “Wanted to understand.” 

“Do you?” you said, a flicker of affection bobbing to the surface and you clutched to it like a lifeboat. 

Feitan scoffed. “No.” 

You couldn’t help laughing. The emptiness in your chest eased just a moment. Even without him in your head, he was here with you. The fear that your feelings for him would disappear with the bond dissipated. Even in a world where soulmates didn’t exist and there wasn’t a string leading you to him, he could have been yours. No strange bonds guiding you together; simply being together because you wanted to be. But the hole in your chest wouldn’t go away without that bond returning. 

No matter what happened, or what the book said, you would find a way to crawl back to him before time was up. 

Other members of the Troupe tumbled by, throwing themselves into the lake and splashing each other with a joy you couldn't muster. Including Mai and Phinks enjoying their time together for one last night.

"Always felt this before you," Feitan said, dragging his nose up the side of your neck, "empty."

"Unless you were torturing someone," you said, avoiding revealing your concern you'd never make it back to make the hole in his chest heal. 

You could heal much, but not that. 

Feitan huffed a laugh. "Yes."

"Me and torture," you said, "your two favorite things." It was a joke, but it cut through your chest at the realization how sad it was. "I want you to have other things you enjoy too. Were there things you did as a kid that you miss?"

"Never got to be a kid." Feitan kissed the sensitive skin behind your ear and you shuddered. 

You turned to look up at him. "How do you mean?" It felt like an invasive question Feitan might not want to answer, but you longed for words from him you could cling to when you were gone to remind you even without the bond, he was real. 

Feitan shrugged. "No parents or place to live. Friend died. Created the Troupe."

"This was in Meteor City?" You kissed the underside of his jaw. 

Fei nodded and closed his eyes as you kissed across his skin. You couldn't apologize because he wouldn't want your pity.

"Hard to enjoy things," Feitan said, wrapping his arms around your shoulders like you were about to escape. "Just surviving is not fun."

You smiled sadly. "When this is all over, we'll learn how to do more than just exist together."

"And get back in your head," Feitan said, and you paused at the odd deviation in conversation. He must have seen your confusion because he said, "you are living, not just alive. Experience that in your head. Like it there."

What a beautiful sentiment, because you would have said you were just as empty as Fei. Perhaps you'd just never examined your own mind in the cacophony of everything happening. Feitan seemed to appreciate it more than you did. 

"I've only been in your head a few times, I think, and it was brief." It had never really occurred to you that you could dig so deep in the bond you could become part of his head. But of course, Fei needed one more moment of figuring something out before you did. 

"Won't like it there," Feitan said. "Don't go."

"How do you know if I’ve never done it?” you said.  

Fei grimaced. "Don't want you to see."

You wanted to tease, tell him that you should get to be in his head if he was in yours, but you couldn't muster it. Not when he showed his distaste for himself so earnestly.

"Do you ever feel like everyone around you can have fun and be happy, and for some reason, you just feel out of place?" you said, watching the other Spiders enjoy themselves at the lake and over on the rickety balcony of the cabin. They drank and laughed and enjoyed the last few moments of night until the sun inevitably rose on the day you would splinter apart. "Like it's not meant for you?"

The Spiders had lost their home and they appeared to feel no way in particular about it. Unless it was an act to be strong for the others. But Feitan didn't feel that way. Of course, you couldn't sense it through the bond, but you could feel the disappointment and sadness from him in waves. He'd loved that mansion and he wasn't trying to hide that he lost his home and would soon lose you on the same day. 

"Always feel that," Feitan said, "Like…" He hummed quietly as he thought of the words he was looking for. "I am in the wrong place."

No wonder he only felt alive when his hands were on another person. Then he would know it was real and he was a part of it. 

"Will you two stop moping and come over here?" Shalnark called from the shore. "We've got last minute preparations to make. The sooner we get this going, the sooner it will all be over." 

"That is the problem," Feitan mumbled into your hair. Like if he let you out of his hold now, he would never get you back. 

"We'll be over in a minute," you called back, and Shalnark simply nodded and turned away. 

Fei stroked the spot where your mark had been, now nothing more than scattered black dots and lines. His name was nowhere on your body, or yours on his. The only positive was that the red had faded to black and there was no physical evidence left that you'd tampered with the bond in any way. Just inky evidence that looked like you'd murdered him. 

He brought your wrist up to his lips and kissed the skin. It burned beautifully and it was a nice reminder that the bond still lingered somewhere deep inside you both. 

You smiled, remembering what you'd said to him that first time he'd left. 

"Fuck you," you said. "Don't do that to me and then leave."

Feitan's surprised laugh caught you off guard with how genuine it felt. 

"You are leaving this time," Feitan said, his momentary enjoyment fading back into the darkness. 

"Not forever," you said. "I love you too much to disappear." 

"Stop being sentimental and get over here!" Shalnark yelled and waved. The sparkling hints of daybreak caught his hair with the wind. The Troupe splashed through the gentle current, chasing each other through the warm colors of sunrise. 

You smiled and Feitan grabbed your jaw to look at him. 

"Come back to me," Feitan said, skimming his lips across your jaw and nipping your lip before he kissed you. He cradled your neck and stroked his thumbs up your cheeks. Soft and yearning, he kissed you like he'd burn the memory of his lips into your mind and brand the feeling of his bare skin against yours into your soul. 

"I'll always come home to you," you said breathlessly, resting your forehead against his. 

You yelped as Shalnark lunged for you, grabbing your leg and pulling you down the grassy hill. Cackling with glee, you fumbled to your feet and chased him onto the shore. He threw himself into the water, thinking you wouldn't follow, but you leapt after him, barely catching his ankle as he swam away. 

Someone grabbed you from behind and you pretended to struggle as they stood taller than you'd ever experienced. Massive arms wrapped around your stomach. Uvo swung you and you flew through the air, crashing into the middle of the lake. The splash dragged you under and you nearly choked on the water as you laughed. Resurfacing and shaking the surprise away, you caught Uvo laughing at Feitan standing ankle deep in the water. Feitan pointed at you and from words like "kill you" and "don't touch" it sounded like he was getting a few choice threats in. 

You swam up to the distracted Uvo, not quite knowing how you'd get him back, but then Gareth surfaced beside you, tapping his shoulders, telling you to get on. You wrapped your legs around him and he lurched up. Covering your mouth to block your laughter. He pushed you closer to Uvo's shoulders than you could have reached on your own. Gripping Gareth's hair, you looked down to see if he had the same idea you did. 

Gareth nodded and pushed you onto Uvo's back. You could barely wrap yourself around him and you could just see Feitan's surprise over Uvo's shoulder. 

"When did you climb me?" Uvo spun in circles to dislodge you. Holding tight, you yelped when he changed tactics and flipped you over his shoulder. Just when you thought you'd hit the water, Uvo caught you and lightly tossed you back towards the center of the lake. Cold water engulfed you again and you swam back to the surface, treading water to keep yourself up. 

"I made food," Mai yelled from the shore. Phinks followed them, swiping bits of food from their plates. 

Feitan glared at you since you'd willingly taken part in Uvo's roughhousing. Swimming to the shore, you kicked your waterlogged shoes into the grass and wrapped yourself around Fei, forcing him to pay attention to you. Expecting a quick shove or an insult for soaking him, you instead got a small laugh in your ear. 

"Demanding," Feitan whispered against your cheek.  

Anaia walked past you and rolled her eyes, but with a small smile on her lips.

"Wait!" you called and Anaia paused. "What did you get from the guy you grabbed?"

Anaia raised a brow. "If you hadn't been disgusting with Feitan earlier, you would have heard my report." She crossed her arms, waiting for you to back down, but when you didn't she sighed. "TPI doesn't know we're with the Troupe. They received a tip that the people raiding their facilities were at the mansion. They didn't expect to find you or I there." Anaia tried to cover her smile. "Finally some acceptable news."

"Acceptable?" Mai called. "That's incredible!"

"It's good," you added, smiling as Feitan stepped between you and Anaia like a guard dog. 

"Get her later. Mine right now," Feitan said and gripped your wrist to drag you towards the food. 

You laughed so joyously you wondered if maybe you hadn't entirely broken. Even empty inside, there was a hidden well of hope that led you back to Fei. 

Chapter Text

Part II: Blood

That morning, you and the Troupe ate a leisurely breakfast around midday, all scrunched together on the porch discussing the final aspects of the plan before you dispersed. You, Anaia, and Mai would head out early to scout to town. Then a handful of Troupe members would attend the rally itself disguised under cloaks. Neither Phinks nor Feitan were included. Even though they’d known this would be the case, it didn’t alter their vibrant distaste for it. Phinks shattered a mug (which elicited no response from anyone) and Feitan’s eye twitched like he wanted to object. But both kept their dissent to themselves.

Even without a shimmer of Fei’s voice in your head, he dared not hide from you anymore. He’d learned slowly and excruciatingly that you would always haul him back to face you.

A hodgepodge of fury and understanding rippled through Fei’s stare. If you’d still been in his head, you would certainly hear a litany of curses in multiple languages. But when his gaze slipped from Shalnark to you, something changed in the darkness embedded permanently in his stare: belief in you.

You swallowed hard.

They trusted you; every one of them trusted you to some degree with the lives of the people they cared for most. Though birthed from necessity, it was still a burden you wouldn't take lightly – a creed greater than revenge.

“Those motherfuckers cooked my cars,” Phinks said, waving his arm about, the other resting over Mai’s shoulders.

“And tried to kill us,” Mai said, patting his chest.

“Yeah,” Phinks said like it hadn’t occurred to him prior and he was adding it to the list of TPI’s crimes, “that too.”

Mai continued to quietly list all TPI’s crimes to Phinks as the rest of the group moved on.

“We go in on her hand signal in the window,” Shalnark said, motioning towards you. His leg bounced. Shalnark was uneasy. With what, he didn’t share. “We cause a scene as payback, snatch our traitor, make the shot, and get out.”

"And if he's not there?" Hisoka said with a self-satisfied smirk.

“He’ll be there,” Anaia said, resting her hands over her crossed knees. Disguising her true feelings was as natural to her as breathing, but as you’d spent more time together, you’d realized even Anaia had tells. Like how she rubbed her thumb and pointer finger when she wasn’t at ease, like she was doing then. “Many of The Thirteen attend rallies to make themselves feel important to give meaning to their miserable lives. This rally should be the pinnacle of showmanship.” She graced you with a nearly sympathetic smile that faded as quickly as it came. “There should be no reason he won’t attend.”

Shalnark nodded, and his gaze flicked between every individual on the porch like he was hunting for something. Then he landed on you.

"Remember, you and Anaia reveal yourselves only after we or TPI themselves start a riot. We're pretending we tracked you to the rally to get you back after you murdered Fei and escaped when TPI burned the house down."

Feitan snorted softly. "Could still have both of them in the basement."

You shoved him playfully and Fei's lip quirked up into a smile.

"Best part of this plan is that it makes you look like a fucking idiot, Fei," Phinks said. A knife flew past Phinks' head and he laughed. "Murdered by your soulmate. Pathetic."

You grabbed Fei's wrist as he suddenly had another dagger in hand. He put it down reluctantly, eyeing you, deciding how easily he could overpower you.

"From what Anaia got out of the man she interrogated yesterday, our traitor hasn't revealed who we are to TPI. I don't know why," Shalnark said, "so we act carefully and conceal ourselves until we have our man in hand. Gareth will track him and I will snatch him before he recognizes me." Shalnark twirled an antenna between his fingers. "Then we help you and Anaia," Shalnark said. He gave you a pointed look. "No going rogue. I'm serious this time."

You nodded. "I'm not going rogue. We all need this to work."

Shalnark's leg bounced but he bowed his head just enough to acknowledge he accepted your promise.

The morning wore on, the shadows fled the porch. And the Troupe dispersed after final discussions, with little more than passing glances at those they cared to acknowledge.

You turned to Fei, who was already focused on you.

“We need some way we can communicate without tipping off TPI,” you said, looking over at Anaia and Shalnark who were having a hurried, whispered conversation. “We don’t know how much freedom of movement I’ll have. Of course we can talk through Anaia, but we should limit that as much as possible. And she hates you and probably doesn’t want to talk to you anyway.”

Feitan smiled softly. “Have an idea?”

Something about his trust in you warmed your chest.

“I got the idea from the custom coins you guys carry, actually.” you said, stroking your fingers up and down Feitan’s forearm. “Once we know where they’ll take me, I’ll have Anaia set up a few drop locations throughout that city. We’ll use a normal coin with some kind of marking, not yours that would tip somebody off that there’s something unique about it. Tails will mean not to contact us, and heads will mean we can or need to speak in person.”

Feitan’s face scrunched as he considered. It wasn’t ideal. By smothering the bond, you’d shut off your most reliable means of communication, regardless of distance. (Assuming there wasn’t a point where the bond would dampen communications naturally. You’d never been far enough away to test the bounds of that possibility.)

Feitan finally spoke after a sigh reeking of exhaustion. “What about emergencies?”

“You’re right,” you said, pleased he wasn’t dismissing the idea outright. “I realized that in dire situations, there’s no good way to communicate quickly that we need help.” You took a heavy breath. “Hear me out…”

Feitan’s eyes widened. “What did you do?” His words were clipped.

“Nothing yet,” you said, trying to placate him so he wouldn’t rampage at your idea. “But if it becomes clear I am too closely watched to have something like a cell phone…” Feitan scowled, tracking your every movement like it would give away what you were about to say. “I want to make a deal…” you said, softly. His hand clamped down on your wrist. “...with the book.”

Feitan sat still as death, except for his hand on your wrist digging in harder until you made a small sound of protest.

“What deal?” Feitan’s fingers shook as he pulled his arm back, releasing you from his grasp. “How?”

Your throat leaden, you could barely breathe. You thought you’d been long past the days of sugarcoating unfavorable news, but apparently that was something you’d need to work on with him when you returned–alive.

“Blair mentioned the book is bargaining with her and Chrollo,” you said, quietly, in case there were people Blair wouldn’t want to hear about it. You had no way of knowing who she’d shared this with. “It’s attempting to coerce them into a Blood Bind.” If it were even possible to coerce a man like Chrollo into anything. You caressed Fei’s cheek with your thumb. “If it becomes clear I have no way to communicate with you in emergencies, I want to bargain with the book to temporarily give me access to speak to you. Assuming the book will allow that at all.”

No breath left Feitan for so long, you were worried Mai had accidentally activated their Nen. But then he breathed heavily and gazed out to the lake as he said, “Last resort only.”

“Agreed,” you said, chest wavering as you tried to catch your breath. “I don’t know what it would even be willing to bargain for or how long the process would take, so it has to be done before there’s an emergency.”

Feitan nodded once. “Don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted. “I hope there’s a simpler way.”

But if it came to a fool's bargain, a fool's bargain you would make. As long as it meant you’d be one day closer to seeing Feitan safe again. You’d burn the world down for that cause.

“Stay alive,” Feitan said, leaning in close. “No matter the cost.”

Fei clutched your chin and dragged you in for a painstakingly slow kiss. Once he had you where he wanted, his fingers loosened and his thumb stroked your jaw.

“No matter the cost,” you echoed once he pulled away from the kiss. But you were worried that when push came to shove, Feitan might not mean it.

"Love you," Feitan whispered in a sing-song voice against your cheek. It was goading and teasing, like saying it once in earnest was all you'd get.

"Love you too," you said. "Asshole."

Emmett had been correct: there was in fact a strange town in the middle of the Gordeau Desert called Red Gap Trading Post. A self-sustaining conglomerate of individuals that governed amongst themselves. You would have thought it was Meteor City if you didn’t know better. It reeked of everything you’d ever been told about the place from which the Spiders hailed. Was it a joke? A warning? The Spiders had a traitor in the TPI Thirteen ranks. But that man was the Phantom Troupe’s concern, not yours.

The emptiness invading your body without the bond made you shiver. But you did you best to push the feeling away. There would be time later to wallow, but you couldn't let the feeling impact you now.  

Cool night air whipped your face as you walked the main road of the town with Anaia and Mai. Your easily acquired, hooded cloaks were heavy enough to stay in place over your face, even with the gentle wind. Stars glimmered above. A place bereft of light pollution. The rest of the town was lit with a mix between half-functioning electrical lighting and lanterns or candles.

The shadowy trader town on the precipice of hosting a terrorist organization's rally was brimming with vendors, which made it incredibly simple to blend in. If there were locals or regular sellers, neither group appeared concerned with the sweeping blue cloaks giving out money like candy. An underground market had sprung up so quickly, you imagined they’d only done so to accommodate greater TPI foot traffic.

Feitan and the Spiders had been looking for TPI's coffers. Perhaps they needed only wait and watch the money flow readily to questionable vendors.

Mai ambled away to examine vendors’ wares. Anaia slithered ahead, and held out a hand behind her as you tried to follow. She was on some sort of mission and you were not invited at the moment. With a blink, she was gone.

At least you’d selected a meeting location in case you were separated for too long. Ironically, it wasn’t far from the massive banner with your face hanging in the town square.

Head down, you wandered with the flow of the crowd, listening for pieces of information you could use.

Finding a nice place to sleep for the night was likely out of the question. Your disgust at the possibility of sleeping in an old warehouse instead of a hotel was now coming to fruition. Maybe it was karma that you would sleep somewhere vile the night before you sent yourself into hell. At least being sore and looking unpleasant just made it all the more believable.

“...can’t get a damn ticket,” somebody beside you hissed to the cloaked figure beside them. He reeked of smoke and you scrunched your nose. “Came all the way here and can’t see shit.”

“Only the best are gonna get in,” his cohort responded, who himself smelled stale with alcohol.

You paused to examine a vendor’s strange concoction in a mason jar. Homemade liquor. Part of you wished you could down it and black out everything until the Thirteen had voted on your fate.

“The most violent, you mean,” the first man said.

Their voices petered off as they walked into the night. You couldn’t risk following them and getting caught looking suspicious. Nodding to the vendor, you slowly ambled on. Luckily, most everyone had their cloaks. Only a few brave individuals wandered without them. Were they powerful TPI members or locals who weren’t smart enough to evacuate before the place was destroyed? You hoped they were complicit instead of innocent. If, and when, Red Gap descended into madness, you wouldn’t be there to help them.

A vendor hailed you and you waffled only a moment until you noticed what was for sale. The man behind the stall was a TPI member with his heavy cloak and sleazy smile. He looked ecstatic, like he’d snared you by gaining your attention.

Dolls large and small of cotton and plastic and straw lined the table. Multiple varieties organized in groups by their identical likenesses. Eyes roving over the groups, your mouth widened as you caught silken blonde hair and striking blue eyes. Reaching before you could stop, you held a doll that could be no other than–

“Anaia,” the vendor said, their voice scraggly like he hadn’t spoken recently. “Much missed by the devout. But she'll be back. She would never abandon Jed, or us, for that matter.”

You nodded as you held her doll to your chest. Hands shaking, you almost retched at the idea of any member of TPI holding something meant to be Anaia. They didn’t even deserve to look at her, let alone own something like her.

Gently returning the doll, you reluctantly returned it to its spot with a dozen other Anaias – some much better than others. She would be offended by the straw idol with yellow paper for hair.

“Do you make these?” you said, shifting your disgust to interest in your tone.

The vendor nodded as you reached for the next person you had in mind. Marco had more dolls than Anaia. Perhaps she was a more popular figure among the rabble than your brother.

“Reminiscent of the Nen of one of our Thirteen,” the vendor said.

“The dolls?” you said, holding a crocheted version of your brother to yourself. It was softer in feel than Marco was in any way. Part of you wanted to buy the most hideous one and leave it in his bed once you’d escaped this hellscape.

“The puppets,” the vendor corrected. “Though, mine are not as alive as his.”

You shivered and dropped your brother’s puppet quicker than you’d intended to. Anaia had warned you about a member of the Thirteen who created human puppets, and Shalnark had confirmed it was the Spiders' defector. It churched your stomach. Better dead than tied to someone else’s will as a walking corpse.

Looking to distract yourself before you could escape, you counted the stacks of ghastly creations. Thirteen, but there should have been one more. Chuckling, you realized the only doll missing was Jed. He must have been the most popular. Apparently it was fashionable to carry your favorite member of leadership around with you or give to your children to indoctrinate them while they played. Perhaps leave it on your shelf to collect dust.

You let yourself smile. “What a lovely way to pay homage to The Thirteen.”

“It’s the least I can do for the cause,” the vendor said. “All proceeds go back to The Parable Initiative.”

“As they should,” you said, smiling deferentially, since your mouth was all he could see below your cloak hood. Which was good since your eyes burned with wild ferocity. What fun you would have dismantling the organization.

The vendor bowed and you thanked him for his time before disappearing into the crowd as quickly as possible. You were sure his eyes followed you the entire way.

After being unable to find Mai and Anaia in the chaos of the market, you’d wandered until you reached your meeting point in viewing distance of the banner with your face. Not daring to sit or relax in any way, you stood quietly to avoid detection. Your knife lay in your hand behind your back so you wouldn’t waste a second if you needed it.

Mai was the first to return with a scowl on their face as they shared the menagerie of strange goods they’d seen for sale: talismans, compilations of Jed and other members of The Thirteen’s writings, and even someone claiming to sell bottled tears from the eye Jed had been…divested of. An entire capitalistic ecosystem had been constructed around TPI and you laughed humorlessly. It was something you wouldn’t have thought to look for.

Anaia was last to return and she looked more put out than anything.

“So monotonous.” Anaia crossed her arms and leaned in. “Apparently the entertainment has already begun.”

“But the rally isn’t until tomorrow,” Mai said.

Anaia’s lips pursed like she wanted to tell Mai that she was well aware. Somehow she refrained.

“We’re going to have to earn our tickets to the rally,” Anaia said. “Well, you and Mai need to, but I'll do it as a backup plan since I won’t be entering until the chaos is overwhelming.” She somehow sounded bored when discussing a city in disarray. “I’ll contact Shalnark and inform him. Maybe they can find their mark now instead of tomorrow. Though, they will still require tickets to enter for the rest of their role.”

“Can’t we just steal some?” you said.

Anaia shook her head. “All participants are cloaked, along with most people in the city. We would be forced to incapacitate or pickpocket nearly everyone.”

“What do you mean by ‘participants?’” Mai said, shifting to lean back against a crumbling wall.

Anaia smiled and it was the most terrifying look you’d ever seen on her face, and it wasn’t even a complete picture without her nose or eyes visible. She turned on you and raised her chin in challenge.

“You like to brawl,” Anaia said. "Do you not, heathen?"

"Don't say it like you don't know," you said. In reality, you’d enjoyed it a little too much in recent weeks. It was a needed release.

“Then your time has come,” Anaia said, pausing as a drunken pair of cultists stumbled by. When they disappeared, she said, “Fighting pits. Winner gets a ticket.” She spat it like she was allergic to the idea. “Seems Jed wants the guest of honor as outnumbered as possible at the rally by skilled fighters. His own little police force, it seems.” Anaia wiped her hands on her cloak. “Congratulations, you are officially a threat.”

The fighting pits were situated in an oversized basement of what had at one point been a warehouse. Controlling your breathing as you descended, you allowed a moment of terror before you called on Feitan’s voice in your head for support, before realizing there was nothing there.

“It’s not that place,” you whispered to yourself as your legs wobbled on your descent. After a few deep breaths and standing still at the bottom of the stairs, you collected yourself. Now was not the time to break.

Mai rested a hand on your shoulder and squeezed.

“You’re fine,” Mai said. “Breathe through it.”

Had you ever expressed to Mai how dark, confined spaces sent your senses reeling?

They must have seen the question on your face. Mai leaned in and whispered, “Feitan doesn’t know what to do with you half the time, Phinks tries to help, and I get the entire story.”

Mai snorted at your attempt to look annoyed.

“He’s not that helpless,” you said, honor-bound to defend Fei. But you could barely keep the surprise from your words. Feitan had been lost enough when it came to you to seek help. Multiple times, apparently. Clearly it wasn’t something he’d wanted you to know.

“And you have to ask for help when you need it,” Mai said.

You shook your head, but smiled and continued on.

While the vendors above ground had been questionable, the vendors below ground were unsavory and very, very illegal. Your Hunter license could likely get you out of an assault charge if you beat somebody to a pulp in the ring, but it was unlikely to cover if you purchased something like the human body parts being sold by vendors flush with greed in their eyes. They didn’t seem concerned with concealing their identity like the flood of cultists surrounding a hastily dug pit.

Thank goodness Anaia’s boss was covering you in some capacity. You had already racked up enough crimes to last a lifetime, but you had a feeling your crimes were about to spike exponentially.
Now you just had to either jump a person who got a ticket or fight while concealing your identity.

Beside you, Mai had already bled into the crowd by screaming and cheering for the two people brawling in the pit. It was an unfair fight, somebody at least as large as Uvo pummeled a smaller man who never stood a chance.

The referee handed the winner a slip of paper that must have been a ticket. He slipped it in a pocket over his heart. Then the next fight started, the winner still in the ring.

Money changed hands quickly as a whip strike across the room and a few exchanges resulted in brawls that nobody paid any mind to.

You watched and cheered on a few fights as you determined the rules – what few there were. Winner remained until they were knocked out of the ring. They could select their own opponent or someone could jump in the ring of their own volition.

Waiting was the best option. You couldn’t draw attention to yourself by beating a man who had won five fights in the fifteen minutes you’d watched. No, somebody else needed to–

Mai shoved through the group as the large man’s opponent fell back, unconscious. They were dragged from the ring and tossed over the barriers.

It only took a moment for you to realize Mai was going to fight. They had no plan you were aware of. You wanted to yell at them to return until you figured out how to proceed, but you couldn’t risk it. And if Mai won, you could leap in next, saving them from fighting more than necessary and gaining your own rally admission ticket. Hopefully they had a plan or you would have to beg Phinks for forgiveness when Mai got their head ripped off by the behemoth in the pit.

