Through half-lidded eyes, I gaze across an endless desert that stretches like a frozen ocean beneath a star-strewn sky. The air carries the metallic tang of discharged energy, thick with tension and the remnants of battle. In the distance, jagged mountains tear at the horizon like obsidian teeth, their peaks silhouetted against a blood-red moon.
All around me, the night erupts in a symphony of chaos. Aurons clash in mid-air, their auras painting the darkness in a dazzling array of colors. Each collision sends shockwaves rippling through the sand beneath my prone form, the vibrations thrumming through my bones. Explosions bloom like deadly flowers, their light casting writhing shadows across the dunes.
I try to push myself up, the cool desert air raising goosebumps along my arms. My hands catch my attention – they're encased in unfamiliar gauntlets, their surface drinking in what little light reaches them. Something feels wrong, out of place. My aura flares to life, but instead of its usual orange, it blazes with golden radiance. The sight triggers something in my mind, a memory just out of reach. Ah, yes. Now I remember.
My body moves with liquid grace as I surge to my feet. In the space between heartbeats, I close the distance to my opponent – the one who had knocked me down. Our exchange of blows defies human limits, each strike generating concussive force that makes the very air shudder. I can feel the impacts reverberating through my entire being, raw power threatening to tear reality apart.
Time slips through my fingers like desert sand. An unspoken understanding passes between us, and we leap apart in perfect synchronization. I bring my palms together, feeling multiple streams of energy coalesce between them. The power compresses, warps, forming a sphere of such intense darkness that it seems to devour the starlight. The gravitational force is immense – I can feel it trying to pull my hands together, to crush everything into its infinite depths.
Through the corner of my eye, I see their attack approaching. The words tear from my throat, resonating with power that makes the mountains tremble:
"THEORY OF POWER!"
The black orb detonates, reality itself seeming to bend as blinding light consumes everything...
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Sleeser's eyes snap open, a gasp of pain escaping his lips as consciousness crashes back. The sterile hospital room swims into focus, his body a roadmap of agony beneath sweat-soaked bandages. The dream clings to him like desert sand, refusing to fully dissipate.
"Just a dream..." he mutters, his voice rough as sandpaper. The words taste like copper in his mouth.
Through the half-open door, he catches fragments of urgent voices and hurried footsteps. The familiar cadence of a hospital in crisis. Each movement sends lightning bolts of pain through his body as he forces himself upright, his muscles screaming in protest.
He peers into the hallway, fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows across his face. A stretcher rushes past, and his heart nearly stops. That hair – disheveled and matted with blood – is achingly familiar. It's the same shade as his young student's, as Angelo's.
A staff member stands nearby, worry etched deep in the lines around his eyes as he watches the medical team's urgent movements. Sleeser reaches out, his hand trembling from more than just pain.
"What happened?" The words come out as barely more than a whisper.
The worker jumps, startled by the unexpected voice. Recognition flashes across his face as he takes in Sleeser's bandaged form. "What? Oh – it's the Angel of Death." He shakes his head in disbelief. "Took on an Evolved Auron, if you can believe it."
Sleeser's heart plummets. "What—" A violent cough tears through him, his lungs feeling like they're filled with broken glass. His eyes never leave the distant stretcher, fear clawing at his chest.
"What's his condition?" The urgency in his voice is unmistakable, despite his weakened state.
The worker's eyes narrow slightly, catching the undertone of personal concern. "He'll make it," he assures, though his expression remains guarded. "Got a nasty gash across his torso. Passed out from blood loss, but he's stable."
Relief floods through Sleeser like a physical force, nearly buckling his knees. He takes an unsteady step toward the operating room's waiting area, but the worker's hand shoots out to stop him.
"Where do you think you're going?" The stern tone brooks no argument. "In your condition, the only place you're headed is back to bed."
Exhaustion weighs on Sleeser like a lead blanket, his body trembling with the effort of standing. After a moment's hesitation, he allows himself to be guided back to his room. But as he lies there in the darkness, sleep remains elusive. His mind replays the dream, interweaving with worried thoughts about Angelo, creating a tapestry of anxiety that refuses to let him rest.
