Mirk met no one on his way from the second floor up to fifth. He didn't know what'd become of the Easterners, but he found the hallway on fourth they'd all been clustered on empty. Their rooms had that same, eerie feeling to them that the rest of the infirmary did: no one had been by to tidy up, and discarded blankets and patient robes and dishes and bottles were scattered everywhere. Perhaps they'd been ushered out by aides and nurses who'd grown tired of managing the chaos that came with their loitering about. Or maybe they'd collectively decided they'd had enough of being cooped up in the infirmary and had shambled en masse, the still-recovering leaning on the strong, to the nearest and cheapest tavern to take full advantage of their Shade's Festival holiday and the windfall from their last contract.

He missed the heady, devil-may-care feel of their presence. Especially K'aekniv's. The half-angel probably wouldn't have had any practical solutions to the quandary with Percival, but K'aekniv wasn't fazed by even the worst turn of events. His steadfast and cheerful nature was always reassuring. That and Mirk knew he wouldn't be able to stay sober for long around K'aekniv and his friends. Passing the bottle was a sacred act to the Easterners, in a way. Their company would have made him feel less guilty about indulging his weakness.

After passing through the barrier between the fourth and fifth floors, Mirk paused, lowering his mental shielding and casting out his senses. He could feel Genesis's presence at the end of the hall. It was a faint thing, the barest tickling of the commander's chaotic aura against his own ordered magic. The familiar cold, staticky feel made Mirk’s magic stir restlessly within him, like a dog perking up at the sound of distant footsteps too faint for human ears to perceive. Mirk let out a sigh of relief as he hurried to Genesis's room.

The commander would be all right. His magic was returning. It'd be weeks before it was back to normal, but it meant nothing was irreparably wrong with Genesis. Considering what he’d done to keep the Death from taking him, it was reassuring to know that it hadn't all been for naught.

The log tacked outside his room hadn't been updated since the last time Mirk had been there. Not surprising — if Yule had been the only one keeping an eye on Genesis, no doubt the older healer felt he had more important things to do than document his condition. It still left a bitter taste in Mirk's mouth as he pushed the door open.

Genesis was exactly where he'd left him. Again, Mirk was struck by the thought that he might as well have been a corpse, for all the consideration that was being given to him and the lifeless way he was arranged on the bed in the center of the room. He shoved the thought away and went to Genesis's side, pulling down the sheet covering his thin body and nudging open the front of the robes he'd wrapped him in.

His body was regenerating along with his magic. The wound in Genesis's chest had scabbed over, and the one across his stomach had knitted itself together into an angry, misshapen, crooked purple line the width of three fingers across the whole of his midsection. His body had decided to reject the sutures that'd closed the wound that time instead of absorbing them. Absently, Mirk gathered up the errant bits of string, sweeping them off Genesis's stomach and into his palm like crumbs off a tabletop.

"...I...see you are not...well."

Mirk jumped at the unexpected voice, his head snapping toward it. Genesis was awake. Sort of. His eyes were only opened into slits, and what little Mirk could see of them was pitch black. He waved down the brightness of the room's magelights as he shuffled up to the head of the bed, reaching for the pulse on Genesis's neck. "Messire? Messire, are you all right?"

There was a horrible, watery grating noise in Genesis's chest as he tried to suck in enough breath to speak again. Genesis's pulse was still very slow, but stronger than it'd been the last time Mirk had felt for it. Mirk shifted his hand down to his chest, casting his mind's eye out into Genesis's body as he examined one lung, then the other. The left was clear, but the right one, the one near the wound in his chest, was obstructed.

Closing his eyes, Mirk cast out more of his meager reserves of magic, slipping through the gaps in Genesis's chaotic aura and feeling for disruptions in the strange, not-patterns of his body. The wound in his chest had healed itself in such a twisted, backwards way that his lung had fused to the muscles of his chest, keeping him from drawing deeper breaths. Mirk blinked a few times, then looked over into Genesis's face. If he was in pain, it didn't show in his expression. And it wasn't acute enough for Mirk to be able to feel it through his shadowy magic.