Mai leapt over the flimsy barriers into the center of the ring. Dirt moistened from blood coated their pant legs the moment they landed. They pulled their hood down and stared the man right in the eye. The man was so large, Uvo would look up to them.

You tried to breathe evenly as Mai revealed their identity. Not that TPI knew who they were, but still.

“Hey, big guy,” Mai said, cracking their knuckles. A move they’d certainly learned from their idiot, Phinks. “Been a while since I’ve taken down someone your size.”

The crowd roared so loudly the basement shook. But you doubted Mai's words when they'd taken down an entire museum of people. Now, they were putting on a show, making themselves somebody of note, because Mai would slip into TPI in a very different way than you and Anaia. They were enlisting, you and Anaia were ambushing.

Something pulsed in the space as Mai sized up the man in front of them. You shivered and Anaia sighed. If Mai were going to be terrified of large men, a man like Phinks would never have been their soulmate. They were made for this, but God your body screamed to save them.

You’d promised them you’d let them do this, no matter what it took. And that meant you’d beg Mai would win so you could beat the shit out of them during the next fight.

“Idiot,” Anaia whispered.

“They acted faster than us,” you shot back.

Anaia just shrugged and crossed her arms to watch the fight.

“Now we don’t need to bloody each other up beforehand,” you said in Anaia’s ear, mentioning an agreement you’d made that you and her should look like you’d barely survived after murdering Feitan and escaping the Troupe.

“I’m still punching you in the face like you did to him,” Anaia said, referencing what you'd done to Marco.

“Then we’ll have a very bloody fight.” You chucked and turned back to the brawl.

Mai circled the man and there must have been something rabid in their eyes because Mai’s opponent looked warier than he had for any other fight you’d seen. Mai faced your direction again and you nearly stumbled back at the murderous intent on their face. They let their opponent lunge first – a move he’d used on all his opponents, with much success. Mai dodged with a spin and laughed.

“That wasn’t gonna work. I saw you do that shit multiple times.” Mai taunted their opponent and turned to the audience to get their input too. “Tell him it’s getting old.”

The crowd cheered.

Their opponent swung with too much power and not enough control. Mai dropped and stumbled out of the way, letting the man’s body weight send him crashing into the flimsy railing.

Mai regained their footing faster. They stalked forward, fingers curling into fists. But they waited just a moment too long. The man was quick for somebody so large. It was a speed they hadn’t demonstrated with easier opponents.

His fist was in Mai’s gut before they realized what happened. They coughed and stumbled back, but clutched their opponents shirt, grappling for a hold on the fabric.

The opponent pushed his advantage and tossed Mai off him. They somehow landed on their feet and you found yourself screaming and cheering for them.

Mai wiped blood off their lips and slipped their hands in their pocket. Their audacity astounded you so deeply, but you should have expected as much.

“Gonna fight me without your hands, little girl?” The man laughed, along with much of the crowd.

Mai laughed along with them and held their hands up in the air in supplication. “Not a gir…” Mai turned when something landed in their hand from the crowd. A bat slipped through their fingers and the referee fumbled for it. Mai caught it first and twirled it in their hands like they were preparing to strike.

“No weapons!” the referee called.

“Fine by me,” Mai said, throwing the bat to the ref.

The frazzled referee tossed the bat back in the crowd and stumbled away. Which was good because Mai and their opponent were already moving.

“I don’t need weapons to beat this guy,” Mai said, dancing as their opponent kneed and kicked and punched. Mai dodged so exquisitely, it was a ballet of bending torsos and graceful sweeps of limbs.

Mai was a weapon all their own.

“Your technique sucks,” Mai said. “You just lean on being a disgustingly huge hunk of meat.”

He lunged again, sending himself a bit off balance.

“Just gonna dodge all da–” The man tried to say but Mai’s fist slammed into his ear.

He fell to the side and Mai’s foot careened onto his face. Bones shattered and blood spewed.

You thought you could just hear Mai say, “Now you’re even uglier” to the man.

He kicked up but Mai heaved their leg so far to the side, more bones creaked and then cracked.

He screamed.

“Yield,” Mai said, with violent delight. Gore covered them, but the light in their stare illuminated brighter than black and red staining their skin. “Now.”

“Fuck you.” The man spat teeth and blood.

“I’m spoken for, unfortunately,” Mai said, grabbing their arm and twisting it until his shoulder dislocated. “I said, yield.”

Their opponent flailed, unable to collect himself in an upright position with a shattered leg and immobile arm. He didn’t look quite as big with Mai standing over him with his other leg in their grasp.

“One last chance,” Mai said, wiggling the opponent’s leg and leaning over him like they didn’t consider any retaliation he’d give as a threat. “Yield or I shatter this leg and knock you into a coma.”

“Coma.” He spit in their face.

“Deal,” Mai slammed their knee into his and you looked away as his other leg shot out at an incorrect angle.

The crowd roared and you dared peek again after a few moments. Mai straddled their opponent, leaning over him like a lover, clearly whispering more taunts when his single good arm was in their hold. Mai raised their fist and you didn’t need to watch. Looking away, you heard each strike to his face. At least five until the crowd hollered so loudly, the building shook once more.

The ref called the match and you barely had enough time to understand what was happening.

“Who's next?” The referee yelled.

Mai held a hand up to the crowd, telling them to wait. They made a show of searching the room until their stare landed right on you. Mai raised a trance-like finger to point, and it looked like the most terrifying promise anyone had ever made.

The crowd parted like they hoped the challenge hadn’t been to them. They stumbled away until there was nothing between you and Mai’s stare.

There was no denying they pointed right at you.

“That one,” Mai said with a maniacal grin.

Your blood ran cold.

And then you smiled.

Chapter Text

Four cloaked figures dragged Mai’s last opponent from the ring. It required another two to heave him over the barrier. He flopped like a mangled fish. The only sign of life was the rhythm on his chest pulsing with shallow breath. 

Mai crossed their arms and raised their chin in challenge, but you’d known them long enough to know they were communicating something to you. Problem was, you had no idea what that thing was. 

“I hope you’re a tougher fight than him,” Mai said, flicking a hand the general direction of their incapacitated opponent. 

You’d assumed, incorrectly, that you’d each fight random opponents. Not each other. But at least you could trust Mai not to kill you, even if they made a show of doing exactly that. But that gleam in their eyes. Harrowing and unnerving. And it thrilled you. 

“That guy?” you said, turning towards the lump on the ground who still hadn’t come to. Spectators legs were all you could see circling you from under your hood. But you could hear the heavy silence as they waited for your response. “You were right. His technique was shit. I’ll snap your neck faster than you got a single hit on him.” 

The room cheered. Jangling bags of coins changed hands, and a part of you wanted to know who they were betting on: the winner of the last round who’d obliterated an opponent five times their size while giving them a memorable show, or you, the single, faceless threat Mai honed in on without hesitation and demanded in the ring. 

You stepped over the railing and stood at the edge of the pit – a figure cloaked in blue, with a soiled hem coated in mud and blood. There was no breeze in the basement, not even a draft to alleviate the sweat trickling down your back or the rancid smell of alcohol and body odor. Added with the metallic scent of blood, it felt more like a butcher's shop. 

Feitan liked much of what you did, but even he wouldn't have approved of your current position circled by a hundred enemies with a bounty on your head that was a single fallen hood away from being activated. It was a good thing he wasn’t present. 

You cracked your fingers and let yourself fall victim to the adrenaline wriggling in your veins. The preamble of a wonderful way to release your stress. 

You could let go.

Then something wicked rattled your bones, like it begged permission to be let out of its cage. It was the freeing, all consuming rage turned to a weapon from the night the mansion burned. 

The raucous crowd slowed and your body ached to harm, to sever a head from a body. But that wasn't what you wanted. If you lost control and let the darkness out, you’d risk killing Mai. 

And it wasn’t so wonderful anymore. 

You stupid fucking book, your voice shook in your head. Turn it off. 

The book laughed Feitan's laugh and you nearly stumbled.

Figure it out yourself, little thief, the book again spoke in Fei's voice but it was nothing but wrong. Since you are of the opinion these abilities I've bestowed are your own. 

God, the voice was wrong in a way that made you shiver with displeasure. And something about that realization grounded you. After a few jarring breaths, the feeling subsided, sinking back into your chest somewhere you couldn’t find it. 

I have business with you later, but right now I need you to shut up, you thought and you swore the book gave a condescending nod in your mind. 

Tugging down your hood further, you tried to communicate to Mai as they crouched down to look at your face. 

Adjusting your hood again, you tried to communicate with them without the support of words. Make sure my hood doesn’t fall when you pummel me. 

Mai looked up at you and nodded just enough, you knew they were agreeing. Perhaps you hadn’t given Mai enough credit. They had a strategy and they needed you to play along. 

So you'd fight well and trust them with your life, because they'd trusted you with theirs. 

There was no time to review what they’d done in their last fight because Mai was standing again, speaking to the crowd.

“Just like I thought,” Mai said, cracking their neck, “ugly.” 

From one breath to the next, Mai was on you.  

They struck and you were caught off guard by their speed. Over the time you’d known Mai, you’d never fought them. And for all you knew, Phinks had been training them more. 

Mai’s fist collided with your shoulder, grazing your collarbone. The impact hit hard and the after-blow hit even harder as Mai struck more impactfully than you thought possible from them. It forced you back. You slipped and struggled to keep your footing as another fist hit your stomach. 

They moved to strike again. You spun away, focusing on Mai’s footwork since you couldn’t lift your head enough to watch their eyes. Without full information on your opponent's movements, you were highly disadvantaged. But Mai already had a ticket, so you needed one too, which meant you needed to win. 

That’s when you realized what Mai had done with their punch.

This wasn’t just a fist fight like you’d expected. Clearly the referee was either not a Nen user or Nen was allowed as an extension of the competitor. 

With a calming breath, you let yourself focus on Mai’s aura. Yes , there it was, moving seamlessly with them. Mai was adding extra strength into their hits. A skill you hadn’t known them to utilize previously. Especially considering their aversion to their own Nen. 

You whispered, “Phinks.” 

Mai laughed and you smiled brightly. Apparently he’d been working with Mai on accepting their Nen. 

Mai lunged. 

Adjusting your stance to outstretch your leg, Mai tripped and fumbled, but caught themselves on the railing before they hit the ground covered in bloody mud that was seeping through your socks. It dragged you down as you tried to move. 

You stalked towards Mai with a smile you hoped the crowd could see with your hood obscuring your face. From the raucous cheers and rattling railing, you imagined they did. 

“I can do that too,” you said with a joy you wouldn’t have expected. 

Clutching your fist as you coalesced your aura, you aimed to strike. You pretended to move. Mai dodged the other direction like you’d hoped and you slammed your knee into their side, forcing them back the way you’d indicated you’d move. Your fist hit their face and they went flying. 

But somehow, they landed on their feet with a hand on the ground. They looked up at you and your eyes widened. 

Mai moved as quickly as a jungle cat and caught your hand in theirs. The other clutched your hood as they tackled you to the ground. Your head rebounded on the floor and you hissed from the pain. But your hood never fell. Mai made certain of it. 

Crinkly paper pressed into your palm and your eyes widened. Even though you couldn’t see Mai’s face, you were certain there was nothing but pride in their cleverness.

“Yours,” Mai whispered and released your hand. 

Gripping it in your fist, you held it tight so you wouldn’t lose the ticket she’d handed you. They’d pickpocketed it off their last opponent. 

But when? 

Then you realized. 

“When you grabbed his shir–” was all you were able to say before Mai’s fist was heading for your head. 

You rolled and tossed Mai off you. But they recovered quicker and slammed you into the ground face down. Their knee held between your shoulder blades as they leered over you. 

“Yield,” Mai said, holding your head down with their palm. Then they whispered, “I’m gonna keep fighting for a while.” 

Mud pressed against your cheek and you scowled at the feeling. 

You no longer needed to win. You had what you needed to access the rally. And if Mai wanted to play their role this way, you would say their introduction to TPI was going to be memorable. A perfect way to get their face out among the people of TPI.  

“Fine,” you said with a mouthful of mud. “I yield.” 

Mai hopped off you and was already working the crowd, calling for their next competitor. 

Your arms wobbled as you struggled to stand. You needed a shower and some food, plus time to heal yourself. There had to be a vendor somewhere who could sell you what you needed. 

Fumbling out of the ring, the crowd parted for you. 

Anaia was standing just outside the railing as you climbed over. Her arms were crossed and you pictured her repulsed face. 

“You look disgusting,” Anaia said. “Come with me.” 

“What about…” you said, not wanting to say much else. The way the crowd hollered, you assumed they weren't particularly interested in the loser of the match, but it didn't settle the feeling of eyes watching you. 

You imagined Anaia rolling her eyes as her hand turned just enough you could see a ticket in her palm. 

By the time you'd found a hideout, healed a few particularly nasty wounds on Mai (since they wouldn't let you heal them all), eaten, and then reached the oasis, the moon was up and the revelry in the town a mile back was just getting underway. Whatever TPI did in the light was tripled in the dark. Bonfires raged, alcohol switched hands, drugs were exchanged. There was not a single person in the town who had their wits about them. Which made every TPI member significantly more dangerous. 

Anaia had agreed to get in the water later and held the rally entry tickets for you and Mai so you wouldn’t ruin them. According to her, you were “at risk of jumping in the water and forgetting the important papers on your person” or something. 

Lush grass swayed in the warm wind around the oasis. Blades dislodged and floated into the rippling water as cultists flung themselves into it with abandon. Ancient trees and their branches arched overhead, protecting those lucky enough to find the small paradise from the sun. It would be a nice place to find shade during the day. Even at night, the temperatures broiled and sweat trickled down your mud-caked skin. 

Mai stepped out first and dropped their hood. They crossed their arms and watched the panic spread through the crowd as members recognized their face. Mai had taken down another dozen opponents before the referee let them rest. And apparently Mai’s name and their performance had spread quickly. 

"Everyone get out," Mai said. "Tell your friends in town to leave us alone for a few hours."

The groups lounging at the oasis snagged their cloaks and ran when Mai cracked their knuckles. They were undoubtedly enjoying it from what you could see hiding in the brush. Mai’s introduction to TPI had been far more explosive than you could have imagined. A good first step, and a decisive one. But you hoped it wouldn’t place Mai in more danger than if they’d remained hidden among the sea of cultists. 

But Mai wasn't meant to hide in the background, and you’d taken that into account in planning. Plus, they would have argued if you’d gone with your original hope of having them sneak in and remain nondescript. Anaia could be seen and move in the shadows just fine. 

Mai cocked their head at a man lounging with his feet in the water. He leaned back with his palms on the grass, watching Mai with detached interest. His long, silvery hair dusted against the ground. Though you couldn’t make out his face. Long shadows from the trees shot across his upper body and you couldn’t have named any singular feature. 

“You’re the one making a fuss in my fighting ring,” he said, smugly. “How will we get anyone at the rally if you kill every opponent?” 

Anaia hissed, nearly inaudibly and gripped your wrist. The move made you reach for a blade. 

Stay put, she mouthed at you with something akin to fear in her eyes. Out of everything you’d seen of Anaia, a lanky, undefended man lazing in an oasis was not what you would have expected she’d fear. So there was no doubt he was one of the Thirteen. 

Anaia began tapping her finger on your wrist. A pattern that started and stopped. 

Tap, tap, tap, tap, pause. And then it would begin again, over and over. It send chilling streaks of fear down your spine. 

“Maybe don’t have such stupid rules for entry,” Mai said, shrugging. 

Anaia cringed and her hold on your arm tightened. You even thought you heard an expletive under her breath. 

The shadows shifted, revealing the lower half of his face. He watched Mai with a chilling smile. 

“Your expert advice is noted,” he said, making a show of looking around the oasis. “But, you did make the water far more enjoyable without the rabble. I thank you for that.” 

Mai sat and pushed themselves into the water fully clothed. Luckily, Mai wasn’t stupid enough to remove anything that could reveal their mark. In fact, they were lucky nobody had bothered to ask. Perhaps their sudden show in the fighting pits discouraged anyone asking questions. 

They dropped below water and came back up with a gasp. Their cloak bounced back quickly and bobbed around them. Blood and mud slipped from their skin and hair and floated away into the dark corners of the oasis. 

"Your little friends can come out," the man said. "You reek of people I used to know."

You choked and covered your mouth. Anaia scowled and you caught the glint of a knife in her free hand. 

"Don't worry," he continued, bringing his right hand up to examine his nails. And when his hand turned, your blood chilled. The black tattoo consumed the entirety of his palm, and the spindly legs protruded over his fingers. "I won't tell because I'm not particularly surprised to see you. In fact, your presence makes my work far easier. It would be a shame if you were drawn and quartered."

Mai opened their mouth, surely to protest, but he spoke again. 

"Phinks and Feitan were always so monotonous," he drawled and wiggled his fingers so you could see his palm. "Perhaps you'll make things more interesting."  

Then you realized what Anaia had been doing. She’d tapped your wrist in intervals of four. Four for the Phantom Troupe number on the man’s palm. 

“It was a shame you took Jed’s eye before I could get the pair,” he said, swirling his toes in the water like you were having a casual conversation. “It really was a waste.” 

You jerked like you wanted to move, but Anaia tugged on your wrist, telling you to keep back. And you hadn’t come this far not to trust her intuition and insider knowledge. 

“Nothing?” The man sighed. “Fine. Let’s try a different strategy. What story have you woven now, Anaia?” he said. “Tell your old friend Omokage, won’t you?” The oasis was silent, save for Mai’s movements through the water. “Oh, don’t act coy, I know it’s you.”

Anaia’s demeanor shifted. Her hardened face and tense muscles molded to something vulnerable. Her eyes widened and she sank her shoulders in on herself. Then she stood, looking like somebody you’d never seen. Because whatever she was doing, it was not being herself. 

“Please,” Anaia said softly, swallowing and hugging herself with her arms. “We barely made it out.” 

Omokage's smile grew. 

“Drop the act, princess,” he said. “The others might buy it, but I don’t believe your lies.” 

Anaia cocked her head like she suddenly understood something. She shrugged and heaved her knife through the air. It landed in his chest and you gasped. 

Tumbling from the undergrowth you grabbed at Anaia, using her arm to get yourself upright. 

“What did you do?” You shook as you watched Omokage's body fall back on the grass. It barely made a noise when it landed. “The Spiders… We need him–”

“Alive?” Anaia shoved you off her and wiped her sleeve where you’d gripped her. “The man they need is alive. That is not him.” 

Mai swam towards the other side of the oasis where the body lay. They clamored out of the water and laughed humorlessly as they leaned over the corpse. Shoving their foot into his back, Mai pushed the man out of the shadows. He rolled limply a few times before landing to face you. 

Nothing but black emptiness swirled in his eye sockets. 

Anaia adjusted her sleeves. “Behead it, will you Mai?” 

Mai didn’t need to be asked twice. They pulled a dagger from their side and in one quick cut, the head rolled.

“That,” Anaia said like she was teaching a class, “was not the real Omokage. That … was a puppet.” 

Anaia knelt at the water line, washing her face while you and Mai dragged the body – or puppet – towards the edge of the water. Mai pressed their foot into his back and he rolled the rest of the way, crashing into the water and sinking until his body disappeared from sight. 

You went back for the head and held it up by the hair. Something lifelike swirled in the blackness where there should have been eyes. Even if you’d seen him with the empty sockets, it was unlikely you’d think you weren’t speaking with someone human. Water splashed as you tossed the head to follow the body. 

Stepping in yourself, you held back the strange feeling you were swimming with a corpse so you could quickly rinse off the blood and mud. And you made sure to hold your hood over your face in case anyone decided they didn’t like Mai’s directive to leave. 

“How fucked are we that he knows we’re here?” Mai said, with an appropriate amount of concern. 

If you’d gone in and bungled the first day, there was no way you were cut out to do what you needed to. 

Anaia hummed in consideration. “How deeply do you trust Shalnark’s judgement?” 

You raised your brows, recalling the strange way he’d acted at the cabin and his quiet conversation with Anaia you hadn’t been invited to participate in. 

“I trust him,” you said with more conviction than you’d have thought you’d ever have about criminals. 

Anaia nodded. “Shalnark believes Omokage already knew who you both were and that we were coming.” 

You and Mai shared in a mix of shocked exclamations and curses. 

“In that case, I don’t know why we’re still alive,” Mai said, pushing off the edge of the water and floating on the surface. Their arms splayed out and they closed their eyes like they were content to fall asleep under the moon. 

Anaia huffed like you and Mai were so stupid, you couldn’t just put two and two together. 

“Shalnark is of the opinion there’s another traitor in the Spiders,” Anaia said. “He said he has suspicions about who it is, but he wouldn’t tell me since I am not like you two. All he said is that Omokage is likely more interested in doing what he wants to get done than supporting TPI by giving us up.” Anaia splashed her face again and water dropped down onto her shirt. “Omokage has unfinished business with the Spiders. And now two of the Phantom Troupe’s soulmates have arrived at his doorstep. It stands to reason he knows Phinks and Feitan well enough to believe they will eventually come looking for you two.”  

“He should have told us,” Mai said, and you agreed. 

Anaia shook her head. “The last thing he needed was for one of you to find out and go blab to your little Spider soulmates. He’d have an entire Phantom Troupe civil war on his hands that he caused.” 

You nodded but the blow hurt. Especially when you had a very good idea who that traitor might be. Unfortunately, with Feitan’s history of hating the suspect, it was likely Shalnark was correct. Feitan would have acted on that information you wouldn’t be able to keep from him. 

“We proceed as planned,” Anaia said. “If we die, at least we tried.” 

You nodded, keeping your face even to show no concern. But you couldn't shake the feeling creeping up your neck that the puppet's vacuous eyes watched you gleefully from the bottom of the water. 

That night you took turns guarding the entrance of the small shack you’d all decided was the best place to sleep. Mai had sent everyone scurrying when they’d stepped back in town and there was a small sense of relief in the knowledge that nobody had yet decided they wanted to challenge them. That day would likely come, but it wasn’t that moment. 

The soaked cloaks hung from old hooks on the wall, drying quickly in the heat. 

You tossed and turned on the hard ground and eventually joined Mai near the door of the cabin to wait out the rest of their shift. 

Anaia’s chest moved evenly with sleep. She was far more accustomed to sleeping in uncomfortable places, and you suspected you’d soon develop the same tolerance. 

Mai looked up at the late night sky through a hole in the roof. The stars glittered so brightly above the expanse of desert with very little to block their shine. 

“Is that what your bond looks like?” Mai whispered, not quite willing to meet your eye as you looked over at them. 

“Yes and no,” you said, shrugging. “It’s the same star system every time, but it’s not one I’ve seen while looking up at the sky.” The thought made you swallow hard. Feitan was no longer in your head and you’d been locked out of the bond. Not even the sparkling, midnight sky replicated the sensations in your soul when the bond became something physical. And if something as glorious as the expanse of space couldn’t do it, you didn’t think there was much else in the world that could. “We only started seeing it after we accidentally began the Blood Bind.”

“I’ve been thinking about what my bond would look like, if Phinks and I were stupid and did that creepy book’s ritual too,” Mai said. 

You laughed. “Is it horrible to say I don’t regret it?” you said. 

“Nah.” Mai shook their head. “It’s too late to regret it anyway.” A shooting star cut across the sky. “You know that moment in the forest high on the mountains when everything suddenly shuts up because there’s something dangerous around you?” Mai rested back on their palms and crossed a leg over the other. “That’s what my bond would look like. An old, silent, dark forest.” 

“But you two are so loud.” You barely got the words out before Mai shoved you. 

They were quiet for a while, and you laid down to watch the stars travel through the sky. You lived with the companionable silence for long enough you watched stars slip into your field of view and then disappear on the other side of the opening. 

“I’ll miss you once we’re separated tomorrow,” you said, resting your hands behind your head to pad it from the hard earth. 

“Don’t worry,” Mai said, and you almost believed their nonchalance, “I’ll find a way to make those TPI freaks let me see you eventually.” 

“You say that like I’m going to be a prisoner, or something.” 

Mai didn’t speak for a while. So you let the silence expand and imagined the sound of Feitan’s voice in your head. The last thing you wanted to do was forget the way he sounded.

“Promise me you and Feitan will outsmart that book, okay?” Mai said. “Phinks and I wouldn’t be able to take it if we lose you both.” 

You nodded and swore you felt the book laughing so deep in the back of your mind, it came from another world entirely.

Chapter Text

You walked with a split lip and a dozen new bruises on your body from Anaia’s efficient mauling. She hadn't expected you to do the same to her in return. But for any amount of authenticity, you both needed to look like you'd fought your way out of hell to make it to the rally. 

It was a shame healing yourself was limited from there on out. 

“Later, cultists,” Mai said to you and Anaia. They slipped away and you caught the black of their hair before they disappeared into the crowd. 

Neither you nor Anaia acknowledged their departure. 

“Let them riot on their own,” Anaia whispered as you walked through town with her and a slew of other cultists headed towards the church where the event was happening. This was the last time you’d be around her before everything began. The sun was on its downward trajectory and the dust kicked up sunsets of pink and orange. “I’ll have none of your hero antics, especially when both mine and Marcos' heads are on the line.” 

You didn’t bother mentioning that Feitan’s head was also in peril if you failed, but you doubted Anaia would recognize it. It must have shown on your face. Something about thinking his name sent a spear of loneliness through the spot in your chest where you’d severed the bond. Like the bond itself protested its treatment and wanted you to suffer for the wrong you’d committed. 

“And your little creep too,” Anaia said, like it made her sick to concede that Feitan existed in any form.

“You’re going to need to let this vendetta go,” you said, chest aching. Anaia’s jaw ticked like she wanted to hit you again. While often un-rufflable, mentioning Feitan was a surefire way to rile her. But you were tired of her dismissal of him. “If you need to blame something, blame fate.” 