The night stretches endlessly before him, punctuated only by the steady beep of monitors and the distant sounds of hospital staff fighting to save lives. Including the life of the young man he had trained, who now lay somewhere in this maze of sterile corridors, paying the price for walking the path Sleeser had helped set him upon.
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Dawn crept into the hospital room like a hesitant intruder, painting thin stripes of golden light across the sterile white walls. The antiseptic air carried whispers of morning routines - the soft squeak of nurses' shoes, the distant clatter of breakfast carts, the muted beeping of medical equipment. Sleeser forced himself to his feet, each movement a careful negotiation with pain. His muscles protested, but determination won out over discomfort.
"Look who's acting like a spring chicken," came a rough voice tinged with amusement. Axel lay in the adjacent bed, his body a patchwork of bandages and bruises. Despite his injuries, a knowing smirk played across his scarred face. "What's got you moving like there's fire under your feet?"
Sleeser's lips quirked into a shadow of his usual confident grin. "Just some unfinished business, Axel. I won't be long."
"Unfinished business?" Axel's eyebrow arched skeptically, the movement pulling at a fresh cut above his eye. "Must be something important to get you moving in that condition."
"Leave it be, Axel," came a gentle voice from across the room. Force sat propped up in his bed, his compact but powerfully built frame belying his soft-spoken nature. Despite his modest height, every inch of him spoke of compressed strength, like a coiled spring. His eyes held a warmth that perfectly matched his gentle demeanor. "Though he does have a point, Sleeser. You're pushing yourself awful hard."
Sleeser turned to face his companions, careful not to let them see how the movement made him wince. "When did you two become such mother hens?" He forced brightness into his voice, but couldn't quite hide the underlying tension. "I'll be fine. Just need to check on someone."
Before either could press further, he slipped out into the corridor. Each step sent jolts of pain up his legs, but he pressed on, first to the information desk, then following the numbered rooms like a trail of breadcrumbs to his destination.
The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat. Angelo lay still as death, his young face a canvas of cuts and bruises. The morning light caught the edges of bandages visible beneath his hospital gown, stark white against skin that was several shades too pale. An IV drip marked time with steady drops, the only movement in the quiet room.
Sleeser eased himself into a chair beside the bed, the plastic creaking under his weight. The sound seemed obscenely loud in the hushed atmosphere.
"Someone's here," Red's voice echoed through their shared consciousness, still alert.
"A visitor perhaps?" Blue's tone carried measured curiosity.
"Angelo..." The name escaped Sleeser's lips like a prayer.
"Hold on..." Red's mental voice sharpened with recognition. "Sleeser? Is that really him?"
"The timbre matches," Blue confirmed, his analytical nature showing through even now.
"Hey! Wake up! Our boring old teacher's here!" Red's voice rose to a mental shout that seemed to bounce off the walls of their shared mind. "ANGELO!"
"Have you lost what little sense you possess?" Blue's usually calm voice cracked with irritation. "He needs rest to heal!"
Sleeser watched as Angelo's face contorted, clearly caught in some internal struggle. "Even unconscious, you can't catch a break, can you?" he murmured, guilt weighing heavy in his chest. "The universe really does have it out for you, kid..."
"RISE AND SHINE, SLEEPING BEAUTY!" Red's mental voice reached a crescendo.
"I swear by all that's logical—" Blue's protest was cut short.
"WAAAAAKE UUUUUP!" Red's mental scream reverberated through their shared consciousness like a thunderclap.
Angelo's eyes snapped open as he bolted upright. "WHAT THE—ARGH!" The sudden movement pulled at his wounds, sending a wave of agony through his torso. He doubled over, one hand clutching at his bandaged chest. "RED! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"You have a guest," Red replied with infuriating casualness. "Just trying to be helpful."
Angelo's head snapped to the side, his eyes widening as they fell on his former master. Sleeser sat frozen in surprise, his own injuries momentarily forgotten in the face of this explosive awakening.
"Sleeser?" Angelo's voice cracked with disbelief, his fingers unconsciously gripping the thin hospital sheets. The morning light cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes and the constellation of cuts that marked his features.