"I need to fix your chest, Genesis. Your body's healed itself wrong again. Would you rather I cut it open to fix things, or use magic? Methinks I don't have enough magic to fix all of it, but I can do my best. Euh...nod if you'd rather I use magic."

Genesis shook his head once.

Sighing, Mirk cast a glance at the room's supply cabinet. No one had been in it since he'd last been there. "If that's what you want, then..."

He'd been hoping that Genesis might choose magic for once. Healing him with magic would have drained Mirk to the bone, but it would have made him feel better to be as drained and weak as the three men he'd sacrificed on the commander’s behalf. A fitting form of atonement, even if his own magic would eventually recover. Unlike that of Percival and the others.

But it was Genesis's body, Genesis's decision. And whenever the commander was lucid enough to choose how he was healed, Genesis always chose the bloody and painful way. Mirk wondered whether Genesis always chose it out of consideration for him, or because he saw it as his own form of atonement. Or maybe it was pure practicality — no point in wasting magic when a knife worked just as well.

"Again. You are...not well," Genesis hissed. The grating in his chest was worse when he tried to speak.

Returning to the bed with the necessary instruments — scalpel, tweezers, pan, needle and thread, pads to soak up the blood, a numbing potion, despite those barely ever doing anything to ease Genesis’s pain — Mirk shook his head. "Not really, no. But neither are you, messire."

"One...would expect that."

"Stop talking, please. Just for a little, until I get this fixed."

For once, Genesis obeyed without argument. Mirk worked quickly nevertheless. There was so much to be said, so much confusion that needed clearing. And if Genesis passed out of consciousness again, there was no telling when he'd wake up next.

Mirk reopened the wound as shallowly as possible after drenching it in the numbing potion. He'd told Genesis he would use the scalpel rather than his magic, but there was still looking and prodding that needed to be done with his mind's eye rather than his physical ones. It kept Mirk from needing to brighten the room's magelights again. And looking at the ways Genesis's body healed itself into strange and painful shapes with his physical eyes wasn't the best way to make sense of it all.

He let his awareness drift down into Genesis's body, feeling for which extra growths could be cut away and which needed to be redirected, trained like vines around a trellis. Once they were cleared and the flesh of his lung was no longer attached by a tangle of sinew and capillaries to the wall of his chest, Mirk finished things with the dregs of his magic, making certain his lung wouldn't seep air and smoothing the muscles of his chest back into their clean, uniform lines. Genesis must have felt him using his magic. But he didn't comment, not yet. Mirk sewed the wound in his chest shut again instead of using the last shreds of his magic, though he knew full well he'd just have to cut it open and heal it again when the flesh scarred over wrong.

Once he'd put a fresh bandage on the wound, Mirk lifted his hands from Genesis’s painfully thin body and sidestepped back up to the level of his head. Genesis had remained awake through it all, expression blank, his eyes fully open now that the lights were dimmed. They were still pure black. He was thinking about something, hard.

"What happened, Genesis?" Mirk asked, keeping his voice low. Genesis’s ears were as sensitive as his eyes, he knew, though Genesis complained less often about voices being too loud. "Everything was fine, then something happened with your arms...all those cuts..."

Genesis frowned, slightly. "Ah. In order to draw out enough potential to complete the contract, I was required to...push off the bindings. Temporarily. I had assumed I would be restored enough to attend to the backlash of that spell. I...miscalculated."

The way Genesis spoke about it, like it was some equation written on parchment that he'd placed the wrong symbol in rather than him maiming his own flesh so badly he'd almost bled to death, made Mirk go cold with fear. "You nearly died, Genesis."

"So...I did."

"I don't like to tell people what to do, messire, but you can't keep doing things like that. Not without telling people what you're doing first. Though I'd rather you didn't do it at all."

"Not every problem...has a gentle solution."