“I don’t believe in fate,” Anaia snapped. 

You chuckled. “Then you and Fei somehow have something in common.” 

A pair of cultists bargained for tickets beside you, but you passed them by. You looked around as surreptitiously as you could muster. Omokage hadn’t made another appearance and one word from him would ruin everything. You had no choice but to bank on him saying nothing. It gave him an unreasonable amount of leverage against you, and by extension, the Phantom Troupe. Omokage had to know it too. And there was no way for you to communicate to the Troupe now that you’d found the man they were looking for. Or rather, a puppet of the man they hunted. 

“When it’s safe to do, get word to my friends we saw him,” you said, wriggling your fingers at your side to indicate his palm tattoo. “Especially if he isn’t at the rally.” 

“Normally I’d say I’m not a messenger, but unfortunately, I don’t have that right this time,” Anaia said.

“Thank you,” you said, tugging your hood down lower. 

“You're still not going to tell me who’s taking the shot, are you?” you crossed your arms with a sigh. Not knowing pieces of the plan made your skin itch with nerves. 

“Trust me,” Anaia said. “It's best if nobody knows everything.”

Of course it was, because you could claim ignorance and be telling the truth. But that didn't mean you liked it. For all you know, Feitan could be the one making the shot they had a single opportunity to hit true. 

“Remember to break a front window to signal us and get out to move around the church before we make the sho–

“I know,” you whispered. “Our friends won’t be pleased if I divert from the plan, so I won’t.” Anaia shook her head like she didn’t believe you, which was understandable with your track record. “See you on the other side,” you said and  slipped through the crowd away from Anaia and farther from Fei with every step. 

The shattered bond stabbed at your chest and your throat tightened like it would force you into tears. You weren’t sure if that was the bond, the book, or the knowledge that if you failed, you would never see Fei again. 

You slipped through the church doors to greet your old, one-eyed friend. Delicate mosaics littered the windows on every side. It would be a shame they would be ruined. Pushing towards a window beside the exit, you found the location from which you’d signal Anaia when the time came. 

Mai was somewhere in the fray, and you gave yourself a singular moment to wish them well before your focus honed in on your surroundings, forgetting everything but your goal: give TPI no choice but to let you in. 

Tugging your pilfered cloak’s hood lower, you examined the details of the room while keeping your eyes downcast to dissuade someone from meeting them. What you needed least of all was recognition–yet. The cultists concurred. Anonymity drove the fashion of the day as cultists cloaked their bodies and faces. It left very little visually to go off of if, and when, it came to a fight. Whatever weapons people cloaked, you couldn’t see them. But what reasons would these cultists have to conceal their own identities with hoods and cloaks? Especially when everyone in attendance won or cheated their way into an admission ticket. 

But no more than a few hundred TPI members congregated inside the church. Far fewer than the thousands purported to exist. A paltry showing for such a large celebration. Unless the numbers had been inflated enough to fool Shalnark; or you’d overestimated how much the average TPI member gave a shit about you and your ocular larceny; or if others had runs like Mai’s in the fighting pits and denied dozens to hundreds their tickets. 

The tickler of unknowns churned your stomach. You needed to know more, see more, learn more. 

Regardless, you were in a room packed full of complicit cultists deserving of everything that was coming to them. And those cultists selected the only location in town not dilapidated or condemned. 

Candles far outnumbers cultists, flickering merrily in the waning sun. The sparkling stained glass of unfamiliar religious figures in the windows overwhelmed the room with a kaleidoscope of colors. Which only added to a strange feeling of containment. Pews scratched paint from the walls where they’d been shoved to the side to allow ample standing room. Packs scrunched so close together that overflow stood on the pews, jockeying for better views of the pulpit.   

Even if thousands of cultists had appeared, they would never have fit in the venue. Which you imagined partially explained the admission fights. 

As the sun tumbled below the horizon, a tall figure climbed onto the stage. His ostentatious, embroidered eyepatch struck across his face like a mark of glory. The crowd whispered their excitement. While you should have killed him weeks ago, your prior trepidation had been a gift to the woman you’d become. Now you’d experience something exceedingly better as you crumbled his world from the inside out. You would drag him to hell with you. Along with the infernal book. 

“Welcome!” Jed’s voice boomed. He had no need for a microphone; his presence screamed and his voice magnified like he’d always been meant to command a crowd. He wore no cloak. He’d never intended to hide his identity. Instead, he donned the same suit he’d worn the day you’d taken his eye. Or a replica free of blood and soil. And presumably new shoes since you’d ruined those too.

“Tonight is the culmination of everything you’ve been working towards these past weeks,” Jed said, prowling the stage like a loosely restrained predator. But there was something soft in how he spoke to his followers, cajoling and reverent. “When there’s something wrong in the world, we forget our own personal desires to rid the world of anything threatening its balance.” Jed struck the crowd with a crooked, knowing smile. They cheered and cried and clamored to reach for anything of him they could touch, even as small as his laces. 

Bodies pressed against you as people clamored for his attention. 

“We love this world too much, I love you too much, to allow such a vile scourge to overwhelm us. The ancient knowledge is spreading, the old ways are returning, devils disguised as tomes have awoken.” Jed shivered and it reverberated through the crowd like he had a hold on his followers’ every movement. “Just like our ancestors who saved us from the Scourge, we will make them burn.”

The crowd roared. Joining in, you emulated the fervor with waving hands and joyous shouts, until your heart pounded along with them and your bones rang with the impact of their revelry. You were to be one of them after all. 

It made you sick.

“And sometimes,” Jed said softly, but somehow his words wove through the room like yarn through a loom, “when one of ours is harmed – when me and you and our home is threatened – we strike.” 

Your eyes burned into him. Your target. Inevitably, you would have found your way back to that monster.

Pulsing energy and the desire to strike, to harm rattled your core. But you had time. How simple it would be to kill him. A dagger between the eyes, a single touch, a slit throat, or an open wound on the neck you could slip your claws into. But it was not the night to martyr him. And he knew it too, taking the risk of being onstage when you could be present. 

Or even better – he underestimated you. 

You were a different woman than you’d been that day weeks ago when you’d pardoned him of his eye. But Jed didn’t know what you’d become or what you’d yet to be. 

“Tonight, we will enjoy what you have created,” Jed said. “Tonight, we will send a message to the world that those who choose to stand against us will meet similar ends.” Jed motioned to a group congregating by the side of the pulpit. “Please, join us.” Jed waved the group up and spoke so kindly, like a welcome into a dinner party. “Show us what you’ve given us for tonight’s entertainment.” 

A cadre of blue cloaked cultists with thin, rectangular patches on their robes each dragged someone towards the stage. It caught your eye like a lure. Anaia never mentioned anything about patches for the cultists. 

A question for another time. 

Linen sacks covered the captives’ faces. Ropes bound their hands behind their backs. Only some flailed, struggling to unlatch from their captor. Others were dead weight dragged unceremoniously on stage, their legs quivering and knees colliding with the steps.

The crowd jeered. 

Blood glacial, throat tightening, eyes widening, you gripped your hands into fists at your side to control the furious trembling. People were bound and corralled like animals on stage. Limbs locking in place with sudden realization, there would have been no way to coerce your body to move, even if you’d wanted to. You were not naive enough to think the captives on the stage were willing participants in some grotesque entertainment. Oh, no. Not in any world you knew. But in Jed’s world, he knew enough of you to catch you off guard and force your hand. You laughed bitterly at being bested. It couldn’t be heard over the roar of the crowd. 

Jed brought another insurance policy that came with the added benefit of both entertainment and sending a message: a human shield of innocents. Like their lives were worth little more than a bulletproof vest. Like he knew exactly what you would do the moment he threatened the innocent people on stage. 

“With your help,” Jed called to the room and crouched down to stroke the hair of someone in the front row, “all because of each and every one of you, we received hundreds of tips about where our guest of honor could be hiding.” Jed stood and wiped his suit like it had dirtied in the time he’d crouched. You just hoped when you’d nearly killed him it had made him feel dirty and vile. “Which was brilliant of each and every one of you since we know she would never fight us in the light.” 

Scowling, you refused to take your eyes off Jed, knowing the order to harm would come from him. This wasn’t in the plan. You never accounted for a litany of innocents being used as shields. 

“This group before you was collected through the keen eye of your brothers and sisters on stage.” Jed smiled and led a round of raucous clapping. “In case you were not yet aware, our guest of honor tonight has a brother…” The crowd booed but silence fell as Jed’s smile widened. “Don’t fret. One of our Thirteen can claim that title.” 

The crowd shifted, speaking in low tones to one another, perhaps deciding how they were supposed to respond in a way that would make them blend in. 

“Marco,” Jed said, waving a hand off stage, “is here to assist with our entertainment tonight. Who better to tell us if we have our woman than her only brother.” 

Jed began a vibrant round of applause as Marco scaled the steps. You swallowed. Whatever monster had risen onto that stage was not the Marco you knew. His darkened eyes, disinterested stare, and casual gait heralded a level of control and power Marco never wanted to yield. The Marco on stage was the man you’d spent months hunting, the version of him you’d always expected to encounter. You’d been right about Marco and so, so wrong at the same time. 

Marco and Anaia never told you he’d be here or have a part to play in the event. You shivered with the anger always simmering under the surface over Marco. He’d lied. He’d kept information you’d need. Had he known this is how the rally would play out and had chosen not to tell you? 

As if Jed lived in your very thoughts he said, “Marco was a late addition. Another level of assurance our guest of honor would arrive.” 

No, Marco was not there by choice; he was a prisoner. 

Jed slapped Marco’s back. Marco – to his credit – didn’t flinch as Jed’s long, crooked fingers touched him. Marco smiled wickedly, in a way that felt like you were looking in a mirror and bowed his head in a minimal show of respect. 

Prickling chills wriggled up your spine. You’d thought Marco weak, but you should have known Anaia would never settle for someone like who you saw your brother to be. Marco was dangerous in a way you hadn’t given him credit for. Just because his fighting was untrained and his care for the people he loved outweighed his sense didn’t make him weak. 

He was one of the Thirteen for a reason.

“Now, let’s see if we have our woman.” 

Jed heaved a potato sack off the first captive’s head. You stumbled back and hit the glass window rattling with the impact of the crowd cheers. If Marco was like looking in a mirror, staring at the captive was like watching a cousin. The woman he’d revealed sank in on herself like she’d accepted whatever fate would be given to her. 

“Please, no,” you whispered to no one but yourself. 

The woman looked too similar to you; every woman on that stage would look too much like you. Covering your mouth, you held back the nausea roiling in your stomach.

Jed shoved his cultist behind the woman away and pulled the captive back to his chest. He was so unnaturally tall, he engulfed her like a sinking scarecrow. Jed wrapped a hand around her neck and stroked it before forcing the woman’s head back to look at him leering over her. 

“The thing I’d remember first would be the eyes,” Jed’s voice rippled with a sadistic pleasure, like he imagined what retribution he would seek when he found you. The woman cried, her body shivering with the strain of her terror. “She’s certainly as cowardly as this one. But there’s no hellfire in her eyes. Thoughts, Marco?” 

Marco strode circles around the captive as Jed clutching her to his chest. The woman flailed and Jed tightened the hand around her throat until she settled. 

Marco came to stand beside Jed and shook his head once. 

“Then this isn’t the one,” Jed said. 

The crowd hollered their disappointment. But their tune changed to vile excitement as Jed heaved the woman forward, holding her by the arm as she wobbled at the edge of the stage, primed to fall when Jed let go. Her arm dislocated and she fell further, swinging like a pendulum. 

Your hands quivered as you reached for a hidden dagger. Screw the plan. A single strike between the eyes was all you needed. 

Martyr or no, Jed needed to die. 

You paused, allowing yourself just a moment to think. 

Jed also needed to suffer, and a quick death would not suffice. But how many people could you let him harm in the process? The cold metal of the dagger jerked you out of your wild consideration of abandoning the entire plan to save the people on stage. 

“Do you have a mark, girl?” Jed called. 

Marco laughed hollowly. You hoped he knew how vile this display made him when he himself had the very mark TPI despised.

The woman shook her head. Tears and snot tumbled down her face. Her acute terror burrowed deep in your chest. Innocent. Her only crime being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and looking just a bit like you. She was in this spot because you hadn’t severed Jed’s head from his body when you had the chance. 

This was your fault. 

Jed laughed, shaking the woman like a ragdoll. “You want to check for a mark?” 

The building rattled and the glass shook with the crowd’s excitement. 

You’d seen enough – more than enough for an entire lifetime. 

No more innocents would die when you could have stopped it. But it was too early to begin with the plan. The crowd was meant to rile themselves on their own and devolve into chaos before you gave the signal. But those women were living out their own worst nightmare while you let TPI terrorize them. 

No more waiting for people to act. It was time you did it on your own. If you couldn’t wait for chaos, you would create it. 

It was an easy move – your foot against the knees of a grotesquely large man near to you. He stumbled and caught himself on another cultist who spun and slammed his fist into the man’s face. 

You laughed as someone heaved you into another person, because it was working. And it was liberating free-falling for just a moment before you caught yourself. Paying them back in kind, you swung your leg against their side, sending them flying into another group of cultists who were already primed to riot, yearning to harm. 

All you needed was a spark.  

The room changed from cheers to jeers and curses as danger spread. Chaos moved in waves, paddling from the back of the room, rippling, skipping people here and there until the current engulfed all.  

Somebody swung for your head and you grabbed their collar, heaving them through the window behind you. Glass shattered and their body fell limp on the other side. 

“Good enough,” you whispered like your accomplices could hear you. A man through the window was signal enough. 

If the rogue Spider was here tonight like he’d been at the oasis, the Troupe could snatch him. And Anaia would need to forgive you for not being where you were supposed to be at the back of the church. 

Jed’s instructions were lost on the crowd as cultists clamored onto stage, reaching for the hostages to reveal their faces. Their keepers shuffled them away like cattle. 

They were moving the hostages. But you wouldn’t let them. You just needed to reach them before you inevitably had to make it to Jed. 

Struggling towards the front of the room was going to waste too much time and energy. But the uneven flow of bodies could send you in any direction. Hunting wildly for the exits, you growled in disappointment. Bulky cultists guarded the doors, reinforcing the only safe passage out of the riot. TPI was locking everyone in. And if one of them caught sight of your face…

Then you had to go up. 

You sliced and brawled your way to the side of the church where the pews were shoved against the walls. Stumbling over the uneven piles of wooden seats stacked on each other, you wobbled as you took your first step. Then another and another as your arms flailed wildly to keep you up as your legs wavered. 

TPI took your act as an invitation for others to stand on the windowsills, dangle from sconces, and use the pews as a vantage point to watch the riot. 

Somebody clambered up to block your path. You didn’t recognize their face, but you didn’t look long because the stench of alcohol on their breath made you gag. They swung and you dropped. A terrible idea on the unstable pews. You crashed in between the seats before you realized what had happened, but so had your opponent. Legs ringing with the strain of the impact, you forced yourself up and stood. Your opponent was still dazed on the ground between the seats. 

Where the hell was the shot? Maybe your accomplices hadn’t been in place when you'd signaled. 

Bounding towards the stage, you kicked your opponent away as you passed. They didn’t move much, but it felt nice to strike them. 

You would free the hostages before it was time. 

You were at the stage, flanked by dozens of other cultists. They flailed and fought to reach Jed, to reach the hostages, to reach the cultists clutching those hostages like prizes. The same hostages being shuffled out the exit closest to the stage. 

Leaping their direction, you twisted your ankle against someone who flew out to grab a hostage. You struck their nose with your toe and bone shattered. It gave you just enough time to slit the binds of one hostage without being noticed, then two, then three. They gasped and cried and you used the cover of unending chaos to hand them your knives. 

The hostages didn’t need instructions to flee. Each woman grabbed the next, tearing at bindings and face covers, and trying to fight free of their captors as the successful few slipped out into the crowd. 

A shot rang out and the world stalled. 

A bullet right to Jed’s head.

He fell back as leisurely as a feather, like time again slowed the way it had at the mansion only a few nights prior. Four, then five, then six moments of your heartbeat ringing in your ears as you prayed to whatever entity was worshiped in the church that Jed would remain alive just long enough for you to reach him. 

One breath, then two, then ten. You shuddered and the world sped up once again. Blood pooled at Jed’s temple, following him down and down and down until he crashed onto the pulpit. It rattled as he ricocheted up before landing hard. 

Jed gasped.

Alive. 

You lunged for him on stage and slipped on the massive pool of blood. Dropping to your knees beside him, you examined the damage. 

“You’re not dying today,” you whispered as you stroked his hair back to examine his eyepatch. His gaze slipped down your face and to your wrist where your soulmate mark had faded to gray splotches. Jed’s eye widened. “Not until I say.” 

Whichever Spider had done it had been perfect and precise in their shot; the bullet scraped just beside a killing blow. It was a precision you didn’t believe yourself capable of. 

Jed gurgled in an attempt to speak. His focus remained fully trained on your mutilated mark. 

“That’s right. I killed him,” you whispered, with a maniacal gleam in your voice. 

You pressed your fingers into Jed’s wound. TPI didn’t need to know you could heal more effectively now. Touching him nearly made you shatter, because you knew you were in the perfect position to end it and you couldn’t. Fingers hitting brain matter, you closed your eyes as you breathed to keep yourself from being sick. The smell of blood grew as the pool expanded from Jed’s wound. But you needed to find the bullet before healing, him and before anyone realized you were a threat to Jed. 

Digging made you gag until your fingers hit metal. You shuttered a breath before cautiously easing the bullet up while hiding a finger on the underside of his head to heal as you went. Accidentally killing him during extraction would mean everything was all for naught. The bullet popped free and you threw it aside, pressing your fingers back in to continue healing. 

Jed writhed and gripped your hood so tightly, it constricted your throat. But his strength was depleting and his arms sagged. With a last feat of strength, he pushed back your hood from your face before his breathing became labored and his arms looked like weights on either side of his body. 

The hood fell, revealing you to the entire church. 

That was it–the gamble you were taking. You just hoped you could heal Jed before somebody realized who you were and pulled you from him. 

Rolling silence permeated the room, like one person saw and then another and another until the full room watched you cradle Jed like he was something precious. 

You breathed unevenly as the bleeding stopped and the wound stitched itself back together. Jed’s eyes fluttered closed but with a quick pulse check, it was going strong. You let the wound heal until it was nothing more than a scab. 

A foot shoved you away from Jed and you fell back on your ass. You raised your hands in faux supplication, ensuring the entire room could see your ruined mark. There was only one other widely known way a mark would look as yours did: murder. 

The tension in the room buzzed along with people consulting those next to them to determine how they were supposed to respond. You’d made yourself into one of them. Now you had no more ability than the rest of the people in the room. Whether they would still view you as Unsalvageable was yet to be seen. You doubted their creed accounted for murdering your soulmate to render yourself utterly ordinary. 

"Please, I don't want to fight," you said to the remaining cultists on stage, letting the muscle memory of your past that had at one time urged you towards mercy take hold of your words. "I just want to make sure Jed’s healed. We all know I’m the only one who can do it."

They watched you closely and simply nodded their agreement, but they let their weapons show at their side. One wasn’t so easily fooled; the one with the most patches on their cloak. Some sort of sycophant, then. They removed the safety on their gun and pointed it in your direction. But they didn’t shoot. It was only a chilling warning. If they shot you from behind while you weren’t looking, at least you’d be dead before you realized what happened. So you turned, and the smile that graced your face bloomed with the knowledge that by the end, not one of them would be left. 

Shuffling back to Jed, you checked the rest of his body for wounds. The only other injury was a sprained ankle, from his fall, presumably. But you doubted the cultist with a gun to your head would appreciate you slicing into Jed’s skin and worsening the injury to heal the sprain. 

A voice you recognized screamed your name. 

Murmuring rippled through the room and your breathing picked up as the crowd turned. Anaia stood with her hood down at the entrance, looking as ethereal as the mosaics on the windows. Even with a menagerie of wounds, she was devastating. The moon illuminated her pale hair and her face was pink with exertion. She looked like a Queen overseeing her subjects, even in a disheveled state. 

She said your name again. “Thank God, you’re safe,” Anaia said in that strange voice she’d used with Omokage–the soft, kind lilt that made her seem innocuous. “And you saved Jed.” Anaia’s voice controlled every breath in the room. “Thank you.” The words cracked as tears slipped down her cheeks.

The crowd parted for her as she ran to the stage and fell beside you hovering over Jed. She leaned over and stroked Jed’s hair. He was out cold, but his eyes fluttered as Anaia’s tears landed on his lids. 

She reached for you and pulled you into a hug. Your limbs locked and words were lost to you. That was not what you’d expected her to do. 

“Put down your gun, please,” Anaia said over your shoulder. “She’s helping Jed and we can’t risk you hitting him with a stray bullet.” Anaia relaxed and released an uneven breath, so you assumed the cultist complied. 

The orders of The Thirteen were apparently not up for negotiation.  

Somebody laughed beside you–a laugh burned into every one of your childhood memories.   

“Not so fast, sister,” Marco said softly, ripping you free from Anaia’s embrace. “Don’t think I missed you trying to free those women.” 

You barely saw his strike coming before everything went black. 

Chapter Text

You were only out a moment. Marco’s strike was weak, but stronger than you’d have banked on from what you’d experienced. Voices rang through the church, reverberating off the walls into a sea of terror that made your head spin. 

Two people held your arms back at an angle that would shatter the bones before you could scream. A shadow hung over your vision and you looked up to see Marco glaring down at you like you were easy prey. This was the man you’d expected to find days and weeks ago. 

You were smart enough to recognize a real threat when you saw one. What Marco lacked in combat ability, he made up for in authority – a trait of his you’d sorely underestimated. 

“Marco,” you said, letting yourself sag forward and laugh in relief. “Those women shouldn’t be put in danger because they could stand in for me.”

Marco scoffed, staring down his nose at you. He’d never been more hideous to you than in that moment. And this time, you couldn’t punch the look off his holier than thou face. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have misbehaved in the first place,” he said, his eyes wild as he watched you like his petulant kid-sister. “Nothing would have happened to those women if you’d come quietly when we asked.” His gaze flicked to the people gripping your arms and they twisted them further. 

You bit hard on your tongue, refusing to give them a single sound in response to the pain. Marco just raised a brow and you noticed Anaia stilled beside Jed. Her head turned just a bit, listening. 

“Just get whatever you’re going to do over with so I can check on Jed,” you said, widening your eyes in terror. Unassuming and less than a threat – that is what you had to be.

“Just reprimanding you wouldn’t send the full message,” Marco said with a wild smile. He motioned for somebody on the side of the stage. 

A few of the women you’d freed fought wildly against the people gripping them. But TPI took no chances this time, locking them down more than they had before. Some had escaped, but not nearly enough. 

“No,” you whispered so quietly, it was nothing more than a breath. 

“Yes,” Marco said. 

You’d taken one chance, subverted the plan and tried to save the women. But your work wasn’t done until every one of them was free. As long as the women were kept alive, you’d do everything in your power to help them, no matter how long it took. 

“How many did you free?” Marco peered over at the group of women screaming, crying, or a combination of both. “Half?” 

A knife glinted and Marco struck your cheek. Warmth bubbled on your skin as blood dripped down your face. 

The crowd quieted, watching the show unfolding on stage. A very different performance than what they’d expected. But the crowd was torn between those watching Anaia tend to Jed, Marco with you, and the terrified hostages. 

Another strike cut up your cheek and the point of the knife reached so close to your eye, your hands strained into fists as you tried to keep your face neutral. 

Marco raised his hand again, and you realized at the same moment Anaia did that the strike very well might take your eye. 

“Wait!” Anaia yelled so loudly in the near silent room only sullied with the hostages' cries that it hurt your ringing ears. She stood and all eyes focused on her. “I’ll take her punishment.” 

“Anaia–” 

“You saved Jed’s life,” Anaia said, a tear trailing down her cheek. “We all owe you a debt.” 

Marco’s grip on the knife loosened and his face shifted to devastation. Harming you was one thing, but attacking his soulmate… at least Marco seemed to have some boundary, some weakness.  

“I’m not harming another leader,” Marco said coldly, his scowl back. “Especially not you.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that last part, but you said your own share of stupid things when your soulmate was in danger.  

“I’ll take it,” somebody called from the middle of the room. “I’ll pay for Anaia.” 

“Me too,” another wavering voice from the side of the church yelled. 

You couldn’t keep the confusion from your face. Chest heaving as you tried to regulate your breath, you jumped from face to face as people offered to take the punishment. As if this were some strange loyalty performance. 

Marco scowled but conceded, “Fine.” He motioned for them to join him on stage. 

A cadre of people crawled up onto the stage, none taking the stairs where the hostages still struggled. And all kept a wide berth from you, watching warily, like you were a rabid animal about to strike, but one they still wanted to bring into the house on a cold night. 

Somehow you’d survived your stunt, but it burned in your heart and soul not to abandon the plan entirely and set those women free. The choice choked your thoughts and words until there was little in your head but considering how much you’d be decimating if you acted the way you wanted to; the entire act would be up. You’d have to be clever about getting the women out from wherever TPI would keep them. 

Marco raised his knife and struck a man with long hair who stood in front of him to accept the hit on your behalf. But you had no delusions that they’d only done it because Anaia asked. Part of you raged that she’d clearly not explained the extent of who she was in TPI. 

Marco struck and the man screamed as he cut through his brow, barely missing his eye too. 

Then the next and the next until the last man stood in front of your brother. Marco pressed a tongue against his teeth as he considered.

“Penance for taking Jed’s eye,” Marco said, and you didn’t have time to scream before he cut straight across the man’s eye. 

Your following scream was drowned by the cheers of the room. The man hit the floor, holding his mangled eye socket. But what sent terror down your spine was that the man smiled. And you realized why. It was the same eye you’d taken from Jed. He now had a matching wound with his leader. He'd taken your punishment for removing Jed’s eye. 