Sleeser attempted a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Quite a night you had, from what I hear." He tried to inject his usual playful tone into the words, but concern bled through like watercolors on paper. "Taking on an Evolved Auron and living to tell about it? That's something else, kiddo." The forced lightness in his voice contrasted sharply with the worry etched into the lines around his eyes.
Angelo's gaze dropped to his hands, now clenched into white-knuckled fists atop the blanket. "I..." His voice caught in his throat like broken glass. "I lost him, Sleeser. My trainee. I got him killed." The words fell between them like lead weights, each one heavy with guilt and grief.
The color drained from Sleeser's face, his own injuries momentarily forgotten. "Your what?"
The story spilled out of Angelo like a dam breaking - every detail crystal clear despite his exhaustion. He spoke of Bill's earnest smile and unwavering faith, of following seemingly harmless rumors through Novaria's streets. His voice grew hollow as he described the Grim Reaper's trap, the deadly dance of combat, and Bill's final, devastating sacrifice. When he reached the moment of his evolution, triggered by overwhelming loss and rage, his words became clipped and clinical, as if emotional distance was the only way he could bear to relate it.
Sleeser sat motionless throughout the tale, his eyes closed and face drawn with pain that had nothing to do with his physical injuries. The morning light caught the gray starting to thread through his hair, making him look older than Angelo had ever seen him. "An emotional evolution," he finally murmured, the words hanging heavy in the antiseptic air. "Those are rare... usually it takes being at death's door to trigger such a change. That's how it happened to me."
Angelo's head snapped up so fast it made him dizzy, his eyes wide with shock and dawning comprehension. "You're... you're an Evolved Auron?" Disbelief gave way to anger, color flooding back into his pale cheeks. "Then why weren't you there?! If you'd been investigating the Grim Reaper, Bill would still be—" His voice shattered, unable to complete the thought. The mere possibility of a different outcome was too painful to contemplate.
"Angelo..." Sleeser shifted in his chair, and for the first time, Angelo truly noticed the extent of his mentor's injuries - the careful way he held himself, the bandages visible beneath his clothes, the barely concealed grimaces of pain with each movement. "I wasn't around. These injuries..." He gestured at himself with a grimace. "They tell their own story."
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Shame weighed Angelo down like lead in his veins as he stared at his trembling hands. "What do I do, Sleeser?" His voice came out barely above a whisper, raw with desperation. "How do I keep going after this?"
Sleeser's expression softened, years of experience etching new lines in his face as he considered his words carefully. "That's not an easy question to answer, kiddo." He leaned forward, wincing slightly at the movement. "I can't truly know your pain, but..." His voice caught for a moment. "The thought of losing you? It helps me understand. At least a little."
Angelo looked up, caught off guard by the naked emotion in his mentor's voice.
"But you have something many others don't," Sleeser continued, his tone growing firmer. "You heard his last words, his final wishes. That's a gift, Angelo, though it might not feel like one right now." He paused, choosing his next words with careful deliberation. "And there's something else - something you need to do, even though it'll be one of the hardest things you've ever faced. You need to visit his mother."
Angelo's breath caught in his throat.
"I know Chief Ramirez has already been there," Sleeser pressed on, "but she needs to hear from you too. Needs to hear her son's last words from the person who was there. If you don't..." His voice softened with understanding. "It'll eat at you, bit by bit, until there's nothing left but regret."
"He speaks wisdom," Blue's measured tones resonated in their shared consciousness. "Mrs. Dealer deserves to hear how her son died a hero."
Angelo stared at the wall, his mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions. Sleeser watched the internal struggle play across his former student's face before slowly rising to his feet. "I'll be in room 404 if you need me. After you've spoken with her..." He left the invitation hanging as he made his way to the door, each step measured and careful.
"He's right," Angelo whispered to the empty room. With movements that sent lightning bolts of pain through his torso, he removed his IV and changed into his clothes. His aura flickered to life, a smoky energy tendril reaching out to ease the window open. Moments later, he found himself on the streets of Novaria, each step a negotiation with his injured body.
"This is going to take forever," he thought, frustration mounting as pain forced him to maintain a civilian's pace.
"Let us help," Red's voice carried unusual gentleness. "Activate your aura. Give us a chance to recharge, and we'll carry you there."
