The darkness wasn't a problem for either of them. The smell of the sewer, and the feeling of wading through shit, was and would be for anyone. Desperate situations, desperate measures.

He wasn't protesting like he had much of a choice in the first place. But… He was annoyed.

And not just about those things.

He was following Abigail without complaint like so far, but the sewer was like a maze; it would be extremely easy to get lost even though they could see perfectly in the dark and even if they knew the right way. And they didn't.

Bottom line, were they getting anywhere? Moving forward?

Or would they only end up wandering around in the dark? Wasting valuable time?

Again. He never learned. This was what Abigail had decided, so it wasn't a mistake. He didn't have to understand. Just obey. Of course, even the right decisions could lead to bad outcomes. Even Abigail couldn't know how it would all turn out.

Yet he believed in her.

He believed in her with all his heart. That was enough.

Abigail stopped again, a while later. There were stairs leading to another manhole cover.

An exit.

Abigail went up the stairs, while Desmond stood at the foot of them. Waiting. Because he saw Abigail put an ear close to the lid, instead of pulling it back and then climbing out. She was listening. Seeing if the path was clear.

He was listening, too.

He heard footsteps. Not the footsteps of a normal crowd, but, he'd wager, those of marching soldiers. Close. When the footsteps disappeared, they could stick their heads out to look…but they could never know one hundred percent that it was safe.

This was, after all, a city. It was normal for it to be full of noise.

And for all they knew there could be a lot of soldiers outside, stationed, not moving. And they didn't have to worry only about the soldiers, by the way.

One citizen seeing them would be enough. They were out in the open, after all.

They would make a fuss, revealing their position. Not only that, but they were in a maze. No, in a bloody mousetrap. He could see no way out of it. He had to believe it, but he didn't see a way. Not without his wings.

After listening for a while, Abigail came down again.

How are the wings?, she asked him. She didn't dare say it out loud then. Well, no wonder. Those footsteps were gone. But the outside was full of noise. And they were surrounded by enemies on all sides.

Desmond shook his head.

He wished he could explain himself properly, but if Abigail hadn't felt she should risk speaking out loud, then neither should he. It was the proper thing to do.

He hoped that refusal would be enough for her.

The smell of the sewer clung to his wings, as with the rest of his body. Because on several occasions, they had had to wade through the water directly, not being able to make a detour.

The dirty sewer water still dripped from his wings onto the ground, some of it rejoining the current that floated through this maze.

He felt as if that was a weight dragging his wings down.

But that was only a feeling. Nothing had changed. Neither for the worse nor for the better, sadly.

He'd felt so good in the skies. Complete. Free.

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But apparently, that wasn't for him. He could feel it, still. That power at his fingertips. Yet his own body was denying him access to it. He felt like screaming even if he had to cover his mouth and bite his tongue, bite it out, so no one would hear him.

I see. I don't understand why. I wish I could help you.

So she couldn't, after all.

Something crossed his mind. Something he couldn't communicate by gestures.

“Tell me… Is it at least done?” he said, hesitantly, in a barely audible voice.

Done?

“What you wanted.”

Sorry, she said after a while.

More than enough of an answer. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. But he was used to hearing things he didn't want to hear.

Desmond closed his eyes, sighed.

I see.

“You… You don't have to apologize.“ It might be unnecessary. To say that, the risk that came with speaking out loud, however small. But he felt the need to say it anyway. “I do. I… I have failed you.”

Don't say that.

Desmond shook his head, telling her to let it go. As just a gesture, it might come off as a bit abrupt, but he'd already said too much.

It wasn't worth talking about because Desmond knew he was right.

No, because even Abigail knew it. It's just that she was willing to say anything to keep him, no matter how false it was. Abigail had asked him to do something for her. And he hadn't been able to pull it off.

The blame was his alone, not hers, not Abigail's, who hadn't been in any condition to fight.

Who still wasn't, he reminded himself. The drugs couldn't have left her system that fast. He had to protect her.

At least in that I don't want to fail, I can't fail. Whatever it takes.

All right, Desmond. But don't think this is over. We'll talk more when this is all over.

When they escaped, in other words.

Well, that wasn't ideal… but at least they weren't going to waste any more time on a futile effort. Every second was valuable. And better spent on survival. All in good time.

They continued on their way. Abigail had decided that going out that way would not be good, apparently. The question was. Was there any way out that didn't present the same risks, the same problems?

“I wish I had a shred of the confidence you feel for me.”

“You don't? Well, you should. You've proved it, time and time again, as I've already said. And now you'll prove it, too.”

As I said, I would love to have that confidence.

After a moment that took forever, Abigail stood up again, turning to him.

“Okay. I've already taken us as far as I can without leaving the sewers. Or so I think. “Abigail made the knife appear in her hand, raised it, blade pointed at her. “Now I'll kill myself with this.”

Desmond tensed.

“What?”

“You say that like you don't know I'll just come back to life, no matter what.”

“I know. I know, but… isn't it dangerous, with that knife? And for starters, why? What are you thinking?”

“Oh, Desmond. “She smiled sadly. “You think I haven't tried? Everything that could maybe kill me? No, the knife is not a problem.”

Desmond swallowed.

Sure. Of course.

He should have known better.

“As for the other thing, everything was fine with you while I was dead. When I came back to life, you stopped being able to fly.”

"It's a coincidence. I mean, during the attack on the academy, I fought as I do now with no issues and you were fine.” He hesitated. He said it as if it was a fact, but, in reality, he had no way of knowing. “You were fine, weren't you?”

“Yes. Alive and kicking. But, at the same time, I'm sure it's not a coincidence. We're connected. And we're both not exactly at our best.” As she spoke, Abigail raised the knife to the level of her chest, gripping the hilt with both hands.

Desmond looked away, unable to bear the sight.

“You need energy, is what I'm saying. Energy that I'm taking away from you while I'm alive. At least that is my hypothesis. Maybe, in the future, you will learn to control this flow while I'm conscious and this will not be necessary, even in such desperate situations. Perhaps. But we don't have time.”

Abigail plunged the knife into her chest.

Hard, without hesitating for a second. One could naturally say that it had been easy for her because she knew she wouldn't die. But even so, it took great willpower to plunge a knife into your own chest.

Over the heart.

Abigail sank to her knees. She would have ended up on the floor but for Desmond catching her in his arms.

“I leave everything in your hands,” was the last thing she said before her heart stopped.

Desmond hung his head.

He squeezed Abigail tighter.

“I'll make it. I promise I'll make it.”

Whatever it takes.

——

“Targets sighted. Open fire!”

Desmond was taking to the skies again.

He was carrying Abigail, of course.

She had been right. As soon as she died, he had been able to take flight again without any problems.

She had died, but, as before, he could still feel her heart beating in his chest. It hadn't left him. It was as if she was giving him strength from 'the other side'.

Pushing him to keep going.

"Shit!"

Desmond had narrowly dodged a sniper shot.

Additionally, before leaving his hiding place, he had once again applied his greatest weapon. Physical reinforcement.

But that, as the word went, it was just that. A reinforcement.

It had his body as a base. The difference between reinforcing something at one hundred percent and something, to be generous, at thirty percent was enormous. An unbridgeable gap.

But… it would have to suffice. Because this was all he had.

Desmond flew toward freedom.

Toward the light disappearing over the horizon, dusk was falling.

He hit a few birds, knocking them out of the air, and was shot several times, all over his body. But he stayed on course.

He could do this.

He could be free—

When he woke up, he was lying with sand in his mouth.