Looking over at Anaia, she wasn’t watching you. Instead, she watched placidly as the man’s blood poured down his shirt. A crafty, brilliant thing. And a woman risking everything for you and your soulmate she despised. 

Marco recaptured the attention of the room as the man he’d blinded in one eye laid at his feet. Blood slid onto Marco’s shined shoes and you figured his constitution has improved since that day he’d watched your parents die. He showed no sign of discomfort at the blood. 

“Now,” Marco called out to the room just as Jed was starting to come to. 

Anaia rushed towards Jed and fell back on her knees to do whatever she’d been doing before. Her strange little performance of her own. 

Marco’s gaze flicked to Anaia and then back to the crowd. His harrowing smile made you freeze in terror. 

“Now,” Marco repeated, adjusting his lapels. He turned to the people holding the group of hostages. “The reminder to our newest member, that subverting the rules only has one end.” 

Marco nodded once. 

And they slit the women’s throats. 

The moment Jed came to, he’d called for your detainment. Yes, you’d saved his life, but the decision on how to respond was still up in the air. And whatever adrenaline you’d felt crumbled into an aching emptiness that buzzed in your ears and hollowed your chest. Without a present task, there was nothing to focus on but the reminder of what you’d done and would soon do. The mangled soulmate mark on your wrist wriggled as a wave of black ink flecks sizzled and sunk into skin: your mark gradually dying.

Then you’d been bound and you were moving with a pack of TPI members dragging you somewhere, not bothering to be gentle. An itchy blindfold covered your eyes and there was no relief when you could scratch the itch from the fabric circling your head. 

Then you were thrown into what had to be the back of a vehicle like a ragdoll. An engine rumbled under you and gravel cracked as the car picked up speed. 

All you saw was darkness. And for the first time since you'd left Feitan, you were entirely alone; empty with nothing to fill the loneliness. Something laughed in the back of your head as you lay on the rubbery mat, pressing your cheek in so hard, marks would litter half your face. 

If only they'd kept you in the town a few days longer. You could have figured out whether your ruined plan had worked at all. Likely not, since they were treating you like a hostage. TPI had chosen not to take risks with you. It was one compliment you couldn't accept. 

But caring was beyond you now. If they'd removed your blindfold, you would have stared at nothing. 

Hours and hours you drove until you thought you were going to disappear into your own head. Chest heaving, mind reeling, and emotions scattered, you figured it would be easier to let go than face what was coming next. But in the darkness of your mind was a small, liquid silver string that reminded you of someone you knew, but you couldn't place who. And that strand reminded you not to let go.

But you let yourself slip until your mind and body were quiet; an empty shell. 

The thread shivered and you pushed it away until it disappeared into darkness. 

The dungeon reeked of blood and urine and death – and a dozen other scents that would send you into a fit of vomiting if you considered what it could be. (Most prominently, formaldehyde). And you wondered distantly if they knew or if your mind had created the smell. And if they did know, how? But when you did attempt to care, you found you felt little of anything at all. 

Chilly, slimy stones lined the walls, and you didn't dare wonder what color they had been originally when small spots of light flooded the room for a few minutes before the sun set. 

Instead, you rested against the wall, legs splayed as you held your shackled arms on your lap. Head rolling, you stared into the small patch of light. An empty hole expanded in your chest. With every breath you lost part of yourself to each grain of the sand of time pulling you farther away from your bond with Fei. 

So instead of thinking, you closed your eyes and fell back in your head. 

Cold permeated your bones, but even in the chill, you felt content and safe locked somewhere in your head. It was safer than where you’d been. 

Voices echoed and figures molded of smoke stood in a room of equal murkiness. They were people, or had been at one point. You knew them; you knew the room. No – you didn’t know them; you didn’t know the room. 

Until they spoke.  

“Locked up?” A clipped voice hissed. “Why?”

“She didn't follow the plan and it got her thrown in TPI torture jail,” a second voice said, like they didn't particularly care either way. More lyrical, more peppy. Then the voice darkened, reeking of disappointment. “I don't know what you want us to do about it.”

You knew them, somehow. But it was a dream, surely. Some strange reality your mind concocted to sooth you as you weaved between strained consciousness and cradling darkness. 

“Cut it off,” a different voice spoke. More authoritative, more concerned. “Get ‘em back.” 

“Don't be so rash,” a fourth voice said like there had been no strife in the conversation. “Trust her. Trust Mai too. And give them the time to do this properly. We will continue with our roles as they do theirs.”

For some reason, you felt someone was missing from that list, but you couldn’t identify who. 

“They're hours away,” the angry voice said. “How do we get ‘em out if needed?”

“We guessed correctly that  TPI would relocate them,” the soothing voice said. “It’s just a bit farther than we hoped. We can adjust.”

“Fei,” the angry voice said, clearly deciding one voice was a lost cause. “You're not honestly gonna let ‘em carve up your girl. How are you not on a damn rampage right now?”

“Chrollo is right,” the first voice whispered, the tendrils of sound humming with the feeling of home. “Big girl. She can take it.” But the chill born from concealed terror lingered around the edges of the words. 

“What about Mai?” the rough voice said, louder than the other three, “We haven't heard shit about them.”

“You would know if Mai were dead,” the calming voice said. “Don't beg for trouble we aren't causing ourselves.” 

Fei whispered your name in the far reaches of your mind and you gasped yourself awake. 

Whatever horrors you’d anticipated from the dungeons was nothing compared to the disarming revelation that your torturer wasn’t a burly man or someone wielding a menagerie of home-spun torture tools – it was a petite woman with long, dark hair swinging at her waist. Curled to perfection, she brushed her hair behind her shoulder and adjusted her floral, embroidered dress. If she’d added a blazer, she’d look more at home in a boardroom than a dungeon. But you’d learned long ago that looks were deceiving, and expecting anything but danger was unwise. 

You tried to keep recognition from lighting your eyes, but found it easy enough when there was little feeling in you anyway. But you knew her. The woman from the gala who’d interrupted you twice. She wouldn’t remember you – hopefully. If Mai’s Nen had worked properly. 

She swung one strappy heel over the other and crossed her arms as a few towering goons carried a set of chairs and a round table into the room and lit the wall sconces. With the way the woman directed her henchmen, you were surprised they hadn't carried her in as well. 

You watched the other as the men placed a frilly tablecloth and tableware that almost matched her dress, like she’d purchased them to coordinate. 

“Hello, love,” the woman said, cocking her head delicately. In the shifting light, you caught the bags under her eyes that her makeup couldn’t seem to cover. “Marco and Anaia have told me so much about you.” 

You watched her blankly. “Who am I speaking with?” you said, voice wary and exhausted. But you knew. You’d stolen her ID at the gala and demanded Shalnark brief you on everything he could find about her and the other members of the Thirteen. 

“Brinn,” she said, dipping her head in a minute bow. “It’s a pleasure meeting such a celebrity.” Her lips twitched into a mocking smile. “Undo her chains.” 

Viper.

But why she was here specifically, you weren’t certain. You wouldn’t have assumed she would be the one trying to torture information out of you. If tea and pointed heels could be used for torture. In Fei’s hands, they probably could. So it was unwise to discount Brinn. 

A man unlocked your arms and legs and you slumped in relief. It was the first modicum of freedom you’d felt in however long they’d kept you here. You’d lost track when you wavered in and out of sleep. 

Then you steeled yourself, knowing to expect  anything. Though no matter how they harmed you in the coming moments and hours and days, you found it difficult to believe you’d break when there was nothing of yourself left to give. 

When you didn’t respond to her, she hummed with displeasure. “I’d heard you were impolite, but you’re positively unrefined.” She strolled forward, circling you, examining you like you were being sized up at cotillion. “Your clothes are a mess and impossibly out of style by at least a year, your hair is dirty, and you’re scowling like you’ve never known a day of civility in your life… how unlike your brother you are.” 

Shivering, you strained your fingers to keep them from balling into fists at your side. Instead of a torturer, they’d brought someone to destroy whatever mental fortitude you had left, or to force you to snap and reveal your true colors. But just because Brinn hadn’t harmed you yet, didn’t mean she couldn’t. 

“Anaia and I were running,” you said, electing to use the truth as much as possible. “We didn’t have time to fix our appearances.” But for some reason the woman made you wish you had. She was stripping you bare with her vicious candor. 

Brinn raised a brow like you’d again failed some test of propriety. She glanced at one of her goons.

”True,” he said and Brinn nodded. 

Your eyes widened infinitesimally at his word. Did they have somebody who could sense lies?  

“Surprising,” Brinn said, examining her nails beside one of the chairs at the table now set for a dinner party. “Anaia is normally far more composed than that, even in dire circumstances. Which of course we take all precautions to avoid her involvement in,” Brinn said to her men quickly, like she’d dared imply something dangerous about Anaia. “Sit,” she snapped.

You considered your options, but being compliant was the only thing you could be if there was any chance of making it out of these dungeons to become one of them. Groveling would do no good with this woman. 

The puffy chair cushion felt like heaven as you sat. What a vile, brilliant tactic. Brinn’s men flanked you from behind, but made no move to grab you. Then with a pleasant smile, Brinn sat and unraveled her napkin, letting it float onto her lap. 

“Napkin,” Brinn snapped like you were an unruly pupil. “Right as you sit down, my dear.” You snatched your own and placed it in your lap. Brinn sniffed at your rushed action, but kept her infuriatingly posh composure. “Anaia informed us that you took care of your soulmate before we could,” Brinn said. “A valiant act indeed. Bravo.”

You nodded as your eyes focused on nothing. 

“Eat,” Brinn said, pointing her painted nails towards a spread of hors d’oeuvres between you. “You’ve had a very taxing few days. I can see it in your eyes.” 

“Yes, I have,” you said, honestly. The pit in your chest migrated to your stomach as you couldn’t place how long you had gone without real food and water. But they could have put anything in the food and drink. You weren’t stupid enough to consume it. 

“True,” the man said and you bit the inside of your cheek until it bled to stop you from reacting. 

“Anaia–” Brinn started. 

“Is Anaia alright?” you said meekly. “And—“

“Jed?” Brinn said, adjusting the salad fork beside her plate to even it out with the other silverware. “They are both perfectly well thanks to you.” 

The breath of relief you released was real. “Good,” you said. 

“True.” 

Brinn sipped her wine and set it down with a finger below the stem so it made no noise. “You’ll understand, of course, that you’ve placed us in a difficult position with your very public…heroics.” 

“I understand,” you said, resting your hands in your lap, suddenly overly critical of every subtle movement of your body. 

“True.”

”And with your altered Unsalvageable status, we are in a tricky spot.” Brinn snapped and salads were placed in front of you both. Her eyes darkened with interest as she looked up at you below her dark lashes. “How did you do it?” she whispered with an unbridled interest that shot terror through your veins. 

You’d had a full story prepared with Anaia about how you’d “killed” Feitan, but that wouldn’t work with somebody who could sense lies. Anaia must not have known of this individual. 

So you took her question to mean “how did you sever the bond?” 

Swallowing, you said, “A knife. I cut him.” 

Your heart rammed in your chest and your hands would have shaken if you hadn’t been holding them still in your lap while you waited for the truth or lie verdict. 

“True.” 

The air rushed from your lungs in relief.

”Cut him how?” Brinn said, delicately cutting a baby tomato on her plate and popping it into her mouth. It was then you realized her lips were the same blood red as the fruit. 

You lifted your hand and stroked down your neck. Then you held up your wrist where the mark had been, revealing the dregs of destiny’s ink shattered across your skin. You traced down the vein.

”A deadly cut when done properly,” you said, not bothering to clarify that you hadn’t actually done it in a way that would make him bleed out.

Brinn nodded and pointed her knife towards your plate. “Eat.” 

“I’m not hungry,” you said quickly.

”Lie.” 

Fuck. 

One of the men snatched your arm and twisted it back. You grit your teeth as you felt the unnatural tug. 

“Lie to me again and I start breaking bones,” Brinn said, casually, like you were discussing the weather. “The only limbs I have no clearance to shatter are your hands so you can heal. But I’d rather not resort to breaking bones. It would ruin my meal.”

”Fine,” you grit as the goon dropped your arm. 

You snatched your fork and picked up a spinach leaf and took a small bite. 

“Why did you do it?” Brinn said, watching to ensure you actually swallowed the small piece you’d bitten from the leaf. 

“I didn’t have another choice,” you said, your voice empty as you stared at nothing. 

“True.” 

“Why?” Brinn said, now reaching for a roll on a small platter in front of her plate. She sliced a dollop of butter and added it to the roll. “You certainly knew there were physical and mental risks to taking that kind of action. I can see it. You’re dying inside even though you wanted to kill him. But that's to be expected from something as weak and noxious as a soulmate bond. You'll overcome it in time, I'm sure. But do tell me why you took such a drastic action.” 

“I needed to be here with my brother and Anaia,” you said. “I needed to be free of the bond that made me sick when I wasn’t around him. I can’t heal if I’m violently ill, and then I’m no use to anyone.”

Each silent second made your ears ring louder until the man said, “True.” 

“But,” Brinn said, smiling pleasantly, “here you are, a husk of a woman.” 

It wasn’t a question. But when you didn’t immediately answer, her men snagged your arms and tugged back so hard, your shoulders strained, ready to dislocate. You hissed at the feeling and a wave of nausea bumbled in your throat. The food in a room full of gore was not helping. 

”The separation sickness was worse than this has been,” you said, body shaking as it hung on the precipice of dislocated limbs. “Without the bond, I can actually think and move.” 

“True.” 

They dropped their hold and you fought the desire to wrap your freed arms around yourself. 

“What are your intentions in joining TPI?” Brinn said, putting her silverware down and leaning back just enough in her chair it looked nearly casual. Brinn was not a casual woman. 

“I’m here to be your healer like Jed asked me to do weeks ago,” you said, hoping that would be enough.

The man behind you was quiet, and you could feel him considering because the tension filled the room.

”True, but not the whole truth,” he said. 

You grit your teeth as he grabbed an arm. He tugged and twisted until your tendons burned. With a pop, your shoulder dislocated and you bit your tongue to stop yourself from screaming. It came out as a strained groan. Blood filled your mouth and you spit it beside your chair, not wanting to know what Brinn would do if you sullied her expertly arranged table setting. 

You let your arm hang limp at your side as your eyes watered from the pain. Shaking, you willed yourself to push through it. One good arm; not nearly enough. You snatched your napkin, gripping it tight in the hand of your usable arm. The cloth came back red as you wiped blood from your mouth. 

“I want to understand more than I already do,” you said with more blood dripping down your chin. You gave up on cleaning it. “When I met Jed that first day, I thought TPI was some cult of personality. I didn't understand the core of what TPI wanted at the time. But then when I learned more from pamphlets and Anaia, I realized I understand those goals,” you panted, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“True.”

Brinn raised a brow. “Which goals in particular?”

“Eradicating knowledge of inhuman abilities soulmates can possess that others can’t,” you said, thinking hard about the horrible book. “Things nobody should have ever known about.” The book laughed in the back of your mind. You forced thoughts specifically about the Blood Bind, remembering how harrowing it really was. 

“True,” the man said with a surprised lilt. 

“Interesting,” Brinn said, sipping her wine before placing it down and scrutinizing you a moment longer than you would have liked. “And what about our methods?”

You let one heartbeat past as you considered. You decided to take the risk. 

“I don't like the riots,” you said honestly, and you hoped your transparency wouldn't kill you and Fei in the process. “Or the killing.”

Brinn’s laugh was like tinkling bells. She waved away her goon before he could say you were telling the truth. “It really is archaic and uncivilized,” she said, as a small steak was placed in front of each of you after the salads were removed. “But it keeps the fodder happy, so we oblige.”

Like the fighting pits. 

“Violence can have a purpose,” you said, offering something of your own volition for the first time, “even if we don't like it.”

Approval flickered in Brinn’s eyes and then it was gone. “It's a tool like anything else. A tool you used to take Jed’s eye and kill your soulmate.”

You shrugged. “I have no moral high ground on the subject of violence.”

Brinn smirked and cut into her steak, but then she put her silverware down and said. “Why not kill Anaia when you learned who she was?” 

“I considered it,” you said, enjoying not having a ghoul behind you yelling out the validity of your every word. “But I chose not to because this is where I needed to be, and killing one of The Thirteen didn’t sound like the best idea.”

You swallowed. Technically, Feitan had killed one of The Thirteen, not you. But you weren’t sure he would have done it if Elijah hadn’t touched you that night at the gala. And Brinn didn’t even know how close she had toed the line of the same fate.    

“There she is,” Brinn said, winking at you. “I was certain you weren’t some self-sacrificing angel.” She relaxed back in her chair and crossed her arms. “To be fair to you, people with soulmate marks often aren’t. Which is clear in you since you murdered yours after he kept you like a pet. But Anaia always sees the good in people and her judgment about you is clouded.” Brinn sipped at her wine and smiled softly. “What an exciting opportunity you have to prove that even the Unsalvageable can be redeemed,” she said, so sickly sweet, you wanted to lunge at her.  

You nodded, struggling to find words to even begin responding to what she’d said.

“Let’s make a deal,” Brinn said, pushing her sliced steak around her plate. “Promise to keep Anaia safe and I’ll vote for you to live when the time comes.” 

“I’ll protect Anaia with my life,” you said. Even though it was true, it wasn’t only your life anymore. 

Brinn looked behind you.

“True,” the man said. 

“Excellent,” Brinn said, clapping her hands together. “Then we have an understanding.” She dabbed at her lips with her napkin and placed it on her plate. The bell of her dress glimmered in the light as she stood. At the exit of your cell, she turned and said with a smile, “If I for one second think you’re going to double-cross us, I will have you killed and hung from the rafters of our meeting hall so our rabble can defile your body. Hideous fate. Very uncivilized.”

She said it as if she weren’t the one recommending it. 

“I understand,” you said, tumbling over as one of her men ripped the chair out from under you. With a crack, you hit the floor on your dislocated shoulder and lost your breath at the impact. The food and table disappeared before you could even consider asking if you could keep it. But the pride in you screamed to shut your mouth.

As they doused the light in the room, you nearly broke and begged them to keep it. But you bit your tongue.

Brinn followed the path of the table with her eyes as her men took it from the room. “Welcome to the promised land, I suppose,” Brinn said over her shoulder. “Good job not eating the steak. It was poisoned.” Brinn flicked her hand in goodbye and your cell door slammed, leaving you to fester in utter darkness.

Chapter Text

Time passed slowly when it was only you in your head. And your only companion was the pain from the dislocated shoulder you’d popped back in place while biting down on your shirt to limit the sound of your screams. 

At least Brinn hadn’t demanded the manacles be placed on you again. They may have shattered you entirely. 

So you wandered in circles until you thought it would drive you insane. The walls caved in and you shook in the corner until you passed out from exhaustion or heard something to distract you outside your cell. For all you knew, days had passed, but as exhausted as you were, fitful sleep made tracking days difficult. 

Until something crashed outside your cell and you paused your pacing. Yelling grew closer and you stumbled until your back was against the slimy rock. Perhaps they’d decided you were better dead after all. Maybe the TPI “rabble,” as Brinn had called them, had decided to take justice into their own hands. 

Terror bubbled in your throat and you searched the room for a weapon. The best you had were the chains. You reached down with your good arm as quietly as you could. Surprise on your side was one more advantage. Chains rattled as you twirled your wrist to wrap them around your hand. It was your non-dominant arm that was usable and you wondered if Brinn had known which arm to hit. The itch to heal it burned your chest, but you needed to be cautious about which injuries you would choose to heal fully. A reset shoulder you could justify, but the resulting pain, you could not. At least not yet.  

The chains felt heavy in your hungry, dehydrated state. You stumbled as the cell lock clicked and the door flew open. 

Anaia stood at the entryway. Dressed in ethereal white with her hair in loose curls and subtle makeup, she looked like an angel. 

“Anaia,” your voice cracked as you said her name. Knees wobbling, you hit the wall as you stumbled with relief. But even so, you didn’t let go of the chains. 

The guards caught up to Anaia, but stayed a few paces back. 

“They refused to tell me where you were until Brinn spoke with you,” Anaia said, a real, acute terror in her voice. But there was something delicate too that sounded wrong. “I can’t believe they brought you down here like some low-ranking prisoner.” She sniffed like she was on the verge of tears. Not real. “I’m bringing you to the tower.” 

A guard cleared his throat. “Brinn said—“

”This is coming from Jed and I,” Anaia said softly, not bothering to look at the guard who gripped a baton at his side. “She’s being moved from this horrible place.” 

So this dungeon or prison or however you wanted to define it was Brinn’s territory filled to the brim with her people. And Anaia was intruding. 

“Blindfold then,” the guard said. 

“Alright,” Anaia said. “I can live with that.” 

Formaldehyde itched at your nose and you gagged. They’d taken your eye covering from some work room and it nearly drove you to the edge of madness. Warm tears only made the smell worse - a scent inexorably tied to your own misfortune. 

“Move,” Anaia commanded somebody softly in the strange tinkling voice she’d developed since returning. “Faster.” You picked up pace like she’d asked it of you. It wasn’t like you could check with your eyes bound and a shirt shoved in your mouth to keep you quiet. You didn’t even have Feitan in your head to commiserate with - which you started to think was for the best. If Feitan knew what was happening to you the entire world would have already incinerated while he recovered you to live among the ashes. 

But this was your gift to him; your sacrifice in the dark. 

Metal creaked and wood dragged against the floor. You were thrown into a room and you barely caught yourself with your good arm before your nose shattered on the...carpet? 

Your blindfold was ripped free and the shirt torn from your mouth. You opened it to speak. 

“Don’t,” Anaia whispered. You snapped your mouth closed as the guards disappeared when Anaia gave them a severe look. “I do not want to hear the insane ramblings about to come out of your mouth.” 

The door slammed and she tossed the shirt over its barred window. Anaia gripped a bottle of water she must have taken from somewhere on the trek and hovered it over your face. 

“Keep your eyes open or I will,” she said, gripping your chin to tip your head back. Water cascaded into your eyes and slipped down your face along with the tears you couldn’t hold any longer. You gasped at the strange burning sensation and sting in your eyes as they fluttered, trying to fight you and close on contact. “I have to flush them,” Anaia said, softly, with shaking hands. “I’m so sorry they did this. They were trying to blind you.” 

“Payback,” you choked as water gurgled in your throat and you coughed it up onto yourself. 

“No doubt,” Anaia said. “You’ll have other enemies here we haven’t accounted for.” She pulled back and wiped some of the water mixed with tears from your cheeks. “I’ll leave the water so you can continue to flush your eyes.” 

“At least I can still see,” you said, looking away. 

“Heal yourself slowly so they don’t catch on, and it will all be okay,” Anaia said. “You’re safe in here…I think. When the crowd got word you were in the dungeon, they were furious. You saved Jed and Jed can’t risk dividing TPI. So now you have these nice accommodations in The Tower like some sort of influential visitor.” You peered around the strange room, not quite believing TPI had something like this at their disposal. 

“I’m still a prisoner,” you said, catching a loaf of bread Anaia tossed from her bag, along with a bit of meat and cheese. You fumbled for the food and began eating. It was sandpaper on your tongue and Anaia dug in the bag at her hip to give you another water. It went down your throat quickly enough to make you cough. 

Anaia smiled softly. “Sometimes when the world is quiet and there’s nobody around, the walls begin to talk.” 

“I’m not going to break,” you hissed. 

“Good luck,” Anaia said with sincerity. “I’ll be back when I can, just stay under the radar and don’t cause a fuss until I can force the vote.” Anaia snagged the shirt from the bars and tossed it your way. “Make a sling for your shoulder.” 

“Wait!” you said, as she was about to leave. “Where are they?” 

Anaia seemed to pick up on the fact you were talking about Mai. “Assimilating. Safe.” 

Good. It was better if you didn’t have details anyway. Less to reveal if they decided to torture you even more effectively. 

Exploration was your next goal after another bout of washing out your eyes and a small healing session on your shoulder. But even so, you’d be keeping the sling for a few weeks to maintain the facade of your limited healing abilities. 

The suite in The Tower was light years better than the dingy, dark, and dirty dungeons closing in on you. A window was across from the door, with an alcove to sit and watch what was going on outside. The second it occurred to you the window could open, you'd barreled for it. Hand vibrating with a mix of relief and terror, you fumbled with the lock and choked a sob when it clicked. 

It barely opened. No more than a few inches at the bottom. But you shoved your face against the glass and fogged the window with your relieved tears as the gentle stroke of an afternoon breeze caught your cheek, and the arms you shoved through the opening just to feel free. 

Burning pain shocked your system from your shoulder as it came free of its sling, but every bit of you that could be outside in the open needed to be. 

You stayed that way until the tears ebbed and your breathing settled. You weren't ready to look down as of yet. Just up. Freedom was up. 

You didn’t yet know if this was some TPI-infested town like you’d seen all those weeks ago, or a place they hid in the shadows. But that was an issue for another time. 

Wobbly legs barely supported you as you moved through the room. Fumbling with your sling, you eased your arm back in, but it didn't relieve the burn.

A small but comfortable bed sat on one side, with an end table and matching mahogany writing desk. Not that you had a reason to write. And there wasn’t pen and paper in the drawers you’d searched anyway. You imagined making a little paper airplane with a note to throw down at Mai. 

The room was quiet in a less sinister way than the dungeons – and so gloriously bright. All you could hear was a faint humming you assumed was a guard outside your room. Just because they’d given you better accommodations didn’t mean they trusted you to be left alone. 

You crept to a door on the other side of the room and peeked inside. A shower, toilet, and sink packed together, but even the cramped space felt better than anything you’d experienced the past few days. 

You kept the door open as you entered. 

Cold tap water tickled your skin as you scrubbed at your face and neck and arms to get as much of the grime from your skin as possible. 