Mirk bit his lip, looking away from his face, down at his arms. His arms that the staff had healed completely, leaving no trace of the wounds he'd gouged into them. Though the faint white scars of the binding runes remained. "I had to use the staff to save you."

"In what sense?"

"That Death came for you again. I got him to leave, but...well..."

"It's pointless to hesitate," Genesis said, sighing. At least there wasn't any grating or popping in his chest that time. "I made the initial miscalculation. Thus, I have some part in the...consequences. Tell me what happened."

"I thought the staff would just take from me again, like it did with Alice. But something about this time was…euh, different. Worse. It stole the magic of three other patients."

Mirk knew what the difference between healing Alice and healing Genesis had been, but hoped that the commander might be able to make sense of things without having to know the finer details of it. How he'd hunched over Genesis's body and fought the Death for his soul, the spirit in the staff laughing when Mirk insisted that Genesis was his to keep. Mirk didn't think Genesis was the sort of man who'd appreciate being claimed by anyone. Especially not by him.

"Stole?" Genesis asked, his frown deepening.

"It took their magic away. They all feel like mortals now. Even less magical than an average person, Yule said."

Mirk must have sounded even more troubled than he felt if Genesis was able to pick up on it. "It...took the magic of someone...consequential?"

"A fighter from the First and a rifleman from the Fourteenth. And Lord Percival Owens. From the Third."

Genesis let out another sigh, deeper that time. Deep enough to make the wound in his chest weep through the bandage. "This makes things...complex."

"Who is he, really? All anyone would tell me about him was that he's important. And Danu and Yule said that he did terrible things in Ireland."

"He slaughtered more than a hundred mages. And a...number of mortals besides," Genesis said. Though the commander didn't offer any further details on the incident either, it had to have been horrifying if even Genesis was disgusted by it. The bloody requirements of his magic had numbed him to violence, to a certain degree. "This is why he was...forced to become K'maneda. He served his purpose for the mortals and the Light Guild. However, none of them could...countenance working beside him afterwards. Thus, he came to us."

"I see..."

"He is also one of Ravensdale's strongest supporters. Perhaps not the most talented mage in...terms of technique. But he has a great deal of potential. And the will to use it indiscriminately." Genesis paused, thinking. "Had the potential."

"Will Ravensdale be upset over what happened to him?"

"Upset is not the...precise term. He will feel exposed. Percival was his...executioner, of a sort. Those who crossed Ravensdale...who challenged him directly...met with Percival. Deprived of him, Ravensdale will seek to defend himself in other ways. Or he will move to...eliminate those he thinks of as his greatest threats before they can...rise against him."

Mirk felt like he should do something to apologize to Genesis, like he should have bowed, or at least lowered his head further. But he knew how much Genesis detested bowing and scraping. And begging for forgiveness. "This means trouble for everyone, doesn't it?"

"Again. Trouble is not the precise term. I believe it will require a...shift in tactics, however."

"Shift?"

"I had wished to have further time to...study the arrow. And conduct research. But this makes things more...difficult. Ravensdale will be on guard. Timing will be crucial. As will locating an appropriate venue. I suspect he will keep the djinn even closer than before." Though it didn't show on his face, Genesis sounded profoundly tired. And yet, his long, delicate fingers twitched restlessly at his sides.

The words were out of Mirk's mouth before he could think better of them that time. "I'm sorry, messire. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. I thought the staff would take from me again. I...grand-père never mentioned it taking so much from someone else...I thought when he told me to be careful, it was because if I used too much, I might..."

His guilt over it all, at having maimed three men and put the djinn in further danger, washed over Mirk, and all his other questions and apologies died in his throat. For the hundredth time since he'd arrived at the infirmary that afternoon, Mirk wished the staff would have taken from him. His magic, or even his life. It would have made things difficult for the others for a time, but he had no doubt they'd recover more quickly without him than from the current mess he'd put them all in.

Mirk had to have been stewing for longer than he thought. For once, Genesis broke the heavy silence that'd fallen between them. "If this situation arises again, I would advise you to...let things pass. As it were."