Angelo's orange aura sprang to life, though the effort made his wounds throb. They paused in a park, morning dew still clinging to the grass, when Red emerged in a swirl of crimson smoke. He stretched dramatically, his form seeming to relish its freedom.
"Finally!" Red's voice carried its usual manic energy. "Being cooped up like that? Felt like being trapped in a box for centuries!" His face split into a characteristic grin as he turned to Angelo. "But now? Now I get to try something new!"
Red's crimson aura erupted around him, but something was different. The energy writhed and grew until it resembled living flames, power radiating from him in palpable waves.
Angelo's eyes widened in shock. "You can evolve too?"
"It's logical," Blue's analytical voice cut through their surprise. "Our forms are perfect replicas of yours, sharing even injuries. Evolution should be no different."
"Time for a test drive!" Red's grin turned wicked as a tendril of forged energy wrapped around Angelo's waist. "Buckle up!"
"Wait, this is a terrible ideAAAAH!" Angelo's protest turned into a yelp as Red launched them both skyward, his evolved power letting him clear buildings with ease.
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Ten minutes of heart-stopping travel later, they stood before the Dealer residence. The modest house seemed to loom before them, every detail painfully familiar from their previous visit - the well-tended garden, the nameplate that had once prompted playful banter, the door where they'd last seen Bill's mother standing.
Angelo's knuckles hovered before the door, trembling like autumn leaves in the wind. Behind him, Red bounded away to a nearby park, his newfound power demanding to be tested, leaving Angelo truly alone with his task. Each breath felt like lifting mountains as he finally forced himself to knock, silently praying to any power that might listen that no one would answer.
The door opened with a soft creak that seemed to echo in his soul. There stood Mrs. Dealer, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from countless tears, dark circles beneath them speaking of a sleepless night. The sight hit Angelo like a physical blow. She studied him for a moment, grief etched into every line of her face, before wordlessly stepping aside. The invitation was clear.
The hallway stretched before him as Angelo stepped inside for the first time, every detail - from the family photos on the walls to the faint scent of home - making his heart clench with grief. The soft click of the door closing behind him sounded like a prison gate sealing shut.
"I was hoping you would come," she said, her voice carrying the rough edge of someone who had screamed their grief into pillows.
"Mrs... Mrs. Dealer, I-" The words stuck in his throat like broken glass.
"Please," she interrupted gently, "call me Miriam."
The kindness in her voice broke something in Angelo. "I don't understand," he burst out, his composure cracking. "You should hate me! You should be screaming, throwing things, blaming me! It's my fault that... that..." The words died as his throat closed around them.
Without a word, Miriam pulled out her phone. Her fingers, trembling slightly, navigated to a voice message. The timestamp showed last night, and Angelo's heart nearly stopped.
"Mom... I have to be quick." Bill's voice, slightly distorted by the phone's speaker but unmistakably him, filled the hallway. In the background, chaos reigned - the sound of destruction punctuated by maniacal laughter that made Angelo's skin crawl. "Me and Angelo, we're in a tight spot. He ordered me to run, but I..." A pause heavy with meaning. "I can't leave him to die, Mom! He reminds me so much of Dad, and... he's like the big brother I never had!"
Angelo's vision blurred as tears threatened to fall. Every word was a dagger to his heart.
"Mom, listen - if something happens to me... you can't blame Angelo for this, I forbid it! And if something does happen... I'm so sorry, Mom... I love you." The message ended, followed by a cascade of increasingly desperate messages from Miriam that would never receive a response.
When Angelo managed to look up, he found Miriam's eyes full of an ocean of pain, but devoid of the hatred he had expected - had perhaps hoped for, as punishment for his failure.
"My son saw a brother in you," she said, her voice steady despite the tears tracking down her cheeks. "To hate you or blame his passing on you would dishonor his sacrifice and go against everything he believed in."
Outside, Red stood motionless in the park, his usual manic energy completely extinguished as he listened through their shared connection. His aura flickered and died like a candle in strong wind.
"If you were a brother to him," Miriam continued, closing her eyes as fresh tears escaped, "then you are a son to me. Those were his wishes..." Her voice broke slightly. "And they are mine as well."