You shivered as you looked down at yourself (but avoiding your wrist) to determine how dirty you’d gotten the last few days in the dungeon. So instead, you sat in the shower, clothes on, curtain and door open, until you were soaked to the bones. It wasn’t exactly a defensible position, but if you went another moment covered in TPI dirt, you were going to break. 

Once your clothes creased on you at odd angles from drying, you moved to the window alcove once more. A modicum of glorious freedom that soothed your soul. 

You sighed at the smell of crisp air. Clean and calm enough, you looked down. From your vantage point, you used other buildings to guess you were at least ten stories high. The people below moved in a choreographed dance. But only some wore cloaks now. And you wondered what kind of leash Jed had on them to make them so intentional about where they were headed. Perhaps they all had individual roles to fill. Jed must have overrun the city, then, for his cultists to be so openly active. 

One person stopped in the flow of people and looked up. Your heart stuttered like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Their face was undecipherable, but you knew you were both watching the other. They waved and then slipped back into the crowd. 

 The humming was louder with the window open again and you smushed your face against the partially opened glass to peek on either side of your room. Another window was cracked open to your left. A set of ice blue eyes stared back at you. You gasped and slammed your window closed.  

Blinking, you stared at the wall that was the same direction as the man’s window. There was the humming again, just as soft as it had been earlier. 

There was somebody else in The Tower with you and you had no way of knowing whether they were a guard for you or somebody else high profile who’d fallen from Jed’s good graces. Perhaps another member of The Thirteen? But you had no way of knowing.

Instead of worrying about somebody else, you crawled into bed without getting under the covers (that would feel like manacles again) and let yourself sleep in case your fortune took a turn for the worst and you needed strength. 

The shadowy figures stood in a different room this time, not that you’d seen much of the other. Two distinct forms spoke, and you could make out who they were this time: Feitan and Shalnark. Something in your head screamed out to them, but they didn’t notice your presence. Or you thought they didn’t, until Feitan’s brow furrowed like he was attempting to figure something out.  

“If they’re all voting, Omokage should be there,” Shalnark said. 

“Take him on the way out,” Feitan said, balling then flexing his hands as his form came more into focus. He was agitated and confused as he surreptitiously surveyed the room. 

“So he can vote,” Shalnark said, nodding. “But that’s assuming he is there in person and not as a puppet of himself.”

The dark smoke cleared further revealing a small, dingy room that couldn't have been the cabin. The Troupe must have already moved on. 

“Fake Omokage voting. Dangerous,” Feitan said, “for TPI.” 

Shalnark paced, and as he did, the smoke dissipated where he walked, revealing more of the room: a table with nicked wooden chairs, one toppled over; a small couch with deflated pillows; a rusty window looking out into a city that was indistinguishable from any other city with its skyscrapers and bustling roads. 

Shalnark massaged his jaw as he considered. “If he goes with a puppet, we’ll know either he’s being overly cautious or he’s been tipped off.” Shalnark sighed and scratched something down on the piece of paper between them that you couldn’t see from your angle in the dark corner. “What I’m about to say stays between us,” Shalnark said. “Only Chrollo knows.”

“Do not tell me, then,” Feitan said with a frown. As Shalnark looked down at the paper, you could have sworn Feitan’s eyes roved over you in the dark like you were there with him. But something gagged your voice and froze your limbs as you tried to move and call out to him. 

Something was happening while you dreamed, and it seemed like Feitan couldn’t decide if it was real or his own wishful thinking. But you weren’t in his head to confirm. 

“What do you sense?” Shalnark said cautiously, like he was used to treading lightly around Feitan’s moods. “You look unsettled.” 

Feitan shook his head. “Nothing.” 

“What’s in the corn—“

“Nothing,” Feitan snapped. 

The silence lingered with the dregs of smoke as Shalnark watched him, looked down at Fei’s wrist, and then right to you in the darkness. Frowning, Shalnark turned back to the table, clearly not sensing what Feitan did.

”Chrollo wants you to know,” Shalnark said, continuing on like they hadn’t been diverted. “Now that she’s…gone.” 

Feitan squinted his displeasure. “Not gone. Just…” His voice trailed off as he wasn’t able to find a word he deemed more accurate. 

“On a sabbatical,” Shalnark said, but there was none of the usual pep and mocking elation in his tone. In fact, you hadn’t seen a hint of that mood. This Shalnark looked tired and overworked and worried. 

Your dream was strange in that regard. But part of you worried it wasn’t a dream at all. One experience like this could be written off as a dream; twice made it something distinctly other. 

“Sabbatical…?” Feitan tasted the word on his tongue, fumbling through it like he’d never heard the term before. 

“My point is that she’s gone for now but will be back,” Shalnark said gently, sparing Feitan’s feelings in a way he’d never bothered to do with you. But Shalnark was promising things he wasn’t able to control. “Chrollo wants you to know,” Shalnark repeated, “because he and I determined you are the least likely culprit.” 

“What are you hiding?” Feitan said, softly. “Never keep secrets from me.”

It was nearly comical, since Feitan kept so many secrets of his own. 

Shalnark swept the room before saying, “One of us is feeding Omokage and TPI information.” 

You sucked in a breath and stumbled back a step. The dark followed. Neither man noticed your sudden movement. In fact, they’d forgotten you entirely. You'd blended in like the monster under the bed and the predator among the trees.

“Not possible,” Feitan snapped.

“It's not just possible, it's the most likely case,” Shalnark said bitterly. “We’ve already had one traitor with Omokage.” 

Swallowing, you tried to push away the hurt that Feitan seemed to forget your presence. If you were in a dream, why were you hiding? 

“You have proof?” Feitan said. His shoulders stiffened and his face closed off more than it already had. 

“I don’t make this kind of accusation lightly,” Shalnark said. “I’ve been researching this for weeks.” 

“Not enough time,” Feitan said, gritting his teeth.

Shalnark ignored him and said, “How did they know to hit the house when we were all there?”

Feitan gave an unconvincing shrug as his hands shook. You laughed in bitter surprise and rested against the wall. This wasn't your first foray into somebody else's memories or dreams or thoughts or whatever this was. And every damn time your life was upended when you stuck your nose in places you didn't belong. 

“Omokage knew not to show his face at the Gordeau Desert rally," Shalnark said. "How?"

Feitan scowled. "Just did not go."

How did TPI know that a few of us were going to be at the gala?” Shalnark said. “At least two of The Thirteen were there — that we know of.” 

“Stop i—”

“How did they know we were in that old port city when they were planning to bomb the entire town?” Shalnark said, gripping the edge of the table and hanging his head. “How did Marco know to give his sister that letter if he didn’t know we were going to be there?”  

“TPI does not know Spiders…”

“How was Jed placed perfectly that day at the warehouse?” Shalnark said, his face hardening even further. “Do you really think the leader of TPI lives in that rundown town or has the time to wait for some woman he thinks is a pion to show up because of some news article she’d most likely miss?” 

“Was a trap,” Feitan said. “Her brother–”

“Why do you think Chrollo wanted to meet her and Mai and put them on notice they were being observed?” Shalnark said. “Why do you think Chrollo and I kept our soulmates away until we determined it was safe enough to bring them?” Shalnark said, his voice strained. “And we were wrong! We put Blair and Gareth in the line of fire. I made that decision and it nearly got them killed.” 

Feitan remained silent, but refused to break eye contact with Shalnark. 

“There is a reason I agreed to go meet your soulmate during those early weeks. And why it took me a while to get there. Chrollo and I were strategizing. He wanted the security footage of her,” Shalnark gave Fei an imploring look, begging him to understand why he'd done what he'd done. “To see how she'd behave.”

“Spying on her?” Feitan said, his voice a deep, accusatory growl. “On my soulmate?” 

Shalnark nodded and focused on the desk. “Soulmate or not, we didn't know her.”

“You do not get it,” Feitan said. 

“Stop rationalizing it!” Shalnark said, his voice raising for the first time you’d ever seen.  

Feitan took a half step back, recognizing Shalnark’s anger and frustration as something dangerous and unordinary. 

You opened your mouth to speak, to say something, to yell, to defend yourself, but smoke twined up your throat and bound your lips closed like a boa constrictor. Fighting it, it retaliated. Smoke slipped in your mouth and caught your tongue. You gripped for it, but your hand bled through it like mist. 

“Not doing this. If we do not trust each other,” Feitan said, his voice clipped, “we fall apart.”

“We fall apart if someone takes us down from the inside,” Shalnark said. “If I don't figure out who it is.” 

“Chrollo does not want us to fight.”

“Chrollo assigned me this job,” Shalnark said. 

You sat down as you felt lightheaded. Chrollo, Shalnark, and who knew who else thought you were a filthy snitch. A mole. A plant. A traitor after everything you'd done. It was only then you realized both your arms were free and usable. 

Some fucked up dream. 

“Why now?” Feitan whispered, so deathly quiet you could barely hear. “Suspected her?” His rage simmered in every word, every twitch of his fingers, every uneven breath. 

“Yes,” Shalnark said, with a flicker of remorse. “She's ruined our plans more than she's helped. She did it again after promising she wouldn't. She's put us all in danger numerous times. And it's worth considering that she arrived at the perfect time and integrated herself and Mai into our group. She’s even related to a member of The Thirteen. You have to understand why I'm suspicious.”

Your throat strained as you yelled soundless, incoherent words at them, begging they hear you. But the smoke clung tighter, now snaring your arms like it wanted to hold you in place. So constricting, so dark, so claustrophobic. This was worse than the dungeon. That darkness was built from emptiness. Quiet. 

This darkness was volatile, vindictive, alive.

Shhhh… it whispered in your ear, consoling you. Fighting makes me hurt you more. Threatening you in Fei’s voice. 

“Have not seen her with the brother,” Feitan said. “Have not seen who she really is. Would not…”

“Regardless,” Shalnark said, “It couldn't be you or Phinks doing this job because your judgment is clouded. And she was in your head. You could have accidentally tipped her off by thinking about it.”

“Not in my head now,” Feitan said. “So you are telling me.”

You shivered as you forced yourself to relax just a modicum to see if the smoke’s grip would abate. You focused on Fei’s face, even though he couldn't see you. It took all your willpower to loosen your muscles.

The smoke relented.

You're here to watch, not interfere, the smoke whispered. 

“She isn't the only one I've considered,” Shalnark said. “I’m telling you because I need your help.”

“Will not spy on her,” Feitan hissed. 

“Not her,” Shalnark said. “I've been thinking for a while that the leak is someone else. And I can't be in two places at once.”

“What you want?” Feitan said. 

“Go with the others stealing from the TPI vaults,” Shalnark said, gripping the sides of the table hard, like he was holding something back. 

Feitan's eyes widened with understanding. 

“Might get what I want after all,” Feitan said, a scowl darkening his face. “Do it on one condition.”

“What condition?” Shalnark sounded exhausted and his shoulders fell as he leaned more on the table. 

“Take her off suspect list,” Feitan said. 

Shalnark shook his head and his hair fell in his eyes. “Not until Chrollo agrees.”

“Then, no,” Feitan said. 

“This request is from Chrollo, not me,” Shalnark said. “It's an order. And you’ve gone on every side mission we’ve ever had. It's not suspicious for you to be there.”

“Getting me out of the way?” Feitan said, his scowl turned into disgusted surprise. 

“No,” Shalnark said. “I think he knows I suspect him.”

You shivered and breathed, relaxing as well as you could. The smoke suffocating you dispersed like a cool breeze blew through. 

Feitan too took a calming breath, but he looked neither pleased nor calm. “Spy on him then?”

Shalnark nodded. “The best way to prove it isn't your soulmate is that she no longer has access to us or knowledge of what we're doing.” Shalnark stood up straight and rubbed his face. “If the suspicious responses from TPI continue while she's gone, we can safely say it isn't her.”

“Or stop to frame her,” Feitan said, “if he suspects you know.” 

“That's possible too,” Shalnark said. “The group leaves tomorrow.” 

“Fine,” Feitan said. 

Instinctively, you reached for him, then remembered you weren't really there and this likely wasn't real. It reeked of the book. And as you thought it, you felt the weighty presence of the infernal tome in the back of your mind. 

Watch yourself, girl, the book hissed. 

You grit your teeth and focused back on the scene before you. You suspected the only reason Fei hadn't lost it was because it was for the best of the Spiders. If any of it was real. The thought that it likely wasn't cracked some new spot in your soul you'd never explored before. These strange moments were all you had of him and it might not be real. 

“For what it's worth,” Shalnark said, “I don't want it to be her either.”

Feitan didn't respond and slammed the door on his way out. 

What an inspired way for the book to break you. 

You woke up screaming as Anaia entered the room. Scrambling back, you hit the headboard and hissed as the bonk on the head brought you back to yourself. Panting and sweaty, you brought a jittery hand to your throat, then your mouth. 

“Come on,” Anaia said, ignoring your outburst. “We’re getting you ready to see the Thirteen.”

Chapter Text

“An evil croquet game?” you said, humorlessly. "With my shoulder?"

You’d expected a board room, a dungeon, the side of a mountain with raging winds to meet The Thirteen. But, no. You were being subjected to a civilized game of croquet in some well-tended garden of an estate home owned by Brinn, clothed in the most hideous, gaudy gown you would ever have to wear. 

“Unfortunately. Go get ready,” Anaia said, scrunching her nose. “You look awful. I'll see what I can get you for your arm." 

You took what felt like hours in the shower to stop the shaking and the rage. Shalnark had been spying on you and Mai. But there was nothing to be done for it at the moment and you could have it out with Shalnark at a later date. In the end, reason won out. A sliver of you understood why he'd done it. You didn't need to like it, but you had to forget it the moment you stepped outside your cushy cell. And hope Feitan didn't do something stupid because of it.

The room was cold when you stepped out of the shower. If someone like Shalnark, who was meant to be on your side couldn’t believe in you, who was left? The soulmate you’d maimed by destroying something as precious as the bond you shared? You scoffed and half dressed in the horrible outfit Anaia had brought. 

Then you were on the floor, time having slipped away. 

Anaia sighed when she came back in and saw you, gaunt and shaking, your outfit she’d provided half on as you stared at the wall where that man listened on the other side. Someone you'd consider conversing with while you spent hours in your cell. 

She threw an ice pack at you which you readily applied. 

"Heal it enough to play today," Anaia said, "or Brinn will complain the sling is ruining the theme."

You sighed and did as she said, healing it until the throbbing pain disappeared. It would have been smart to do that before and simply feign an excess of pain while you wore the sling. But you weren't thinking straight anymore. 

Anaia dug through her bag and pulled out a handful of bandages. "Instruct me on how to wrap it. This will at least give you better movement for your arm while implying injury." 

You just nodded, providing monotone instructions until she'd finished. She's done a good job from either her own attention to detail or your ability to relay instructions. 

“What’s wrong?” Anaia snapped, frowning down at you with her hands on her hips. You didn’t bother answering or meeting her eye as you stared through the in between of your life as you knew it and the life it had become. 

This was what you’d wanted and it was dismantling you from the inside out. And you couldn’t even speak to defend yourself; your voice nothing but a void of unspeakable words. 

Anaia slackened. 

Without burdening you with conversation you’d need to reciprocate, she knelt and helped you situate your gown. She held your ankle delicately and slipped on the useless slipper she’d provided. And then the other. 

All was quiet. For seconds, for minutes, for an eternity and you could never have properly thanked her for giving it. Only the rattle of an old air conditioner turning on and sounds from the street below proved life continued while you were in your cage. 

Finally, she sat beside you on the floor and said softly, and with a conviction you couldn’t muster, “I don’t know when, but one day we will make the world we want.” Anaia tugged her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “So don’t disappear back in your head when we need you most. We only win if you fight. Fight today and the next day and the day after too. Fight them, fight that ghastly book, fight me, fight fate, fight yourself.” She sighed and rested her head on your shoulder, like your presence gave her comfort. “We’re all coming out alive, no matter the cost we have to pay.”

Then why did it feel so difficult to live?

“I’m terrified,” you said unevenly, closing your eyes, gripping your hands into fists when you noticed them shaking. A few more moments and you’d shatter. 

“I am too,” Anaia said, breathlessly. “Give me your fear. I’ll bear it for you.” 

You paused. 

No, you could never ask that of her. It was not her responsibility, but she'd offered anyway. And you nearly smiled. “Thank you, but we’ll do what we have to do, together.” 

Anaia sighed again. Even if you perpetually exhausted and infuriated her, she believed in you, trusted you when you could not trust yourself.  

“What we must,” Anaia said, and unfurled your fist to clutch your hand. Her touch grounded you. 

”What we must,” you agreed and you once again felt the dregs of a flame in your soul. And that ember could become a blaze. 

You were there, somewhere in the ashes. And that had to be enough, because you weren't done yet. So you grasped for that flame, letting its warmth trickle across your veins until its spark of resolve burrowed in your soul. 

You opened your eyes. 

You stood among pointed shrubbery that outlined the garden, guarding what looked like a man-made pond with ducks you had to assume were as evil as their owner, and a myriad of white metal seating. Wickets were placed across the sprawling grounds. In your period accurate slippers, you doubted you’d survive the match without getting a foot stuck somewhere it shouldn’t be. 

If they wanted to torture you, they were doing so expertly. But for the first time in days, you also wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. And the prospect of doing something beyond wallowing in prison filled the hole in your chest just enough that your lips were able to twitch up. 

“I was expecting something less….civilized,” you whispered to Anaia. The gown tugged so hard on your hips, you adjusted your stance just to stand comfortably. Playing croquet in the monstrosity felt like an insurmountable task all its own. And you suspected a method of subduing you with an outfit you’d have difficulty fighting in. 

You were a threat. 

When you’d asked Anaia where she’d gotten these horrible dresses, she’d simply glared and that told you enough to realize that the Hunter Association was bank-rolling her every wild whim in the name of blending in with TPI.

She snorted. “It’s the first Thursday of the month,” Anaia said as if that explained everything. “Go with it.” 

“Dressed in clothes from three hundred years ago?” you mumbled. “You sure you're not using your Nen fuckery on me?”

Anaia pressed her lips together, hiding a smile.

“Brinn hosts The Thirteen and their guests for some sort of party,” Anaia said, tugging at the hundred pins ensnaring her curled hair into a style nobody’s hair was naturally meant to hold. “Today it’s a garden party and you’re expected to play along.” Anaia said the last bit so softly, her mouth barely moved, and you weren’t certain you’d even heard her. 

“Anaia,” a booming voice called. 

Anaia’s face slackened as terror flickered in her features before she swallowed and put on her lovely, smiling mask. 

“Coming!” Anaia’s false, tinkling voice called and then whispered. “Two things: Don’t act surprised when you see what I do this afternoon, or think less of me. And please don’t die if I lose sight of you.” 

With that, she flitted away, her gown making her look like a goddamn fairy princess. 

You followed her path, but the voice was lingering somewhere in the house, its owner beyond your sight. From the dread traversing your spine, you figured it could only be one person. 

Someone behind you cleared their throat. You twirled and the surprise on your face wasn’t feigned as you came face-to-face with a man you knew from Anaia’s information on The Thirteen. 

His rich-toned, chiseled face was softened by a bed of controlled, dark curls atop his head. He was made more approachable by the round, golden glasses on his nose that consistently slipped and needed delicate adjustment. He was beautiful, and it disgusted you. Especially the aura of darkness that lingered around him with every step, and the cunning reflected in his eyes. 

The likeness you’d seen at the doll stand the other day or the descriptions Anaia provided did no justice to the sickening monster in front of you. But luckily he seemed to take your strange reaction as breathless interest. 

He held two mallets across his shoulder and offered you one when he saw you looking.

”Care for a practice round?” he said like a man not used to being denied. It was not really a question, and certainly not optional. 

“I’m very out of practice,” you said, but held a hand out for the mallet. It was time to charm and integrate yourself into this inner circle, so you pushed aside the ache in your chest to focus. 

“Been a while?” He smiled.

“Never, actually,” you said. 

The man snorted oh, so elegantly. Then he bowed at the waist and his fingers slid down your wrist where Feitan’s name had been. Your body shuttered with disgust and you bit your tongue to keep yourself grounded and calm. Then he was holding your hand and kissing your knuckles while you clutched the mallet in the other. 

“Altair,” he said, his breath dancing across your hand as he looked up at you in a way you were sure made most everyone swoon. 

You shakily shared your name, unsure how to proceed in such a jarring situation. 

“Now that we’re acquainted,” he said, twirling a fallen curl and putting it back in place, just so, like he knew where every strand was meant to be, “shall we begin?” 

Altair proceeded to explain the game and give you very detailed instructions on how to properly play, swing the mallet, and win. There was something intentionally methodical about the way he conducted himself. Everything about him was meticulous. 

Even his stroke as he hit the ball towards the first wicket was controlled. With a clack, your swing sent your ball flying the opposite direction. Altair sighed and rested a hand on his hip. 

“My fellow leaders failed to tell me how striking you truly are,” he said, as he examined you in your outfit that suddenly felt sticky against your sweating skin. “Though I’m afraid your talents don’t lie in gentle arts like croquet.” 

“I'm not sure that's meant to be a compliment,” you said blandly as you trudged towards your ball and continued your pathetic display with your next hit. 

Altair huffed a laugh. He masterfully sent his ball through the wicket, then swung his mallet in front of him. It went wide until it landed neatly on his shoulder. 

“No, no, I understand now,” he said with a lazy, practiced smile. “I too would give you an opening to kill me for an opportunity with you,” he said, smiling wickedly like it was a joke as he pointed to the wicket you needed. 

He spoke as if you hadn’t been skilled enough to murder your soulmate, but instead used a moment of weakness in a compromising situation to your advantage. He caressed your hand again and forced you to spin for him, narrowly avoiding your slipper getting stuck in a patch of dirt. You could feel his rakish gaze consuming every detail. But he lingered on the bandages poking out from the collar of your gown. When you faced him once more he dropped your hand and said, “I take it you’re available, as of late?”

Whatever you’d expected of The Thirteen, you hadn’t expected one to view you as a conquest. Especially since you’d been considered Unsalvageable a week ago. 

You wanted to gag, gouge his eyes out, rip his teeth from his head with pliers. Vile, horrible man. 

But instead you said lightly, “Careful with your affection or I'll stab you in the heart when you aren't looking too.” You shrugged with a playful, teasing smile. Because it's what you had done to Fei, though more metaphorically. 

This time your ball went flying through the wicket as you hit it with a precision you could only attribute to bits of Feitan still lingering in your soul. 

Altair roared with laughter. “You are quite something, little healer,” he said, and it sounded more condescension than compliment. “I suppose I ought to introduce myself more thoroughly.” He adjusted the ascot around his throat and then got in position to swing, but paused to give his grand introduction you expected he’d practiced on many occasions. “As you know, I am Altair.” He rested his foot on the ball like it would escape him if he didn’t cage it. And part of you felt like that ball at the moment. “I’m a voracious reader, a classically trained musician, a bit of a poet, a lover of all things living and dead-thus my previous profession as a mortician-and most importantly,” he said, his fingers fluttering like glitter in the air, “I am a member of The Thirteen and the newest Lead Medical Researcher for The Parable Initiative.” He smiled as brightly as the sun. “Our last one is…no longer fit to hold the position.” Your veins raged with icy dread as you realized what that meant a moment before he said it. This development must have been extremely new. “You and I will be working very closely,” he whispered the last few words like the caress of a lover as his foot pressed the ball deeper into the grass. “And I can see you have a delicious bite, little dove.” He returned to his turn and swung. The ball rolled just beside the wicket. “Use it to my advantage, and we have no issue,” he said, stroking a small baby hair out of your face and it took every iota of self-control not to slice an artery. “I assume I don't need to clarify the alternative?” 

You smiled placidly and nodded, swinging as your ball went flying towards his own and knocked it away from the wicket with a clack. “I understand completely, Altair,” you said, imagining he liked to hear his name on women's lips. “Our goals align and I look forward to working with you.” 

It looked like all hopes of a meek, unobtrusive character would not fly with The Thirteen. First Brinn and then Altair had sensed more. No, The Thirteen were too perceptive for that and you were nowhere near the actor Anaia was. 

The game continued for a few minutes with little conversation. The only sounds were the wind through the grass and the distant sound of voices that faded the farther you moved from the patio. 

Altair swung and the ball went right through the middle of the wicket. You clapped teasingly and considered him for a moment. Once again, you decided to be as honest as possible. “I don't know much on the autopsy side since I am in the business of healing people, but I'd be interested to know more.” A sick, selfish part of you wondered what you could learn from this man. What you could learn about TPI. You swung and missed the ball entirely, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention to that. And perhaps a bit of exposure therapy could dull the terror the scent of formaldehyde evoked. 

Altair alighted from the inside out. He clapped once. “A learner. How glorious,” he said. “I'll take you under my wing, little dove.” He opened his mouth, considered, and then spoke again. “Perhaps you can share your firsthand knowledge of soul bonds with me, for research purposes, of course. And what you're experiencing now that it's broken. I'm afraid we haven’t had much opportunity to interrogate our subjects before work began on them and their marks.”

You were going to be sick and you couldn't move as he took his turn. Those people. He spoke of them like gadgets he could tinker with. But you took a deep breath and covered your moment of terror by saying, “I'm sorry. My experience has made it difficult to discuss, but I’ll try.”

Altair frowned oh, so prettily and rested a hand on your shoulder. “Between you and I, I respect what you did. I can only imagine how difficult it was for you. You were afflicted with a parasite and handled it in a way we barely knew was possible.” He patted your shoulder and then lightly shoved you towards your ball for your turn. “I anticipate a long-lasting partnership; you have no obligation to tell me right away.” He pursed his lips as he watched a robin flitting through the bushes. “I find writing helps clear my head when I am not as jovial as I am today. Perhaps it would help you too.”