"What?" Mirk shifted his attention back to Genesis's face. The frown had cleared from it, along with every other outward trace of emotion. He'd gone blank again. "Genesis, I couldn't just..let you go."

"When one miscalculates, one suffers the consequences."

"It wouldn't have just been you," Mirk said, instinctively reaching for his hand, stopping just short of it and clutching the edge of the bed instead. "We need you, Genesis. What would we do without you?"

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An emotion rose onto Genesis's face — eyebrows arched, a slight baring of his teeth. Some sort of confusion. "You would...continue."

"Yes, but how? No one else can do what you do. Even with how strong Niv and the rest are, they would have all died if they'd gone to that last realm without you. What would happen the next time? If you left, what would they do? Go back home? So many of them say they can't. And the whole City is full of people just like them, who don't have anywhere else to go. Methinks...well...the K'maneda will never be an easy life, but at least you're trying to make things better for everyone."

Genesis considered this, his face shifting back to its typical blankness. Mirk hesitated. Was it worth saying anything more? Would the emotion in it only push Genesis further away from being reasonable? Before he could consider the full ramifications, his resolve crumbled, and Mirk took hold of Genesis's hand. It was cold enough to make Mirk wince. "You're my friend, Genesis. I don't want to think of what life would be like here without you."

Finally, Genesis glanced over at him. His eyes were still pitch black. "I...see."

"Please. Just be careful. I can't do that again. Not unless I find some way to keep the staff from taking things from other people."

"I will endeavor to...communicate my strategy more clearly," Genesis finally said. "However, I would...make one request of my own in exchange."

"Yes?"

"I...make the same request of you. Do not attempt to use the staff in a way that brings...undue harm to yourself. Regardless of the situation."

"What do you mean, messire?"

"You are as...essential to all of this as I am. If not more so. We cannot stand against Ravensdale alone. Or against...who comes after him. We will need the assistance of some of the other commanders. Few will listen to me. Given time...I believe they will listen to you."

"Me? But I'm no one here."

"As I said. Given time. You are skilled at...convincing others. I don't understand it. It's...K'aekniv's business. He speaks to the fighters and they listen. You can speak...to the rest. And they will listen, I believe." Genesis paused, his eyebrows pulled down slightly. He had to be struggling to think of what to say, Mirk thought. Though it was impossible to tell exactly where he was looking with his eyes gone black, Mirk was certain they must be flicking back and forth as Genesis scanned whatever mental notes he kept of how best to speak to others. "You are also my...friend. As it were. Things have been much less...difficult since you came to the City. In certain aspects."

Mirk couldn't help himself. He beamed down at Genesis, nodding his approval and squeezing his hand. "I'm glad I could help. And that I'm not being too much of a bother anymore, most of the time."

Very slowly, deliberately, Genesis turned his hand over, grasping Mirk's in return, wrapping it up in his slender fingers. They were long enough to close around his hand a time and a half. "You are not a bother."

Laughing, Mirk squeezed his hand again instead of throwing himself down on top of him and embracing him like he wished he could. The guilt and the shame over everything that'd happened wasn't enough to dim the joy that swelled in his chest at Genesis's words, to keep the grin off his face. Those sort of words could mean next to nothing, coming from anyone else. From Genesis, they meant more than any ardent embrace or tearful declaration. When Genesis was moved enough to say something so sentimental and honest, he had to truly mean it. Without any caveats or reservations. "I'm glad you think so, messire."

The frown returned to Genesis's face at Mirk's use of his habitual nickname, but before Genesis could scold him, there was a sharp rap on the doorframe behind Mirk. Instantly, Mirk let go of Genesis's hand and turned to look.

It was Comrade Commander Dauid, a smirk on his face and a spring in his step as he shouldered his way into the room without waiting for permission to enter. Mirk pulled up on his shields. The feeling of smug self-satisfaction radiating from Dauid was overpowering. He really must have been completely transfixed by Genesis to have missed the feel of Dauid coming down the hall.