Something shattered inside Angelo - some wall he had built around his grief came crashing down. Tears spilled freely now as he covered his eyes with his sleeve, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. In that moment, he wasn't the Angel of Death, wasn't an evolved Auron, wasn't even an officer. He was back to being that lost little boy who had never known a mother's love, drowning in grief for a brother he hadn't known he needed until it was too late.
Miriam stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, enveloping him in warmth that felt like home - a sensation so foreign it made his tears flow faster. They stood there, two broken hearts finding solace in shared loss, as morning light painted patterns across the floor through tear-blurred eyes.
"I heard about your evolution," she said softly, still holding him. "They say emotional evolutions like yours are incredibly rare... that they come from pain so deep the body changes just to survive."
Angelo nodded against her shoulder, unable to trust his voice.
"He must have meant so much to you," she whispered, the words gentle as a lullaby.
"He did," Angelo managed, his voice rough with emotion as they finally separated. "I'd never met anyone like him before. His positivity, his courage, his energy... No one had ever..." He swallowed hard. "He really was like a little brother to me."
Gathering what remained of his composure, Angelo straightened. "Mrs. Deal-- Miriam... I need to tell you his final words. It wouldn't be right if you didn't hear them."
She stood very still, giving a small nod of permission.
Angelo took a shaky breath. "He... he thought of you, even then. Knew how much this would hurt you. But he was still himself until the end - said you were 'gonna kill him' for this." They shared a smile that carried more pain than joy. "Then he told me I wasn't bound by my limits, that I could reach the top - wanted me to compete in the Arch Tournament, I think." Miriam's hand flew to her mouth, fresh tears spilling over her fingers. "He told me to show everyone what the Angel of Death truly means... said he believed in me..."
She took a moment to compose herself, though tears still traced silent paths down her cheeks. "Thank you, Angelo," she said softly, then hesitated. "Could... could I ask you for a favor?"
"Of course," Angelo replied, nervous energy making him shift his weight. "Anything."
"Your evolved aura - would you show me?" The request hung in the air, seemingly incongruous with the heavy emotion of the moment.
Angelo blinked in confusion but nodded. "S-sure..." He stepped outside into the morning light, his movements still carrying the stiffness of his injuries. Taking a deep, painful breath, he called forth his aura. The orange energy flickered around him like a restless flame, growing more intense as he pushed it further. With a final grunt of effort that pulled at his wounds, he transformed - his evolved state casting dancing shadows across the front yard.
"I'm an energy Auron," he explained, forming a sphere of pure energy between his palms. "My evolved ability lets me do this..." The energy shifted, its nature changing before their eyes. The glow remained, but something fundamental had altered in a way that was difficult to describe. "It's called 'Forged Energy' - it becomes tangible, like solidified energy..." He demonstrated by reshaping the energy into a shield on his arm, feeling awkward under her intense gaze.
To his alarm, Miriam burst into fresh tears.
"What's wrong?" Angelo asked, panic rising in his chest. "Did I-"
"Don't you see?" she interrupted, her voice thick with emotion. "This forged energy... it's Bill." Her words struck him like lightning. "He's become your shield, protecting you wherever you go..."
Angelo stared at the crystallized energy on his arm, understanding dawning in his eyes as a bittersweet smile spread across his face. "Yeah... I think you're right."
"One last thing," Miriam said, wiping at her tears. "When they ask to interview you - and they will - please say yes. Tell everyone about Bill's heroism. Let his memory and legacy live on in their hearts."
Angelo nodded solemnly. "I will. I promise."
As he turned to leave, her hand caught his arm. "Please visit sometimes," she said softly. "You could... you could even live here if you wanted. Chief Ramirez told me about your family. This way..." her voice wavered. "This way neither of us would have to be alone."
The offer hit Angelo like a physical blow. The only home he'd known since the orphanage had been his sparse apartment, and the concept of family had been little more than an abstract idea for so long.
"That's..." Words failed him completely.
"You don't need to answer now," she assured him, managing a watery smile. "Just think about it. I know you blame yourself, but... my door is always open for you."
"Thank you, Miriam," he managed, the words feeling inadequate. "I'll consider it."