You considered him for a moment, torn, and then said, “Thank you.” It almost came out as a question because of how little you expected any sympathy from The Thirteen. The last thing you wanted was to humanize these monsters. Especially when you intended they all die in the end. Of course, you were certain every word you wrote would be read, but perhaps you could use that to your advantage. “I appreciate that.” 

Altair bowed shallowly, then looked over your shoulder and motioned to whoever it was that he needed a moment. “It looks like our time may be up.” He held out a hand and took your mallet. “I'll see you in the lab tomorrow morning at eleven, assuming we don’t vote to execute you,” he said. “I'm not an early riser and morning executions are nearly as dull as morning work.”

Before you could ask where the lab was you were expected to be at tomorrow, assuming you still had your head, you heard Jed’s booming voice. Spinning, you nearly stumbled in terror. Your shallow breath made you lightheaded as you tried to hide your reaction to what you saw before you. 

Jed sat near the stairs to the patio with someone in his lap. You frowned. Who in their right mind would sit in Jed’s lap? You nearly looked away until you recognized the gown. Your stomach roiled as you realized. Anaia.

Jed’s hand splayed across her stomach, tugging her hips back against his. He kissed Anaia’s temple and his other hand trailed down to grip her thigh. His large hands practically engulfed her as he spread her legs so they were on either side of his. 

Anaia had never looked as small as she did with Jed wrapping around her like a blanket strangling her. This is why Anaia hadn't wanted you to think less of her. You swallowed back your disgust on her behalf. Anaia's commitment to her role went so far beyond what you'd ever expected. Had you been in her position, you wouldn’t have wanted to tell your conspirators either.

Altair was gone and you slowly made your way back towards the patio. 

Anaia’s face burned red with what you had to assume was fury and embarrassment, but she played it off expertly as meekness. And you knew at that moment that you would not be the one to kill Jed. No, Anaia would get that pleasure. 

“So beautiful today,” Jed said, his hand trailing up her thigh until Anaia swatted it away, giving him a stern look that would have made a more reasonable man run. It only made Jed growl with a need you could have gone a dozen lifetimes without hearing. “Still teasing and denying me after you were taken from me. I would have thought your time locked up would have made you…”

Jed continued speaking but you couldn't hear over the rush in your ears. A shaking hand hovered at your hip for a knife you remembered wasn't there. Flexing your fingers, you let your hand fall back at your side. That was a concerning habit you'd need to break before somebody in TPI took it as the threat it was. 

You examined the garden, now riddled with small clumps of people, all unfazed by Jed's performance with Anaia, like it were a regular occurrence. Altair had slipped away to another group and then you found the man you'd been looking for: Marco. 

The man who paid no mind to his soulmate in his boss’s lap. 

Marco didn’t meet your eye, instead focusing on his conversation with a tall man whose eyes were shadowed from the hood of a black cloak. It certainly wasn't the robin egg blue of TPI’s cloaks. 

The man must have felt your stare because he turned your direction and scowled like you repulsed him. Marco noticed his diverted interest and matched the man’s glare before they returned to their conversation.

Brinn’s home was not the place for the unavoidable altercation you knew you’d have with your brother. Marco would eventually ask about the book, since it was the only thing he'd asked you to bring. And you didn’t have it.

“Don’t mind Deverell,” a voice said from beside you. “He will never come around to you.” No. That voice. You’d thought you were prepared, but the sickening dread heavy as lead in your chest said otherwise. One more shock was going to send you to a very badly timed grave. Omokage stood with his hands clasped behind him, hiding the Phantom Troupe tattoo on his palm. “You did kill his brother, after all.” 

At first, your blood chilled, then you felt a fury in your veins that must have been revealed in your eyes because Omokage smiled like he knew you far better than you knew him. 

“When?” you said, figuring it was best not to actively challenge him. One word from Omokage would ruin the delicate thread work you and so many others had stitched for this plan. Plus, one well-timed knife from the Spider’s traitor could kill you and Feitan. Perhaps the prospect of such a fruitful kill would be enough to make him act. 

What would Feitan think if he knew you were face to face with the man they’d been hunting unsuccessfully for months? And he'd walked right up to you as if he knew you. 

“The day you first met Jed,” he said. “I would think you’d recall sending a javelin careening through his heart. Another set of eyes you’ve stolen from me, I’m afraid. The number is really stacking up.” 

You could tell the difference now. The last time you’d seen the strange copy of Omokage, he hadn’t been quite as corporeal. But the oasis had been playing tricks on you, raking his face with shadow until you didn’t know if he was man or puppet. But in broad daylight, he was as opaque as any other. Dark eyes gleamed with fanaticism and intent that nearly made you retreat a step. You preferred the empty sockets. 

A Spider and one of the Thirteen; a formidable mix. 

“I didn’t know then,” you said. And it was true, you hadn’t known so many things. Like how you should not have mourned the three men you killed that day. 

“I’m sure you did not,” Omokage agreed, offering his hand with the Spider tattoo. It gave you pause as you felt the Nen emitting from his hand. You’d only ever touched Feitan’s tattoo. It felt wrong to touch another. 

The smell of food being carted out to the patio mixed with the scent of wood polish emitting from Omokage as he waited for you to be polite enough to reciprocate the greeting. 

Skin burned as you shook his hand. And then you realized too late that he was flipping your arm to reveal your mutilated mark, decorating your skin like spilled ink. Another person thinking they had a right to that part of yourself. 

Omokage cocked his head. “Feitan’s name was here,” he said, examining the mark for foul play, some deception. “I’ll be transparent: I didn’t think it could be true.” He dropped your arm and you could breathe once more. But now he circled you, assessing. “You killed him?” Omokage laughed once in disbelief. “I sense nothing remarkable about you. You’re hardly worth the time it would take to make a puppet. How bizarre.” 

Omokage’s source hadn’t yet had the opportunity to fill him in on what you and Feitan had done. Or had withheld that information for some reason. 

“What did you really do?” His voice was low, earnest interest emerging in his wide eyes and keen grin. “I am loath to admit it would take massive effort on my part to kill Feitan. I struggle to believe you did.” 

“Perhaps I am not as docile as I look,” you whispered. More annoyed than anything else. “And I didn't do it alone.” 

“Perhaps. Do you include your feral friend in a murderous trio with the Lady Anaia?” he said, his smile widening until his teeth were so visible, you thought he’d tear your throat out. “Dear old Phinks’ other half. The one throwing off the balance in my fighting pits.” His smile shifted until he grit his teeth. “Should have expected it of that brute’s soulmate.”

“What of them?” you said, fingers twitching as you fought against them turning to fists. Even though you knew Omokage was aware of Mai, it still made you want to rip his throat out in return for daring to speak of them.  

“They have shown me that perhaps there is validity to that old adage about soulmates being equals,” he said, a crazed interest swirling in his almost inhuman eyes. “Perhaps you are just as dangerous as my old friend.” 

Jed called your name. And suddenly, you'd wished the conversation with Omokage could continue in perpetuity. Because hearing your name on Jed's lips ignited your terror like the barrel of a gun to your forehead. 

“You’re being hailed.” Omokage’s smile went crooked as you tensed. “Good luck.”

Chapter Text

You headed towards Jed where he pawed at Anaia on the deck. A man you couldn't place held a large umbrella, protecting both their delicate sensibilities from the afternoon sun. Sweat trickled down your back and you nodded deferentially at Jed. 

Anaia’s lips pursed and she might as well have told you to ‘watch yourself.’

“I didn’t think I’d have to instruct you that the second I call you, you come,” Jed said. He rested back in his chair and dragged Anaia with him. The umbrella guru tripped backwards, readjusting just quickly enough to keep them doused in cool shade. “Your brother is trained well enough.” 

Those few seconds had hindered your already abysmal rapport with Jed. But now you knew what you’d already suspected: he expected the best. 

“She’ll learn,” Anaia said, grabbing a chocolate drizzled strawberry from a platter on a glass end table. After careful examination, she held it behind her for Jed to grab with his mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, and it somehow sounded earnest. Even looking down at him, you felt smaller under his astute gaze. “I was just a little too deep in conversation.”

Jed’s face hardened at your attempt to diffuse the tension. “It would be an honor to see what I hear is a decaying mark.”

Apparently Jed didn't feel the need for empty pleasantries with you any longer. That hadn't worked in the warehouse either. 

All those weeks ago, you’d refused when he’d asked the same. Then it had been a demand; this was too. Now you offered your wrist freely and bit back a reaction as he gripped your forearm and tugged. 

Displeasure rattled deep in your mind's archive, in a place to which you couldn’t find a path.

Jed hunched over Anaia to examine the desecrated mark now frigid with his touch. As if he could see into the depths of the bond—roiling, burning galaxy and all. But he clearly saw nothing of consequence when Jed could neither comprehend nor covet the devastating connectivity of soulmates linked by a Blood Bind. 

He twisted your arm, examining every angle as he sought deception. Overwhelming, clean cologne made you swallow. You could have gagged, but held it in when Anaia sent you a sharp look. 

Jed huffed a laugh. “You went through all the trouble defying me only to kill your soulmate a few weeks later?” He clutched your fingers and tugged them down to get an even clearer view of your mark’s remains.

“I didn’t fully understand what he was then,” you murmured.

Jed hummed dismissively and scraped at the mark with a too long fingernail to see if the rotting black fluttered off like ash. It only moved your skin and veins at strange angles. The ruined mark remained. 

“What a pleasure to observe a mark in this state.” Jed finally dropped your arm and your fingers strained as you kept them from balling into a fist. “Off,” Jed said, patting Anaia’s hip. She slid down gracefully. 

He stood and stretched, and it was then you were reacquainted with his imposing figure. Even outside, his presence consumed the space. Acrid air and shade alike fled, compelling you to focus on nothing but him to regain a sense of equilibrium. 

He had your attention and you his. 

And if you had Jed’s attention, that would give Anaia the freedom to bribe, threaten, and barter for your head with any of the remaining Thirteen she hadn't already worked. 

Anaia shot you a blank, pleasant smile and then nodded. 

“Walk with me,” Jed said. Without an answer, he ambled away, waving for you to follow. So you did, because you’d been warned once, and you doubted the veracity of Jed’s mercy should he find you lacking once again. 

Brinn’s home was like something out of the history books; she lived like a titled woman a few centuries past. Cool blues and creams splashed the walls where delicate, floral wallpaper of similar tones weren’t already placed. Silver accents weaved through sitting rooms—in mirrors, ornate frames, and delicate threading on throw pillows. The colors swam through camelback couches and leapt across tiny end tables. The home was a testament to a singular style and the wealth to accomplish it. No space diverted from the theme. 

Servants weaved around corners, attempting to remain out of sight as they cleaned, carried linens, and hustled with food trays. 

“The home isn’t to my particular taste,” Jed said, striding through the halls, leaving large, muddy footprints on the ivory tile. You imagined his preference looking more like the decor of a circus tent. “While TPI does own the bones of the property, there’s only one room in my followers’ homes I choose to influence.” 

Something told you the Jed-dictated room was where you were headed. 

Shalnark’s research and Anaia’s corroboration had revealed the leader of TPI owned a significant amount of property from members under a litany of shell companies. The question then was how Jed had convinced the prior leader to sign over those rights. 

Wordlessly, you followed him to a grand staircase. One direction curved up to the second floor, and the other down. Jaw aching with tension, you grit your teeth at the darkness looming below. Fate was not merciful enough to guide you up into the soothing, early afternoon light streaming in through the arched windows above. 

Jed motioned for you to lead the way downstairs. Putting your back to him made you bristle, but you swallowed and smiled placidly. 

The staircase wasn’t maintained like the rest of the home. Wooden planks creaked; muggy air coated your lungs; pipes rattled. Hand quivering, you held to exposed rock as you descended, not daring to look at Jed who would be ducking to fit in the small passageway. Warm breath fluttered against your neck and you ignored the urge to heave Jed down the rest of the way. 

Rasping and groaning, the steps held. You moved swiftly without looking suspicious because Jed would consume your fear like a parasite if he discovered it.

The humidity mingled with smoke and the scent of woodsy incense. Faint traces of mold lingered along the walls, mixed with the smell of bleach.

“All of TPI, including myself, is expected to maintain a spot somewhere in their home where they can devote themselves to our ideals,” Jed said, resting a giant hand on your injured shoulder as you took the final step. You stalled at the contact. “For some, it’s a minuscule corner in their smaller abodes, but my Thirteen have taken it upon themselves to properly nurture the idea.”

 What must have once been an unfinished basement—fit for nothing more than soggy boxes and a rattling washing machine—was now a sanctum. Though water rumbled through pipes and the gray stone walls felt damp to the touch, the rest of the room was as ostentatious as the floors above. 

At least this basement smelled nothing of human rot and formaldehyde. And you thanked your luck that Jed let you go without complaint as you stepped inside to marvel at the room. 

Onyx marble columns melted into a mosaic of the night sky. Thousands of tiny stones glimmered, crafting stars and planets and roaring comets. Gems bled into constellations that illuminated like fire from within, acting as the room’s main, gentle light source. Spotted shadows danced on tastefully patterned rugs, creating the illusion that the ground moved with you. 

Deeper into the room, frilly pillows sat stacked in front of a low offerings table. A place to sit before the main attraction of the room: A painted portrait of Jed in a dark frame above the table, lit by a few well-placed constellations to ensure his figure was never shadowed.

But his visage couldn’t keep your attention with the ceiling masterpiece.

You swallowed. Would this be the only galaxy you’d ever walk through again? It lacked the all-consuming overwhelm of your own swath of space. But the raging ache in your chest might have accepted an afternoon gazing up into the mosaic, hunting for similarities until it felt like home inside yourself once more.  

Jed made a dissatisfied noise. Perhaps this too was training: to recognize what he wanted or meant with nothing but a sound.

“Most of this needs to go,” Jed said, waving a dismissive hand. “This was more to our prior leader’s taste.” 

“I think it’s wonderful,” you said, turning to look back at Jed, unable to leash a bright, genuine smile. 

He laughed and watched you like you didn’t understand anything. 

“Sit,” he said, motioning to the mountain of pillows before the table. They sank as you crossed your legs. 

Jed followed and examined the strange offerings before the very not narcissistic painting of himself. A globe with pins stuck in strange places, both land and sea alike; wispy red ribbon, like something Anaia would weave into her hair; two gilt chalices with burgundy liquid you hoped was wine; and a glimmering, curved dagger alight from the gems above. 

A dagger. A temptation. 

You adjusted your gaze quickly before intent flickered over your features. Jed’s one good eye could be gone before you slit his throat. And he’d be dead before he realized you were the one cradling the pretty dagger begging to be used. 

Jed smiled like he dared you to do it. Try to open my throat.

A twisted test to see if you’d take a golden opportunity to kill him. Tempting as it was, assassination would only martyr him and somebody worse would rise before his remaining eye could decompose. 

But his confidence felt unfounded. You’d nearly killed him once. A blank expression clouded your features as you considered what would possibly compel him to offer himself up this way so willingly. 

You blinked like you'd been in a trance as you realized the weight of auras beyond the two of you. 

Jed’s grin went feral, like he too knew you’d committed a grave oversight in focusing so heavily on Jed himself you'd not properly considered your surroundings. 

There were four others behind the columns—Nen users—spread widely enough you’d have nowhere to run if you did something stupid like murder Jed. 

Three was barely enough to save him last time; four wouldn’t save him now if you were set to strike. 

“What do they all mean?” you said instead, resisting reaching for any of the items on the table in case it was forbidden to touch, but also not giving him the satisfaction of admitting you'd missed critical information about the space around you. “The offerings.” 

Jed cocked his head like he’d miscalculated when you hadn’t attempted to assassinate him.

“Each one of my Thirteen provides different offerings in their home,” Jed said, reaching for a goblet and drinking. Breath came easier knowing it was wine and that he wasn’t offering you the other cup. “It’s a private ordeal between myself and each member of my Thirteen,” he said. You opened your mouth to mention you were here too, but he said, “and any guests I deem fit, of course.”  

So the information given to the Thirteen was limited. The only person who likely knew everything was Jed himself. A cautious approach you understood, especially when Jed had usurped power for himself; anyone else could do it to him too, if they had all the information they needed. 

You and Jed sat silently. Skin crawling, you bit back your scowl that Jed was both beside you and looking down on you from the painting above.

”You’re a troublesome little broad,” Jed groused, relaxing back into his real personality. His shoulders slumped as his scowl grew. Perhaps you should have been honored that he didn’t bother with his mask in your presence. “More difficult to get rid of than I’d anticipated.”

”You’re not the first one to think that,” you said, blandly, staring up at the painting of Jed instead of the man. Until he spoke again.

“Our views must have seemed strange to you,” he said, motioning to the botched mark on your wrist. “But did you ever consider that fate has divested you of one of the most intimate, impactful decisions of your life?” 

You frowned as you considered. Again you chose a modicum of honesty. “It was comforting knowing that there was something better out in the world for me, even though I doubted I’d ever meet…him.” You pulled your knees to your chest. “But, I closed myself off to things that could have been wonderful because the name didn’t match my wrist. It was an incomplete life by design, but I didn’t realize it at the time.” 

Jed grunted like he agreed. “And what did you learn of yourself in finding your dearly departed?” 

A shiver swirled down your spine. “That I’m not what I thought I was.” 

“See,” Jed said, waving a finger in your direction, “that is one of the many drawbacks. You were robbed of the opportunity to discover yourself without the support of another person you were unlikely to meet,” Jed said, shaking his head. “People with marks are fragmentary,” Jed said. “And when you find your soulmate, you are nothing but an imitation of what those of us without a match are at birth. We may as well be two entirely different species.” 

Your hands shook at that dehumanizing description and you pushed them under your thighs. 

“Kalopsia plagues those of you with soulmates,” Jed said. “It numbs your ability to think logically; it blinds your senses.” He looked down into his goblet of wine like he could scry from its contents. “But what if you’d been able to choose your soulmate later in life? Imagine what you could accomplish if you did. You’d have learned yourself, selected a truly powerful partner, and would be freed from the shackles of your own delusions.” 

That’s what he believed? You were sorely unimpressed at his lack of understanding. Besides, it didn't seem to qualify as a soulmate if you selected them. “So it’s all about the lack of choice for you?” 

“It’s about the waste,” Jed corrected. “Let me explain it in a way you might understand. For the sake of argument, imagine yourself as an arborist.” If you hadn't been in a tiny room below ground with Jed, you'd have disassociated over whatever hypothetical he was going to pose.  “Soulmate marks are like parasites to growing trees, stunting them before they’ve had the chance to mature. Your delicate saplings are sucked of their nutrients and die a slow, useless death, never meeting their full potential. But imagine only accepting that parasite when your trees have outgrown the fledgling stage.” Jed gave you a look like you were meant to be in awe of his half-baked metaphor. “A parasite will not kill a grown tree quickly. And if tended, the effects of the parasite can be limited, while also supporting the ecosystem as a whole.”

“That’s not how marks work,” you said. Whatever airs you’d wanted to put on when you’d arrived were long gone with The Thirteen. Perhaps it was for the best. 

Jed shrugged and it looked like he was pouting over your lack of response to his words. “I’d consider it a body part like any other.”

Silence fell and you both stared at the painting of Jed. A dozen more questions plagued your mind from that statement, but you weren’t certain how long it would take for Jed’s patience to slip if you asked one too many. 

Finally he spoke again. 

“I’d like to write a column about you in our next newspaper edition. While you may never reach the purity standard of my Thirteen, you are technically as you were before you’d met your late soulmate.” Jed smirked and dragged a hand over the back of his head. “And seeing how well you healed me, it appears taking care of your soulmate problem unlocked a superior form of Nen. At least that’s what Altair suspects.” Jed’s eye glazed for a moment, but you didn’t dare interrupt because one thing you’d known since the moment you vomited on his leather loafers was that Jed loved hearing himself talk. “I always assumed Nen was split between soulmates, weakening both. It seems I was correct.” 

Wrong, but you nodded along. And how odd of Altair to think such a thing. “My Nen has changed significantly since I found my soulmate. Maybe there's something to your and Altair's theory,” you said, toeing the line between agreement and mockery. 

A small smile upturned his lips, like he enjoyed being told he was right. Perhaps he was susceptible to weaponized praise. But then he caught himself, like he remembered who you were and what you'd done to him as his mouth scrunched with disgust. 

“I’m telling you girl: don’t mistake this mercy I've begrudgingly bestowed for trust,” Jed said, his voice soft and striking. “Nor assume I won’t revoke it the moment it benefits me.” 

”I don’t,” you said, honestly. You’d be a fool if you thought your position was anything but precarious. Chilly shackles imprisoned you no matter where you ran. 

Jed looked down his nose at you. 

“Good,” he said. “As I’m sure you’re aware, you’ve created quite the problem for me,” Jed said, his eye aflame with the memory of things you knew nothing of. “How troublesome your performance at my rally has become among my dedicated congregation. Your heroics are known to everyone. It limits my options for how to handle you.” 

That must have played a part in your movement from the dungeon to a much nicer cell in the tower. “I’m just here to help.” 

Jed huffed a laugh. “And help you will, because I expect all my members to prove their worth,” he said. “Especially the ones on their only chance. If your worth one day lies in hanging you in front of my followers, I will do it.” 

You nodded, finding that there were no words in your head to string together a response. There was something uneven about Jed. His moods rocked and ebbed like crumbling coral under heavy tides. 

“How am I to help, exactly?” you said. “Assuming my value doesn't lie with my head on a stake.”

Jed made a sound nearing a laugh. “Altair is a brilliant researcher and accomplished mortician, but he is no doctor, and certainly no surgeon. Nor does he have Nen that could mimic either.” He tugged at a puff of dust clinging to his slacks and you pictured it as your head being tossed aside when your usefulness abated. “He and I have a small theory we'd like to test, but it requires a particular variety of Nen not easily acquired,” he said, looking back at you like you were something he could procure for his use. As if he could store you on the shelf with his Thirteen to play with as desired. “Plus, my followers can be on the rowdy side, and they're less useful to me perpetually injured. I would like somebody in my circle capable of healing them as quickly as they mar themselves.”

The dehumanizing way Jed watched you, like his focus was not on you, but on your Nen, made you tense. And in turn, made the others in the room shift like they sensed intention in your movement. But Jed was unfazed. He appraised his new toy, deciphering your various uses. 

“I'll do whatever I can to help,” you said, straining not to wriggle under his scrutiny. “I'm meeting Altair in his lab tomorrow morning.”

“Excellent. Then I’ll cut to the chase so I can get reacquainted with Anaia.” You stiffened. Cutting out his windpipe was warranted just for what he was doing to her. “The truth of the situation is that I owe you two life debts,” Jed whispered. But every word was intentional, making you want to be in his orbit and murder him simultaneously for daring to touch Anaia with his uncomfortably long claws. “One for saving me from assassination, and one for saving Anaia from the grizzly fate you’d both have befallen if you hadn’t handled your soulmate situation,” he said it flippantly, as if your bond was only as bothersome as a gnat buzzing in his ear. “I will vote not to execute you for your transgressions to overcome one of those pesky debts,” he said, pausing. His cologne choked you while you nodded, thunderstruck he would even consider an ‘alive’ vote. “Whether my Thirteen agree with me is another story, I’m afraid. They’re very protective and I cannot subvert the rules of our organization; I am a slave to them.” 

That was all well and good, if he kept his word. But did a man like Jed keep his promises? 

“I wouldn’t ask you to alter your values on my behalf,” you said, shivering as a draft swept the room. 

With the power Jed wielded, there was little that would sway him from his current trajectory. Instead of coaxing him from the path, he’d need to be shoved. 

He hummed in consideration and you felt the others in the room shifting, like something in you or Jed had been cause for concern. “If you'd so kindly indulge me, I'll tell you a little tale,” Jed said. 

You wanted to roll your eyes. There'd been no asking if you wanted to hear it; he just decided it was your time to listen to his silly little sermon.  

“When I was a boy, my father bred dogs…” He paused to ensure you were appropriately engaged. After he’d snared your full attention, he said, “He was brilliant, and always intended for me to follow in his footsteps as he’d done with his father, and his father before him.” Jed drank again, his eye wild with memories. His grip tightened on the chalice and he scowled. “When I was old enough, he put me in charge of training those dogs,” Jed said. “It was rewarding work training them—breaking them.” 

Dread trickled down your throat and through the divots of your spine until the weight affixed you to the floor. 

“It went well for a year or two,” Jed said softly, knowing you clung to each word. “I was as much a natural as the men before me. But one day, the problems began.” He spoke like he was proselytizing, and you blinked when it occurred to you that you saw nothing in that moment but him. “There was one bitch with an attitude problem,” he said, swirling the goblet until it splashed the fabric of the pillows. “She was overly aggressive, she even killed her own pups—twice. No matter what I did, the training I administered, the punishments, the rewards, still she misbehaved. She was born to defy me, it seemed.” 

Gritting your teeth, you bit back your opinion of his dehumanizing analogy. You’d have preferred he called you a bitch to your face like he had the day you’d met. But he wasn’t stupid enough to do it now. Coward. 

The dagger glimmered once more in the crystalline starlight. 

“Suddenly, more dogs began misbehaving because the bitch had spent so much time going after them. You know the old adage that when you back an animal into a corner, it will eventually bite back,” Jed said. “My father called me into his study and told me to take care of the issue.” 

You didn’t dare interject asking how he’d done it. He was going to tell you regardless, but words were barricaded in your throat. 

“He didn’t dictate how to do it, but I knew what needed to be done,” Jed said, a small smile tipping up his lips. “I’ve always had that intuition. So, I did what was necessary for the good of the group. I dragged her out to the woods and snapped her neck,” Jed said like it was nothing at all that he’d spent his childhood maiming animals like a burgeoning serial killer. “Don’t look at me like that. I learned that the best way to end a malignant force in a group is to cull it…quickly.” 

You didn’t disagree with that last bit.