"Bonesy! You're alive!" Dauid crowed, as he circled around Genesis's bed to its other side.

Genesis let out a slow sigh through gritted teeth. "...yes. I am."

"Excellent! Great work with the Tal-Hatha contract. Healers told me you didn't lose a single man. And you wiped out all those bastard ghost-mages too."

"...yes. I did."

Dauid only noticed Genesis’s wounds when Mirk hastily pulled the sheet back over his body to hide the nasty, twisted scar across his stomach and the bloodied bandage tacked to his chest. "Nearly got you though, did they? Healers said you were in bad shape when you hauled ass back."

"I managed."

"Well, I guess keeping your own healer is working out for you, then," Dauid said, glancing across the bed at Mirk. "My thanks, Seigneur...ah..."

"d'Avignon, Comrade Commander."

"Right! That's it. Apologies, foreign names all sound the same to me. Don't mean anything by it. We're glad to have you, seigneur. Great help. We'd all be right fucked without Bonesy."

Genesis was growing more suspicious by the second, his frown deepening into a proper scowl. Mirk couldn't blame him, though he didn't think Genesis had any grounds for it. Even with his shields up, weak though they were, Mirk couldn't sense any deception in Dauid, any sort of conniving. That aside, the commander of the Seventh struck Mirk as the sort of man who was both too blunt and too wealthy to ever bother with it. "You aren't expecting him to do any work soon, Comrade Commander? Methinks he needs a full month off contract, at the very least."

"Ah, it's Shade's Festival soon," Dauid said, waving Mirk off. "Alistair won't have us out again until after that and then some. No rush! Besides, the gold we made off that contract, Bonesy! I can finally go get that stallion they've been holding for me down south."

Genesis didn't reply. Apparently he'd learned enough about people to understand that it was sometimes better for him to say nothing and seem rude than say something that would be undeniably offensive. At least when it came to his superiors.

Fortunately for Genesis, Dauid was in such a good mood that his silence went unnoticed. Instead, Dauid went digging in the pocket of his long, black cloak for something. It was a new one, or at least a different and finer cloak than the one Mirk had seen him wear last. That one had been made of brown fur dyed black rather than black fur proper. Dauid fished out something small and silver, which he deliberately pressed into the pillow beside Genesis's head. "Congratulations, Major Bonesy. You've earned your place back."

Dauid coming closer made Genesis twitch. "That was not my...rank prior to...demotion."

"You've been double promoted. Jenks decided he's had it. Took his gold and his mistress and fucked off back to York or wherever the hell he's from. I'm giving you the Irish company. You did good getting those Russians in shape, even if half of it is just making Fluffy get off his ass and do some work. Do the same with Jenks's lads, and we'll really be in business."

"I...see."

Carefully, Genesis extracted the hand Mirk had been clutching out from underneath the sheet he'd draped over him and picked up the bit of silver beside his head. A pin in the shape of a pentagram, with a triangle around its outer circle.

"C'mon, Bonesy," Dauid chided him, smacking Genesis in the shoulder before Mirk could stop him. Genesis didn't so much as wince, though Mirk felt a flicker of pain escape his chaotic aura. "Cheer up! Things are going good for us! With what happened to that bitch Percy, we might finally get a leg up in this shithole! I'm betting Alistair takes Cutch from the Eleventh to replace him. And without Cutch, Richard's got nothing going for him. We'll show those English bastards that the Lunatic Seventh has earned a place at the table."

"What do you mean, Comrade Commander?" Mirk asked. The way Dauid spoke of what had happened to Percival, like it was a boon to the Seventh rather than a grave misfortune, confused him. The impression Mirk had received from both his fellow healers and Genesis was that Percival was a man whose undoing would cause dire consequences.