As he walked away to meet Red in the park, his heart felt simultaneously lighter and heavier - lightened by forgiveness he hadn't dared hope for, weighted by the responsibility of honoring Bill's memory and the unexpected offer of a home. The morning sun cast his shadow long behind him, but for the first time since Bill's death, it didn't feel like an accusation.
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The evening shadows had begun their slow dance across the hospital walls when Angelo first heard them - the eager murmur of voices behind his door, the shuffling of feet, the quick-fire clicks of camera shutters. He'd been expecting this, had been preparing himself since his promise to Miriam. With deliberate movements that pulled at his healing wounds, he rose and approached the door.
The scene that greeted him was chaos contained only by the nurses' stern professionalism - a wall of reporters pressed against the invisible line of authority, cameras and microphones thrust forward like weapons, notepads clutched in eager hands. The moment Angelo appeared in the doorway, a hush fell over the crowd as if someone had pressed a cosmic mute button.
Then the dam broke. Questions erupted in a cacophony of overlapping voices, each reporter trying to outshout the others until their words became meaningless noise. The fluorescent lights caught the lenses of dozens of cameras, their mechanical eyes all focused on him with unblinking intensity.
Angelo's eyes flashed orange, "Silence," he commanded, his voice carrying the weight of authority that had nothing to do with volume. The effect was immediate - the reporters fell silent as one, their bodies unconsciously straightening under his gaze.
When he opened his eyes again, they had returned to their natural brown, but the authority remained. "I will tell you everything," he said, his voice carrying clearly through the hushed corridor. "No questions. Just listen." The reporters exchanged uncertain glances before nodding their agreement, microphones adjusted with trembling fingers.
He stood before them, his back against his door, the room number hidden behind him like a final piece of privacy in this moment of public testimony. The cameras' red recording lights winked at him like dying stars in the artificial hospital lighting. Yet despite the press of eyes upon him, Angelo felt no anxiety, no hesitation. The words rose from somewhere deeper than thought, carried on the strength of a promise made to a grieving mother.
"My name is Angelo," he began, each word clear and measured. "Some know me as the Angel of Death. Two years ago, at sixteen, I joined the police through a special program for promising Aurons. After training, I earned my place in Novaria's Auron division. Almost a week ago, I was assigned to mentor a new recruit - Bill Dealer." His voice softened slightly on the name, giving it the weight it deserved.
"Neither of us knew we were walking into a trap set by the serial killer known as the Grim Reaper - perhaps chosen as a mockery of my own given title. In the confrontation that followed, Bill lost his life." Angelo paused, his eyes closing briefly against the surge of emotion. When they opened again, they burned with fierce pride.
"Bill Dealer was the bravest person I have ever known. He saved my life three times - first against Infernian terrorists, then twice more against the Grim Reaper herself. A sixteen-year-old rookie saved his superior officer without hesitation, without fear." His voice grew stronger, carrying the weight of testimony. "I want every household in Novaria to know what a hero this earnest, enthusiastic young man was. I want his name remembered not for how he died, but for how he lived - with unwavering courage and unshakeable faith."
Angelo's voice softened to something intimate, personal, as if speaking not to the cameras but to the memory of his fallen friend. "Bill, I will never forget you or your smile. Thank you for everything, and rest in peace... my brother."
Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving the stunned reporters in his wake. Their questions finally erupted behind him, but they felt distant, meaningless. His mind was already turning to the path ahead - to old mysteries about his parents that still needed solving, and to new promises that demanded keeping.
He had awakened this morning to a grim reality, darker than any he'd known, to bitter truths and an abyss of despair that had seemed bottomless. But his conversations with Miriam and Sleeser had given him something he hadn't expected - not just purpose, but permission to live, to grow, to honor the memory of the one who had believed in him until the very end.
Tomorrow would bring new beginnings. Tomorrow, he would start walking the path that Bill had believed he could travel - not just as the Angel of Death, but as something more. Something worthy of a brother's sacrifice and a mother's grace.
As night settled over the hospital, Angelo closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his evolved power thrumming through him - Bill's final gift, his eternal protection. Tomorrow would come with its own challenges, but for now, he let himself rest in the knowledge that somewhere, somehow, Bill was still smiling that earnest, unwavering smile.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to light the way forward.