“Should you become that bitch,” he said, his smirk growing. “I have no qualms with an encore.” 

“I understand,” you said, your voice strained. Not a single Thirteen member you’d interacted with hadn’t threatened you, so you should have expected it from Jed too. But this interaction left you conflicted and even more on edge than before.

Somebody walked up beside you, but you didn’t dare look when the biggest threat sat in front of you. 

“What did I say about work talk at my estate?” Brinn said, resting a delicate hand below her chin. “How gauche.”

Jed simply smiled. “I made an exception to the rule, just this once.” 

Brinn huffed. Apparently The Thirteen enjoyed making noises of displeasure at one another when words were dangerous. “We’re starting the tournament.” 

Jed grabbed the other goblet and mumbled something about giving it to Anaia. 

You didn’t know how you’d be able to play with your neck on the line, but choice was lost to you now. 

The four men who’d laid in wait slithered out from behind the columns, ignoring you as they followed dutifully behind their leader. Except the last, who shot you a minute smile before climbing the steps, like he knew exactly who and what you were. 

Nobody noticed the knife disappear from the offerings table. 

It turned out very few of The Thirteen had an appetite for croquet. Less than half had shown and played. Just Anaia, Marco, Deverell, Altair, Brinn, and Omokage. The others were delighted plus ones for both The Thirteen in attendance and some for those that were not. Though those plus ones would not be eating later in the afternoon. 

With that, you'd lost your first chance to glimpse the rest of the leadership and gauge their threat level. 

Anaia pursed her lips and swung her mallet like a pendulum. And it only became more pronounced as the tournament progressed and no more Thirteen arrived. 

Every time you attempted to meet her eye, she turned away; every time you attempted to speak, she snapped. 

But eventually you wore her down during a break and she hissed, “There were three more I needed to speak with,” she said, shoving the mallet head into the grass. “They refused to meet with me and I couldn't catch them off guard.”

“Who?” you asked, gripping your mallet handle so forcefully it groaned, ready to snap. 

“A newer member, Kenji, and Face Stealer Matthias,” Anaia said, closing her eyes like she was unaccustomed to failing in her endeavors and didn't want to see any part of herself. “Especially Matthias. He's nearly impossible to find when he jumps bodies like he's addicted to it.”

“So it's not enough,” you said, your voice cracking. 

“No, and that's still assuming the other members of The Thirteen who agreed to keep you alive weren't bluffing or won't change their mind.”

“Then make a reason to disappear and find them,” you said. This couldn't be the end. Not so quickly. 

Anaia breathed deeply and then nodded. “Marco will unlock windows in the dining hall. If they vote to kill you, run. But wait until the vote concludes in case somehow they agree you should live.”

“But–”

“Collect Mai and run South. I'm sure your…Spiders can find you.”

“But–”

“No,” Anaia said. “You kill none of The Thirteen and leave the fall out to me.” 

Before you could fight her on it, she was trudging towards Jed complaining of a headache from the warm day in that disgustingly sweet voice. 

Excellent, you thought. The only thing standing between you and death was a new Thirteen recruit, some man, and another man who could be everywhere and nowhere. Perhaps if you died, he'd steal your face too. Maybe that was better than Omokage coveting your eyes.

Chapter Text

The tournament lasted hours. By the end your shoulder burned, soaked fabric clung to your legs, and your feet ached from the unsupportive shoes. Brinn had been your partner in the tournament and spent the duration prodding you with her mallet.

Stand straighter.

Shoulders back.

Smile, we’re with company.

Clap when they—no, not like a brute. Delicately. 

By the end of her barrage and the conclusion of the tournament, which Altair had won spectacularly, you were shaking with the effort not to snap. And there was little more you could think of beyond the vote. And concocting a plan for what you’d do if The Thirteen decided to divest you of your head. 

Brinn announced that dinner was nearly ready and Anaia materialized to drag you towards the house. She didn’t speak, nor look at you. There was a tightness around her lips. 

You decided you didn’t want to know if she’d succeeded. 

At least now you had the dagger you'd hidden in the infuriatingly tight bodice of your dress. No longer would you need to either improvise weapons or test the theory under duress that you could kill with a single touch as aptly as heal. 

Should the need arise, the warm metal pressed dangerously close to your skin was the reminder you needed that in the end, you weren't a lamb to the slaughter. 

There sat the people that had been party to your spiral. The ones who'd hurt you, burned the Spiders’ home, reanimated your brother into something unrecognizable…

And yet they laughed merrily and grinned widely and teased with abandon. 

Staff buzzed through the hall placing fluffy rounds of butter with the accompanying breads down a reclaimed wood table. The dark wood weaved through the room like a serpent, curving to the head facing the room in front of monumental, arched windows inviting in the sunset. Brinn had found a twining, ancient tree and slaughtered it for her amusement, and the critical consideration of decor. 

Lilies and hydrangeas of every color burst from silver vases. All arranged in such a way that even with the rippling table, Jed saw all the chairs to keep an eye on his evil little minions.

Marco stood by the large windows. He leaned against the glass like he was indifferent to the room’s proceedings. Finger dragging across the sill, he swiped his hand over the lock and then examined the accumulated dust. 

You’d underestimated how subtle Marco could be when most of your recent interactions were angry, violent, or both. 

Jed lounged in a chair at the head of the table like a prince overseeing his courtiers. Glimmering afternoon light ringed his hair, illuminating the flyaway strands like a halo. He noticed Anaia and his smile grew hungry, his body vibrating with anticipation. Anaia stiffened but sent him a delicate smile.

She dragged you past the other members of The Thirteen, including Omokage who nodded imperceptibly, and Altair who raised his glass of already depleting wine. He wore the tournament medal around his neck; his clothes matched like he’d expected to win and wanted to ensure the prize didn’t clash with his ensemble.

Servants placed salads of crisp leaves and fresh, vibrant vegetables in front of the attendees. Their little interest in you evaporated. 

Anaia kissed Jed’s cheek and murmured in his ear. He smirked. It was something you didn’t want to know. He tracked Anaia like she was cherished prey, and with a surety in his stare that Anaia would have eyes for no one but him. Which was one thing that had perplexed you the duration of the afternoon: did Jed really believe the act Anaia and Marco put on that they were entirely indifferent to one another? Two members of leadership in his anti-soulmate cult were soulmates, and he hadn’t even noticed their tracking glances or softened eyes when they thought he wasn’t looking. Perhaps he did and was simply proving a point that he could take the woman Marco wanted. 

As well as they masked  their intentions, something otherworldly about the soulmate bond always created hyper-awareness of your counterpart. Like you were never quite whole unless you could identify where your other half resided. Even before the Blood Bind, you couldn’t keep your gaze from Feitan long and got antsy when he wasn’t close enough to see, to touch. That awareness had been safe then. It was a trifling mistake on Marco and Anaia’s part that could get all of you killed. Feitan was not going to die because they couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. 

Marco glided past, plopping into his seat like a ragdoll. 

Jed dragged Anaia into his lap. He snapped in your direction and pointed at the chair to his left. 

Sitting, you placed the napkin on your lap and smiled wickedly at Brinn. She raised a brow in return. Brinn had promised to vote for you to live, but if your manners offended her, she could deem execution a proper punishment. 

A servant offered you an array of wine, but you rejected it with a gentle “No, thank you.” Imbibing when you needed your wits every moment was as close to giving yourself a death sentence as you could get. Shutting your mouth was a burgeoning skill; the wine would reopen it. 

Jed clutched at Anaia and you pretended not to notice as he leaned over to you. 

“At least you’ll get one last meal before you die,” Jed said, “if my Thirteen decide to execute you.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. They weren’t getting their filthy hands on you to take your head if they decided you weren’t worth the risk. Even flirting with a massive disadvantage wouldn’t stop you. “Perhaps in the next life you’ll be more cautious about playing games you can’t win.” 

If anyone in the room touched you, they’d die before they realized what happened. You’d kill the lot of them, if needed. Except Anaia and maybe Marco depending on how much of an asshole he was being. He did open the window so you could run. You could regroup with a new strategy after they all laid like Omokage’s abandoned puppets on the floor. Perhaps you’d take that one alive as a gift to your Spiders. 

Fei would be proud, but would likely recommend you kill them all. Then it would be done. 

Don’t forget about me, little thief, the book whispered from deep in the depths of your mind, like it was farther than before. 

Shivering, you bit your tongue to keep from reacting. Trust me, I’ve not forgotten about you. Nor the promise it had made you to speak to your mother. Are you trying to give input on how I handle this? Are we a team now?

The book cackled in a familiar tone. There's nobody else in your head to ask. 

You gave the book the finger mentally and did your best to shove it back to the basement of your consciousness. It was another day’s problem. Speaking to your mother now wouldn’t make her any less dead and the book would only offer entirely self-serving options. If you had more information you could ask superior questions and get more advantageous answers from beyond the grave, or between worlds, or wherever it was the book kept its victims. Perhaps the book would follow you, even in death—a parasitic third companion to your party of two. 

Now, you needed all your focus on what stood right before you in the lovely little prison of a dining hall. 

“How magnanimous,” you said, dryly when it occurred to you Jed and Anaia awaited an answer. Each with a different perturbation level. 

Jed scowled but quickly fixed his face into a radiant grin as he clapped once to get everyone’s attention. That’s all it took; the room quieted. He’d trained them like his childhood dogs. 

“We should get business out of the way before the main course,” Jed said, motioning to Brinn, who sat straight and unbothered, but you caught the tension in her shoulders. Apparently she wasn’t interested in pushing back on the ‘no work in her home’ rule for this particular to-do item. “As you’re all aware, we’re in the presence of a woman who we imagined would be something entirely different to us,” Jed said, his fingers dancing absently across his eyepatch. “An Unsalvageable woman who, in an attempt to save both herself and Anaia from the horrors of a rogue soulmate, willingly severed that infernal tie.”

Nerves roiled in your stomach. Each member of The Thirteen presented differently as you guessed who among them would vote against you. Then who would need to die first if the need arose. Jed was the simplest. Reaching to the side, you could graze him from one blink to the next. But you’d martyr him, and if you left any member of the Thirteen alive, they could rise from the ashes, become a thorn in your side once again. Even so, that left the others. Omokage would be difficult to kill, and many of the others’ abilities to evade your touch was unknown. It was an obscene level of risk needed if they forced your hand. 

Finding a path was step one, in case this became a nightmare. The unlocked window was the closest exit. But between you and that method of escape was Jed himself. 

“Now she offers us the rare opportunity to accomplish things beyond what we’d hoped,” Jed said, holding his cup to you. A smattering of his Thirteen did the same. “We must determine her value. So we vote.” It was dehumanizing to have your life in the hands of a silly little vote. “Considering Marco’s closeness to the accused, he will abstain.” 

Air expelled from your lungs and you could feel your neck snapping as they hung you because of Marco’s abstention. He was supposed to be a guaranteed ‘alive’ vote. Searching the room, you counted ravenously, your breath shallower with each face you didn’t know and couldn’t read. Now, without Marco, there were thirteen individuals to vote, including Jed. It was uncertain what would have happened in the case of a tie, but your position felt far more precarious than it had moments before. Terror nearly bubbled up as a wild laugh.

“Anaia?” Jed said. 

Anaia scanned the room like a Queen surveying her kingdom, her focus stopping on each member of The Thirteen. Then one beat too long on Marco, who didn't bother acknowledging her presence as he flicked a finger against his water goblet. The ding echoed through the room.

Anaia’s burning stare dared them to step out of line. 

“I want her alive,” she said. “Her path to us was unconventional, but she’s an asset to our cause.”

And so the vote began. 

“Kill her,” Deverell said as Jed waved dismissively in recognition. He gripped his fork and it quivered with the pressure. Deverell could be worth killing first, considering his oozing vitriol. It was personal for him, which made him unpredictable.  

The next was a woman you recognized from Shalnark’s files: Melvira. She looked larger than Jed, with blond hair cropped close to her temples. “Alive, I suppose,” she said, like it didn’t matter either way. “Could be interesting.” Melvira didn't check her answer with Jed, but rather Brinn. Brinn huffed softly and pushed her hair behind her shoulder before adjusting her napkin in her lap. It didn’t appear they were fond of one another. 

Your shoulders fell with relief. At least some people in the room thought you were worth the air you took up in Brinn’s mansion. But that reprieve was short lived.

“Dead,” a man said flippantly, sipping his wine and then turning to Melvira to resume their conversation. He was significantly shorter and older than her with tufts of gray hair by his ears. In the heat of the moment, his name slipped away.

Omokage was next. He rested a hand on his chin as he feigned critical thinking skills. If Omokage voted to kill you, if you ever made it out of TPI’s clutches, he’d have another reason for the Spiders to come after him. But really, what was one more? 

Would he scoop out your eyes while you swung and pilot a copy of your body the way Shalnark did with his marks? You shivered in disgust but refused to break eye contact with him first. You were Feitan’s soulmate and Omokage knew it. Actions here reflected on Fei. 

Omokage scrunched his nose condescendingly. 

“I believe she’s useful. Let’s ensure she keeps breathing for now,” Omokage said, stabbing his fork into a tomato like it was your chest that would one day ooze red.  

The food had been appetizing looking before, but now it would melt like ash in your mouth. Everything looked poisoned from The Thirteen’s presence. 

“You just want her eyes,” a young boy said from the other side of the table. 

He sat beside Marco, who rolled his eyes at the interruption. The boy couldn’t be more than fifteen, but he held himself like he had seen and done far too much in his time. His shaggy brown hair hung in his eyes and grazed his cheeks still round with youth. An ill-fitting, corduroy sports coat hung from his shoulders like he played at adult fashion and missed the mark. 

It reminded you of something Feitan said that night of the festival when that young boy slipped you Marco’s message: Could kill at his age. Perhaps you hadn’t put enough stock in those words. 

Omokage scowled. “You know nothing about what I want, child.” 

“Noah,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not child.” And to the kid’s credit, he didn’t back down. “Take her eyes before we hang her. I want her dead.” He acknowledged you with a scowl. “I know my father would have wanted that too.” 

He’d thrown off the path around the table. And now you were at equal alive and dead votes. You considered his words, entirely unsure who his father had been. The kid hadn't been in the files you'd received. You'd have remembered a child masquerading as cult leadership. 

Noah answered for you. He was far more perceptive than you’d given him credit for.  

“My father died recently,” he said, obviously willing to give you candor if he assumed you’d be dead in a few hours, “at a gala.” The words cracked the mask he wore and he returned to a child who had lost their father too young. Your chest cleaved. You were doing to all these people exactly what had been done to you. It had never quite occurred to you that you’d be taking people’s parents, and siblings, in the case of Deverell. “He collected information for TPI.”

Elijah. He had known somehow that day at the gala that Chrollo had been with you. Your gaze had flicked to him one too many times for queues, or you'd done something that made it clear Chrollo had weaved some amount of control over your actions. So had he also known Chrollo was a Spider? Or was your obvious connection simply a hypothesis born of subtle queues and a history of intelligence gathering?

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said, before you could stop yourself. “I know how hard it is to suddenly lose a parent too soon. And it feels like the loss never ends,” you said, swallowing. 

Marco shifted in his seat. 

Noah cocked his head and examined you more deeply than any teen should be capable of, searching for any sign you mocked him. Had his position been forced on him when Elijah died? Who in their right mind would enlist a child into Jed’s cult army? And it had partially been your fault for opening that door. Never had the consequences of your actions dug into you as voraciously as when you looked into tortured, youthful eyes. Eyes you imagined mirrored Fei’s at that age. 

Could you bring yourself to kill a child? One beholden to this life because of the sins of his dead father. He’d been snared, but had he then turned to snare others? 

Noah nodded as if he’d suddenly understood something about you from the turmoil on your face. “I changed my mind.” He breathed unevenly and looked out the window that had been left unlocked for your escape. “Alive.”

Jed waved a dismissive hand and the vote continued with the man beside Omokage. 

Noah grit his teeth and breathed unevenly. Perhaps there was still light there; perhaps Fei was wrong. Just because a child could kill didn’t mean they derived amusement from the act. 

“I can’t stomach what this awful wretch did to you, Jed,” the man said. He’d held Jed and Anaia’s umbrella on the porch, so you hadn't bothered attempting to recognize his face. But you did then. Soloman the Sleazy, Anaia had called him. He bowed his head with a hand on his heart, revealing a combover on his bald scalp. Like Jed, this man was significantly older than the rest of The Thirteen. And a suck up. “I can’t let her terrible deeds go unpunished.” He consulted Jed to see his reaction to his words. “I would hang her personally, if it pleased you.” 

You'd like to see him fail. 

Instead of listening, Jed clawed at Anaia, whispering something in her ear as she giggled in a very un-Anaia-like way. 

Soloman huffed and glared at you like it was your fault Jed didn’t bother listening to him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been such a squirrely little brownnoser. You shrugged and Mr. Sleazy puffed up, burning red. He drank to cover the obvious fury. 

Brinn came next. 

“She’s promising,” she said without pause, resting her hands in her lap. “She chose not to lie to me in the dungeons and saved Anaia’s life with no expectation of reward. Why not keep her alive to see her full potential?” 

The man beside her snorted. Whatever prim and properness Brinn emanated, it died in this man’s orbit. He was dirty and exhausted with heavy bags under his eyes. His stringy, greasy hair clung to his sallow cheeks. Brinn’s smile tightened, like he probed the bounds of her propriety. 

“Yes, Matty?” Brinn said between her teeth, adjusting her posture even straighter. 

Matthias. But he didn't look like the man Anaia had once described. Dread trickled down your spine as you realized: Matthias’ Nen allowed him to borrow bodies. Face Stealer. 

Whoever’s skin he wore had a rough life before Matty commandeered their form. Omokage might make human puppets, but Matthias became the human. There was no uncanny valley effect with Matthias like you’d seen upon closer inspection of Omokage’s puppet. Matthias was the man. 

But he still wasn't quite right, and you hadn't noticed until you focused closely, since he sat on the far side of the table. Blue tinted Matthias’ skin and exposed the beginning stages of rigor mortis. Yet he moved, he spoke, he ate. He was alive and dead. Schrödinger's cultist. 

And then you nearly retched as you saw it. A soulmate mark peered out from the collar of his tattered smock. Your gaze flicked to Altair, who already watched you to see if you'd piece it together. Altair winked and you knew. Matthias nabbed a dead body from Altair's little laboratory of horrors.

A dead man sat with you at dinner. No wonder Brinn looked ready to murder for the sanctity of her dinner party. For once, you were on her side. 

“I don’t give a shit what she can offer us, she tried to kill Jed and successfully killed others,” Matthias said in a raspy voice that couldn't have come from something living. “Kill the bitch.”

“I’d rather nobody take my new assistant from me,” Altair said, sighing dramatically and throwing back the rest of his wine. He lazed in his chair and let his head lull. “It’s laborious hunting for her type of Nen, so I need her alive to test some theories while we have her. Think of the good of TPI,” he said, rolling his head towards the slew of men who’d voted to execute you. A direct challenge to their loyalty. 

“She killed my brother,” Deverell hissed, his fork curling where he gripped it. His hand shook as his eyes widened enough to see the whites encircling his pupils. “The punishment for murder is public execution.”

You searched the room for any face that mirrored your own horror. How were they arguing so casually when a dead person sat at the table for dinner? 

“No, no, Deverell, she martyred him,” Altair said, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. “Severen made a sacrifice for the cause and we all thank him for it.” 

Deverell stood and Altair clicked his tongue. 

“Don’t act so high and mighty,” Altair said. “You’ve killed enough in your time. Shall we execute you nex—“ 

Deverell lunged across the table at Altair. Flatware flew and centerpieces crashed, shattering glass and crushing flowers. Water and wine splashed, staining the table settings and seeped into the divots on the wood. Salad fixings scattered and it looked more like a rabbit’s habitat than a high-scale dinner party. 

Melvira grabbed Deverell around the waist and tossed him back in his chair. 

Deverell landed too hard. He and his seat toppled to the floor. Growling as he moved to stand, his focus now was on Melvira instead of Altair. 

Brinn stood, her hands fists at her side. “If you must fight like barbarians,” she hissed, “do so off my property.”

“We’re in the middle of a vote,” Jed said, finally disengaging from his flirtation with Anaia. “Behave yourselves,” he said quietly, and you were unsure if the entire room could hear, but it sobered the atmosphere. Deverell leaked fury, but kept his mouth shut as he righted his chair. Brinn floated down to her seat and Altair’s smirk could be seen behind his wine glass. The literal dead man nobody seemed bothered by had gone dormant. Matthias’ neck rolled and his shoulders slumped before he hit the table head first. 

Brinn sighed and pressed her fingers to her forehead to block out the depravity around her. 

Servants rushed to clean the mess. 

“Someone get the corpse,” Brinn said, more exasperated than concerned as she waved a delicate hand towards the unmoving Matthias. “And figure out if Matthias is still on the property, please, in case his control slips while in another host.” 

“Bring Matthias’ rejected host to the lab, if it's not too much trouble,” Altair added, popping a green olive he’d found on the table into his mouth with a tiny fork. 

“Quiet, please,” Anaia said, and the room listened. 

“Better,” Jed said, clearing his throat. “Let’s continue.” 

Once again, you reminded yourself that you were the one with the correct response to an animated corpse at the dinner table, not The Thirteen who were only slightly put out. 

Your head spun as the room reset like this was a common occurrence. Centerpieces were replaced along with refreshed dinnerware, free of the cracks and stains they’d received from Deverell’s blunt-force trauma. 

As the room quickly righted itself, the voting continued. Stiff wood pressed unevenly into your back as you pushed against your chair. Vote totals were lost to you in the chaos. Quickly taking stock, and trying to remember who had agreed to execute you, you nearly missed the next vote. 

A man with short brown hair and rich skin sat slumped in his chair. Not in a dignified and intentional way like Altair, but like he was truly bored and didn’t mind showing it. You missed his name, and with your head spinning with the overwhelming situation you’d found yourself in, you couldn’t recall it yourself. 

“Dead,” the man said.

You recognized him, you knew you did, but you couldn’t place anything about him as you finished your rapid count: alive, alive, dead, alive, alive, alive, alive, dead, dead, dead, and now dead again… which left one more member of The Thirteen and Jed. 

How many was that each way again? You’d forgotten once more, even though you’d just counted. 

The final member of The Thirteen was a slim man with long black hair tied back at the nape of his neck. Kenji—one Anaia had hunted for. He crossed his legs and sipped a cup of tea. The intensity of his consideration slowed the room around you as he determined your fate. But even as his stare urged you to bow, to break first, you refused and held. Even as true terror trickled up your throat and into your head, upending your calm facade, you refused to shatter. Clutching your hands into fists, you held them under the table. 

Kenji placed his cup down quietly as staff hurriedly cleaned the table around him. He was the eye of the storm. 

“I don’t believe she’s useful to us,” Kenji said, like he too was still considering the words. “Though Altair disagrees, we can find someone with a similar Nen that we can control,” he said, never breaking your stare. “Hang her.” 

Jed laughed brightly, like for once he actually enjoyed what was happening around him. You hadn’t heard that specific kind of response from him since the warehouse when he’d thought he’d placed you in checkmate on a board you'd never seen. Glimmering teeth were primed to rip out your throat. 

“It appears I have the pleasure of breaking a tie,” Jed said. “How invigorating.” 

Once again you were forced to ask yourself: Did men like Jed keep their promises? That bastard had thought by removing Marco from the pool, his Thirteen would overwhelmingly vote to execute you. He’d get to play his little games, posture a bit if he had time. And then claim he’d always intended to vote for your salvation when it was too late. 

Anaia stilled, like she ran through possibilities and how to address them. Marco too had frozen, but perhaps it was Anaia’s terror he fed from. 

“Though you did a great service in saving me,” Jed said, twirling his cutlery between his spindly fingers like it were a pen as he solidified your sentence in ink, “that may be the extent of your usefulness.” He examined his fork and dropped it on the table. Brinn pursed her lips. “What greater things could you do for me than saving my life? Yes, you and I had discussed your usefulness, but perhaps Kenji is correct, and we simply double our efforts to find a more…docile replacement.” Jed strummed his fingers. “The details of what is said and voted on between myself and my Thirteen never leave this room,” Jed said, which was a detail you hadn’t known. “If I vote to kill you, I am simply an indeterminate voice in a pool of other ‘dead’ votes.”

You peered out at the Thirteen then, wondering who would react favorably to that line. Perhaps you’d be able to forge more allies than you’d hoped. As you scanned, you landed on Melvira and Noah, both steeped in varying degrees of displeasure, but not seeming to know how to appropriately reflect that distaste. Altair too, who gripped his glass hard enough to shatter. Apparently his love of mad-scientific discovery outweighed his adoration for Jed. Brinn’s head was cradled in her hands as she mumbled something to herself, ignoring that elbows should never be on the table. Omokage’s lips thinned as he sat ramrod straight like he’d reverted to behaving like one of his puppets when he didn’t know how to respond. If you died, that would be one less lure for the Phantom Troupe. 

But not all were so opposed. Solomon’s yellow-toothed grin overtook his face until you were certain he had multiple sets stuffed in his mouth. And Deverell–you nearly reared back at his unleashed malice. Snobbish satisfaction colored his stare as he nodded deferentially to you. Kenji simply leaned back in his chair with a calm grin. The other men whose names you couldn’t recall also appeared self-satisfied that they’d erred on the side of caution and gambled correctly in matching Jed’s ‘dead’ vote before he’d ever spoken it. 

“With that,” Jed said. Your heart pounded as you adjusted in your chair. Thrumming to be exercised on Jed's throat, the dagger lodged in the tight waist of the dress called to you. “I vote…” Your hand gripped the handle. “De—“

Anaia whispered something in Jed’s ear. He froze, listening intently, like nothing but Anaia mattered to him in the world. Whatever she’d done to him, she’d done it well. Her arm looped gently around his shoulder as her lips moved quickly, precisely, like she had already known which words to craft. A contingency plan. 

Jed brought a hand to the back of Anaia’s neck, holding her in place as her lips grazed his ear while she spoke.  

Anaia was bargaining for your life. 

Your hand flexed as you pulled it from the dagger hilt hidden under muslin. 

The room was a mixed bag of reactions. Altair couldn’t hide his triumphant grin while the likes of Deverell and Solomon scowled, realizing they’d been outpaced the moment before the finish line. 

A sickly pallor dripped down Anaia’s face as she pulled back. Whatever she’d bargained with, it wasn’t pleasant. It was clear in the twist of her lips that asking about it was out of the question. 

Jed cleared his throat like he was attempting to compose himself. “Upon further reflection, I will deign to show her mercy.” He shifted in his seat and blinked, dazed. “But you step out of line, my vote changes and we hang you.”  

All you could do was nod absently. “Understood,” you croaked. Words cracked in your throat before you could say anything more. How close you’d come to a death sentence.

“And…” Anaia urged.

“And you’re free to occasionally leave your tower so long as you prove useful. A member of The Thirteen will accompany you when you do,” Jed said, like the idea made him sick. Whatever Anaia had bargained with had clearly been powerful. “With that, let’s eat,” Jed said, his voice still distant as something crashed down the hall. 

The room paused to listen. Then servants screamed and feet pounded. Plates and drinks shattering on the tile in the distance. 

Brinn stood, positively indignant. Murder was in her gaze. 

“Matthias?” Kenji said, throwing an arm over his face like it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. 

“Matthias,” Melvira agreed, frowning. 

Anaia cursed as something monstrous looking barreled into the hall. It was a human, or had been at one point. It was bloated like rising dough. Every limb expanded as it morphed into an amorphous blob. The smell of rot made you gag as it set off a chain reaction of terror in you. Perhaps you’d overestimated how desensitized you’d become to the smell. 

Omokage froze while the others moved, like a prairie dog scanning for danger. Whatever he felt wasn’t in the room with them. His lips parted like he couldn’t quite believe what he sensed. Then he sprinted from the room.  

“Matthias lost control of his host again,” Anaia said, scowling, throwing herself off of Jed’s lap. And in good time because Jed was also rising to his feet yelling orders at his Thirteen. “It’s been months since that happened last,” she said, cocking her head as she considered. But she blinked it away. “Better run before it explodes,” Anaia yelled over the chaos, grabbing your arm. “That man needs to get a grip on his Nen.” 

Matthias’ meat suit grappled for centerpieces and somehow heaved them across the room, vaguely in the direction of scattering people. His limbs moved four directions at once which made him look more octopus than human, yet he made destructive progress. Even his eyes rolled different directions, determining what to mangle next. Nothing was safe from the host’s ministrations, not even the gilt-framed paintings that looked original, which he had the strength to rip from the wall and use as bats. Servants and Solomon, who couldn’t run quickly enough, all ended up as subjects of priceless paintings with their heads poking through the canvas above bodies.

“That is a Rembrandt!” Brinn screeched, and honestly, you couldn’t blame her. 

As Matthias rampaged, you caught the glint of something protruding from his neck. 

“Wait…did you say ‘explodes’?” you croaked, like you’d only then been able to process the specific word Anaia had used. “Please tell me you’re exaggerating.” 

“How many times have I told you not to allow Matthias near priceless artifacts?” Kenji said, who now sat alone at the table, perfectly unbothered and entirely untouched by the destruction. Chaos ruled around him and he simply sipped his drink.

“Not exaggerating. Move or we’ll be covered in it,” Anaia said before you could hear any more of the strange interactions between The Thirteen. You’d really done a disservice to the individuals by assuming they were a hive-mind. 

Anaia gripped your wrist and heaved you towards the window Marco opened. There was no clear path nor shoes supportive enough to maneuver effectively. You stumbled over shattered vases and mangled paintings as you made your escape. 

What little was left of your good sense screamed to grab the dagger, but you didn't want it confiscated and your earnestness questioned. 

You flung the window open with a half-dozen shoves from your good shoulder and yelped as you tumbled forward onto the grass. Anaia followed and slammed the window shut.

Moonlight melded with dim path lights down a hill to the dark gardens. But everything inside the dining room was illuminated.

The world quieted for a moment. Then a boom shook the house. Your ears rang at the unnatural sound and all you saw was that day at the festival you did anything to avoid remembering. 

Blood, gore, and miasma splattered across the glass like one of Brinn’s priceless paintings as Matthias’ host imploded. The people inside screamed, and for the first time in your presence, Brinn cursed like a seasoned sailor from the other side of the glass. 

Anaia fell back on the grass and looked up at the vile scene coating the windows. Panting hard, she said, “That went about as well as possible.”

It had, because somehow, you were still alive and you’d been spared the need to murder to keep your head. 

“Hey there,” a voice chirped beside your ear and you screamed. 

Chapter Text

You grappled for Shalnark like the only living lifeline buoying your sanity as water snapped the hull. He was here; they were here. And for a moment, you let yourself feel less alone as you met the eyes Feitan too had seen. But there was no two-way mirror to or memory of Feitan in Shal’s haunted eyes. Darkness doused their playful glimmer into something bereft of the Shalnark you’d known–even the green of his eyes had gone dark as forest foliage under the waning moon. 

Two people were lost to you in the haunted depths of his eyes. Three, if you counted yourself. 

You were lost. 

What is this? Something whispered, a curious little voice in your head. It didn't sound like the book, but what else could it be? What are you?

“Shal,” you said, as he sidestepped your outstretched hands begging for any hint of what has been stripped from you. You fell forward onto your hands and knees, losing your balance as he put more space between you. “Please.” 

How many questions you had that only he could answer. 

“Another time,” Shalnark said before he slipped through a neighboring, gore-free window as swiftly as he’d arrived. It swung wide and swayed in the evening breeze, the glass clinking against brick. 

You didn't envy Shalnark having to remove his skewer from a puddle of putrid remains. 

A second, dark figure slipped past after Shalnark. Tumbling to your feet, you searched wildly for the hint of black hair in the moonlight. The hunt itself was strange when you should have sensed his presence as clearly as if it were an inexorable part of yourself. 

Anaia tugged on your mud-sullied dress you already wanted to burn.  

“Stop that,” she said, her scrunched nose and squinting eyes clear in the darkness. “You’re acting desperate. He’s not here.” 

No, he wasn’t. You would know, you had to know even without the bond because what were you otherwise? And as your sense returned, so did your sense of smell. You gagged and covered your mouth. The smell, the smell, the smell. You were going to go insane. 

Shizuku clamored through the window with some sort of pointy-toothed, murder vacuum. Definitely not Fei. 

You glared down at Anaia while you pinched your nose. But even then you could taste the fetid smell of decomposition that haunted you waking and dreaming. “I can’t…” You swallowed. “I wouldn’t act like that if I could feel him, but I can’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you cleared your throat, hoping the taste would dislodge. Ripping your soiled dress from her hold, you said, “thank you for telling me.”

Instead of losing more focus, you covered your mouth and nose as you moved to peek at where Shalnark and Shizuku had gone. 

Candles flickered out in the room next to Matthias’ portrait of gore. Darkness and wisps of smoke swept the hall, constructing an eerie path for the Spiders to slink through. If Brinn had any form of modern lighting as backup, it wasn’t illuminating. 

Craning your neck, you tried to spy the two Spiders who’d shown. But there was no trace of them, which you supposed was good so if something went sideways, you could tell Brinn truthfully you had no idea where they were. Not that she had reason to suspect you would. 

Your throat throbbed as you swallowed back a sudden swath of tears at the thought. Cold prickled your neck as you smelled the rot and felt the death-welcoming cold of the dungeons that woman had kept you in. 

The desperation and need on your face must have been as clear as any emotion Anaia had seen from you. She nearly looked sympathetic before covering it. 

“They may trap you,” Anaia said, her voice delicate with what sounded like understanding, “but they will not break you beyond repair.” And you wondered if that was Anaia’s guiding creed when you'd caged her or when Jed touched her in ways he would die for. “Do not let them take yourself from you.” 

“I'll break if I don't see them,” you said as cold whipped your bare arms. “I don't know what I am without them. Or him.”

Anaia studied you as if calculating the validity of that statement. Too much rode on you to shatter now, and you both knew it. Iron meddle that made Anaia what she was still slipped between your fingers like spider silk. 

You'd eventually have to clasp it–and ‘eventually’ raced faster towards its own inevitability with each moment. 

”Not now,” Anaia said, tugging the horrible shoes from her feet. You followed suit and heaved them at the windows of the Matthias-ruined room in lieu of screaming. “Let them do what they came for. I’ll see what I can do about meeting with Shalnark.” 

“You're right, and thank you,” you mumbled. You could wait; you had to.  

And then you remembered that strange dream that hadn’t quite felt like a dream. Cloistered away in a corner by some parasitic force corralling your words and body. 

Shalnark and Shizuku were here for Omokage. If that strange dream had been real, Feitan was not following the two of them. He was who knew how far away hunting a TPI treasure trove with the suspected leak. That must have been what spooked Omokage out of the dining hall faster than the others; he’d sensed the people pursuing him. You’d run like doomed prey too if the Spiders turned their sites on you. 

If that dream had been real, then Shalnark had never been your ally. He was wholly devoted to the Spiders. Where that devotion would land him in the end, you didn’t know. But you were certain you wouldn’t feel better about the truth until you connected a punch with his face. Even if a tiny, reasonable iota of you could understand why he’d done it. 

Anaia told you to wait as she willingly crawled back into the obliterated dining hall. But you supposed anyone willing to do whatever she was doing with Jed wouldn’t mind the gore. 

Your hand remained over your nose and mouth. 

Somehow you’d survived the night; your mortal coil voted on like chattel. 

Moonlight barely illuminated you as foliage cut warped shadows over the surrounding area. Though the opportunity to run back to him was there, the strain of the world tethered you to the grass. It was time you'd remembered you'd been capable before Feitan. Dependence on him was eating you away while your beliefs about yourself frayed. Why had you let this feeling drag you below the surface? One person or two, you could be something with or without him. What was left of you but an empty shell? The ethereal fire once burning in your soul was nothing but a flickering glimmer of light fighting for its existence, and you’d lost yourself in the dark space around it.  

You had to find your way back to that internal flame before it winked out. 

Anaia checked in with Jed and then dragged you back towards your prison tower. She unlocked your door, and you asked, “Jed…”

“Don’t,” Anaia said. More pain threaded those four letters than anything you'd heard from her before. Her fingers twitched uncomfortably like she debated hurting or hugging you for daring to speak of something she saw as shameful. You’d let her hit you, if it helped. 

You had too many questions, like what kind of leader sent a woman into the field to do what Anaia was doing? But most pressing of all: was she safe? And how did Jed not know about her mark? Curiosity would seep into cruelty if you asked now. 

“I want you to do it when the time comes,” you whispered, as Anaia refused eye contact. “You deserve that honor more than any of us. Just as long as you bring me his other eye.”

Anaia didn't respond, but she didn't leave either, which you took as an invitation to change the subject. 

“Where is Altair’s lab? I need to be there tomorrow morning.”

”Morning?” Anaia said as she pushed you inside. “He’s improving.”  

Closing the door after Anaia left you in the tower, you held yourself together for nothing more than a half-breath before choking out a sob. Your quivering hands over your mouth reeked of whatever noxious carrion Shalnark had turned Matthias to; it buried deep in your skin and memory. You knew that smell better than you knew your bond.

Of course you’d intimately know something so foul without having any sense of what you'd become. How could you know everything else horrible in the world but not yourself? 

What am I; what are you; what are we? A sliver of yourself whispered in your head. Like the cataclysmic damage you'd done to your soul was now acknowledging its blunt-force trauma, demanding answers for your crime. 

You were a pair, a duet, one piece of a whole. No, no, you were alone , severed. 

What are you?

Damn it, if the book didn't shut the fuck up–

Throat searing, you gagged and threw yourself into the bathroom to release your stomach into the toilet–over and over until nothing but blistering bile coated your throat and tears stained your bloodshot eyes. Relief, terror, stress? You didn’t quite know the cause. But most horrific of all—the smell. There was no difference between the reek of Matthias’ decaying flesh and the bodies you’d found in the warehouse that horrifying day everything had changed. And how you were expected to work for Altair in identical conditions. You shook and sobbed through the ache and slammed a fist down on the toilet bowl, resting your forehead on the cool porcelain to control the heat in your veins.  

No. You couldn’t keep falling apart. You had to be better than this for so many people. But you’d give yourself this one last night to release whatever grief and pent up anger lingered somewhere deep. To let your soul grieve. 

Sharp pain ignited in your shoulder, which you ignored as you ripped the fabric from your heated skin. Too close and too tight, you needed to get the offending pieces away. They smelled of Matthias too like everything on you now. Burning them wasn’t possible, so you settled on the satisfying sound of tearing the gown piece by piece until it was a pile of torn, pilling fabric on the bathroom floor. 

The stolen knife clacked on the tile and you shoved it under your pillow before heading back to the bathroom. 

Even a shower with skin scrubbed raw didn’t save you from the memory of the smell. Cold water stung your aching skin as you shook, but there was little thought of moving in your mind. Entirely petrified into inaction, eventually your body reconnected with your mind to reveal the burning pain in your shoulder. It was strong enough to make you sway with wooziness once more. 

Healing, little by little, you reminded yourself. It wasn’t a bad case study in diversifying your abilities. Nobody wanted partial healing when they could wring everything possible from your work. Until you in that moment, of course. 

Heal me too, your soul murmured. But you couldn't. 

Breathing in, you held it until it was time to assault yourself with your own Nen. Breathing out, you endured the gradual piercing sting from the gold tendrils weaving through your shoulder. It illuminated the dark bathroom in a swath of twirling golden light from below your skin, swarming like something that wanted to crawl free. Pushing back on your own instincts, you delicately willed your nen to slow. You had to deny yourself a full healing, even if limiting yourself felt antithetical to your abilities. An urge deep in yourself thrashed, wanting to do more. Perhaps you’d have Mai take a look when you eventually reunited. They’d said a while back that Nen felt alive, and perhaps they were right. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to your shoulder–or more accurately to the Nen you’d used on it–in the off chance it really was sentient. “I won’t deny you forever. You’ll be free soon enough.” 

You ambled back into the bedroom after wrapping your shoulder again. Your eyes drooped while scrounging for clothing acceptable for the current century. Anaia must have called in a favor from her skin-crawling creep of a boss, because there was more than one outfit in the room. Finding the softest pieces, you donned them and fell into bed. Something nicked your face and you froze, pulling back. Had you misplaced the knife? Fumbling over your pillow, you found instead your knife in place below and a slip of ratty paper at the top you had missed when you’d stashed the knife in the dark. 

Flipping on a light, you immediately recognized the handwriting as Marco’s. 

Where will I find what I was promised?

You groaned while thinking through the overwhelming exhaustion. 

He wanted the book you never had any intention of giving him. It was either somewhere with Feitan or somewhere he’d hidden it. Even if you had the inclination to offer the book, you truly had no idea where it was. 

I don’t want to hear shit from you, you grumbled in your head as that very book cackled. 

You took the note and flushed it down the toilet. Since there was no way to respond, you figured you’d soon get a visit from your brother. You had a few bones you needed to break over what he’d pulled with those women. But that was another day’s problem. 

Today, you faced a different conflict. Your worse than precarious situation with TPI had shown you that self-doubt, confusion, or even a moment of unclarity could be your downfall. Nothing but a crystalline understanding of yourself could keep you grounded and alive in the cesspit of this new world. Running from yourself was no longer an option. And luckily, you had nothing but time to consider your petty existence now with TPI.  

What were you? you thought, the voice’s demand had taken root with its innocuous question. Hands jittery, you paced until the carpet sunk down from your path, until constellations arched past the vision of your window. You were too many things to count: murderer, healer, Hunter, soulmate, friend, sister, infiltrator, liar, and alive, fighting for a place in a better world. 

But which made you what you were?

Perhaps you were not a leader like Chrollo or Jed. Or some twisted artist like Fei or Altair. Nor a trusted commander like Shalnark or Anaia. Not even a trailblazing adventurer like Mai or Phinks. No, you were none of those things; had never meant to be those things. So why was it so difficult to accept what you were?

Hour after hour, you paced, analyzing yourself, until your legs nearly gave out from exhaustion. You’d beaten the gallows only to turn on yourself.

With or without Feitan, you would fight. You’d claw and brawl your way to something better. Because what did anything matter if you suffered and failed to reconstruct a more equal world, even if only in small ways?  

Blood pounded in your ears at the revelation, binding your perception of yourself with reality. 

Yes, you knew what you were. A soldier commanding the path forward; a healer repairing the wounds of humanity along the way. 

A soldier with a healer’s heart. 

Inside you, a flame ignited.  

You weren’t covetous of much, but jealousy rankled you as you scanned Altair’s marvelous lab. It split directly down the middle: half mortuary, half physicians office. Scalding fluorescent lights hung above, already straining your eyes as they flickered. 

You'd been presented a modicum of freedom; you needed to start making plans with your limited autonomy. Using what you could control was key. With all eyes on you, acting quickly and recklessly would only get you killed. So, what could you use to your advantage?  

A dozen or more prep tables lined the walls on the mortuary side. Shining and pristine, minus scraggly marks down the top and sides like people had clawed at the restraints dangling from the tables. Then, Altair did not always take his victims dead. Chemicals in jars as well as tools for his mad-scientistry were shoved in the corner. If there was a machine to cremate his victims, it wasn’t here. But you suspected he didn’t bother with that when you’d seen the decaying bodies in the warehouse. That smell didn’t follow into Altair’s lab, at least. It was unclear where they put the bodies, as you doubted they’d bother returning them to their families or burying them in a marked gravesite. 

While you had no advantage from your location—as you were effectively on probation with the cult—the physician’s side of the lab was as good a playground as you'd get. Nen-based healing was your specialty, and your skill would undoubtedly eclipse Altair’s. If he had any such abilities. He wouldn’t need you if he did. But did that mean he had no Nen, or was it something that didn’t assist in mortuary science? 

How much freedom could you manipulate him into giving you to play in his evil little doctor lair?

The significantly better side of the lab was a stocked medical facility with not only tools and aid equipment, but every pharmaceutical you could imagine in rows of shelves behind locked cabinets. Prescribing drugs to cultists. Altair held no license to do such a thing as a mortician. 

Laws were malleable for Nen users, especially those with Hunters Licenses. Did he have some specialized ability surrounding prescriptions that allowed him legal protection to operate in that capacity? Perhaps he had some ability at determining ailments and the best ways to relieve them—but not the ability to heal them. You supposed that would be helpful for a mortician autopsying bodies. 

 You wandered, peering into drawers and below examination tables. If you were going to be working here, you needed to know where everything was located. Cold metal pressed into your fingers as you casually skimmed work benches and supply shelves in the name of exploration. No visible cameras or recording devices. Perhaps your entry had been too swift for installation, or your new mad scientist friend deemed them unnecessary. 

Altair sat back on his hip, hands clasped behind him with a pleasant smile as you explored like a shelter cat entering their new home. But your enjoyment of the room was tempered by its split nature. Even if part of you ached to use the medical half, the space on the other side of the room for autopsies would forever remind you what was at stake. Though there was a sliver of you interested in that very thing, as you'd expressed to Altair the day before.

His desk was hidden in a dark corner with cool lamp lighting and a veritable greenhouse worth of plants. It was peppered with documents, half-used pens, and photos of dozens of individuals. None looked anything like him. Not family, then. Strange, but not as chilling as the stringed sludge sunken to the bottom of preservation jars half covered by ratty hand towels, as if the samples were heliophobic. Tiny vials of powder were stacked up like a house of cards unlikely to be medicine. Especially with the bottle of high proof clear liquor beside it. What experiment was Altair running with such oddities on his desk? 

“I’d offer you a line, but it’s a pain to make when the key ingredient is so scarce,” Altair said, resting a hand on your lower back and stroking his thumb down your spine. You raised your brows in casual warning—a very Feitan mannerism—and he pulled back, lifting his hands in supplication. All the self-control you had at your disposal kept you from pulling your knife you’d slipped into your pocket before leaving the tower. Plus, Altair wasn't the most useful dead. Yet. “Forgive me, but you must understand how difficult I find it to keep my hands to myself when a beautiful woman looks at me like she wants to kill me.” His tiny smirk told you he wasn’t sorry in the least. “And even more so when she looks at my work with such…interest.” 

Ignoring his little declaration, you asked, “Is the powder preparation for treatments or autopsy?” But you'd never seen any such unprofessional storage for healing purposes. No, it was most certainly some drug or another Altair favored. “When I was younger, I trained under a doctor with similar Nen to mine. I don't recognize this.” 

You hadn't thought of your mentor since the day your parents died. Save for once–the day after the massacre when you knew he'd disapprove of your decision to hunt your brother if you asked for help. It went against everything he'd painstakingly instilled in you over the course of a decade. But you were not him. He, with his Hippocratic Oath and unflinching ethics, would never have supported your self-inflicted task.

Your throat tightened until you blinked away the thoughts of a father figure you’d never see again. Especially when he’d been more of a father to you than your own had. 

“I can’t let the bodies of my experiments go to waste, now can I?” Altair said, snatching a vial from the stack and holding it to the light. It glimmered as he swirled it, casting a rainbow of colors through the lab. You’d seen that shine somewhere. “It’s my mission to make use of everything a body can offer. It’s squandering an opportunity otherwise. And from a selfish standpoint, I think most creatively when I have this darling in my system.” 

Your stomach churned at the myriad implications of those words. Blood pooled in your mouth as you bit your tongue to keep your face even when you wanted to scream. You had no desire to learn what parts of the human body had ended up in that vial, nor were you ever going to put his vile experimental drug up your nose. 

But if Altair did regularly-

You smiled placidly and pointed to the liquor beside the offending drug.

“For consumption or a disinfectant?” you said, once again refusing to rise to his bait as you shifted the conversation away from the drug. It only made his eyes glitter with stronger interest. He might be playing a game, but it certainly wasn’t the same to you. 

“From the corner store down the road,” Altair said, kissing the vial and placing it back on the top of the precarious stack. “I will happily pour you a glass any time you deign to humor me.” 

Humor him you would not with the alcohol not meant for medical use. Any altered state of mind in front of monsters like him was a risk you weren’t willing to take. 

Resting your hip against his desk like you were comfortable, you pointed to the menagerie of plants. “I had a friend who tended plants,” you said as an invitation for Altair to speak about his collection. Shalnark had not only had his garden, but the greenhouse where he'd grown less savory plants. While you knew little to nothing beyond some basic medicinal uses–which you didn't need for healing since your patients always found you when they were an offering at death's feet–Shalnark certainly did. “He spent hours in his garden.”

“Your friend has excellent taste,” Altair said, stroking his finger down the delicate petals of a little plant with clumps of the flowers protruding from its thin stems, “to understand the dedication required for such subtle arts.”

“What are they used for?” you asked, stroking a leaf of an aloe plant. 

Altair scoffed like the implication they had as use was offensive to him and the plants. “They're simply beautiful and help keep the air fresh.”

The glimmer in Altair's eye told you he wanted you to push back on his explanation, but once again you didn't give him the satisfaction. When you had a few moments alone in the lab, you'd pluck pretty leaves and blossoms from as many of the plants as possible for Shalnark to identify.

“There are no bodies here,” you said instead of giving him hope he’d ever get the real responses he wanted from you when he seemed disinclined towards answering your own. A chill tickled your skin in the empty, sterile room. Alone with Altair and no whispers of human life to stand with you. Just the two of you and the plants waving in a phantom breeze. 

“The subjects have been rehomed for the time being,” Altair said, clicking his tongue. “Normally I store them downstairs, but your little jailbreak attempt at the rally did not go unnoticed, even by those who weren't in attendance,” Altair said with a knowing grin. “For now, I will have them brought in as needed.”

There really were living people they were keeping. And a wicked, selfish, disgusting part of yourself was relieved you didn't know where they were being kept, because you'd never stop until you broke their lock.

“Forgive me,” you said, mocking Altair's previous words, “for not believing those women should stand in for my sins.” 

“And forgive me,” Altair said, bowing enough to dislodge a dark curl. “For my caution.”

You snorted a laugh and waved him away. “I’ll pay my dues, just like everyone else.” Just as long as those dues did more harm to you than others. “From what you said yesterday, I’m becoming your apprentice. Is that not a good starting place to repent?” 

Altair clapped once, his smile growing. “What a wonderful way to put it. Yes, you will indeed. I’ll of course defer to you on your healing expertise, but I am certain there are a thousand things I can teach you from my background.” 

“Where do we start?” you said, searching for gloves and at least an apron. That’s what creepy morticians wore, wasn’t it? But Altair waved a finger ‘no’ in your face. 

“No, no, no. Today, I have something to show you,” Altair said, offering his elbow. You waited a moment too long before taking it, but Altair’s lip quirked up like he’d won some kind of battle. “And I’d like to discuss more about your soulmate experience as we explore.” 

It was a challenge, and as ill as it made you feel to share anything so personal, you’d do it, just this once. And then debase yourself by doing it again and again if needed. 

“I expected as much,” you said, making a show of steeling yourself, like the grim topic was difficult for you to discuss. “For you I’ll try being an open book.”

“Now, now, little dove, you can entertain me better than with some cliche,” Altair said, guiding you towards the door. “They make me irrationally angry. It’s mediocrity on display. Unless you’re using it in irony, of course.” 

“How do you know I wasn’t?” you said, your own smile growing at these insane little games Altair liked to play.

Isn’t that what you’d always done with Feitan? Play little games—pushing and pulling to see who will bend and break, and how you'd be remade from it. 

The devil book practically purred, like it enjoyed you weaponizing its existence, even against the unsuspecting.