"Warm's a Scotsman's heart to see Percy the Plague finally get what he had coming to him," Dauid replied. "If we hadn't given in right away when the English came knocking, we'd have ended up the same way as the Teagues. There's no love in my heart for a man who kisses the ring with so much spit. Rumor has it Percy's been taking odd jobs to settle things in the north for the mortals yet too, despite all the guilds telling him to leave things be. Don't know whether it's the gold, or if some Highlander fucked his mum behind his da's back, or what. Anyway, you're an assassin, Bonesy. Who do you think did him in? It couldn't have been anyone bright. That curse was smart, but sucking the magic out of those other two poor lads on top of it for cover? A trainee can think up a better plan than that."

"I...do not have an opinion on the matter," Genesis said, after a long pause.

"Ah, fine, keep your secrets. I don't give a shit. As long as he's out of the way, I don't care who did it. Though I wouldn't mind buying him a pint if it ever does come out."

Mirk debated for a moment over whether or not it'd be wise to press Dauid for more information, but decided to chance it. The head of the Seventh was in too jolly of a mood to see any cleverness in it, Mirk thought. "I'd heard rumors that Ravensdale was bound to think someone from the Seventh might be behind it," he said, keeping his tone light and unconcerned. "But that's healers’ talk. Methinks a man in your position might know better, Comrade Commander."

Dauid rocked back on his heels, thinking. "Aye, some of the English will think it was one of us, true. Bavarians couldn't care less, but they don't give a shit about anything other than themselves. Someone hired an assassin from the Sellswords Guild to have a go at Percy a few months back already, and it sure as hell wasn't us. Who in the Seventh has the gold to waste on that? Had to be someone who was gunning for his position. Maybe it was Cutch. Or maybe Richard got tired of listening to Percy bitching and ended up fucking himself. Fucking idiot could never think more than two steps ahead of himself. Anyone with half a brain could figure out Alistair would take Cutch if Percy went."

"That all sounds very complicated," Mirk said, shaking his head. It wasn't that complex, truly, but he thought it best that Dauid assumed the finer details of the situation had gone over his head.

He was right. Dauid reached across the bed and gave Mirk a bracing pat on the shoulder. The physical touch made Dauid's good humor, which was now mingled with a bit of pity and disdain for him, come through to Mirk as clear as if he'd been inside Dauid's head. "Don't you worry about it, seigneur. You mind your own business here with the rest of the ladies and let us menfolk take care of it. I'm sure everything will turn out all right."

Mirk nodded, pulling a warm and relieved smile up onto his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a nerve in Genesis's forehead twitching as he glared up at the ceiling. "Bien sûr, Comrade Commander. This sort of thing is just too much for me, I'm afraid. I'll leave it with the officers where it belongs."

"There you go! Now if we could only convince old Bonesy here to keep his big nose out of everything," Dauid said with a laugh, giving Genesis a dismissive pat on the shoulder as well before heading for the door. "Keep your ass in bed and get better. We'll need you fresh for the spring contracts if we want to keep our luck hot."

"I'll make sure he gets plenty of rest, Comrade Commander," Mirk replied, as Genesis continued to simmer in his resentment in silence.

Once Mirk felt Dauid's presence disappear past the barrier spell between the fifth and fourth floors, he let his posture relax, laughing at the way Genesis was still scowling up at nothing. "Congratulations, messire."

Genesis sighed, holding up the pin Dauid had bestowed upon him, examining it anew. "This was...unexpected."

"Maybe things won't be so bad after all."

"Dauid is incompetent. One would be well-advised not to rely on his assessment of the...political situation."

"You might be right. But methinks it's worth looking into anyway. I'll see what I can do. It would be better if I took some time away from work to get my strength back anyway. And you need rest too," Mirk added, as Genesis searched for somewhere to put the pin.

"I am well aware of my current...limitations," Genesis said, experimentally trying to summon a tendril of shadow. He managed to call up the smallest coil of it, just enough to slip the pin off safely into the Abyss. It took much more of his strength than it usually did. His arm flopped back onto the bed beside him as he turned his attention back toward Mirk. "This is what I meant by your...skill with people."

"Oh?"

"The...idiot act."

Mirk shrugged. "Sometimes it's better to let people think one thing about you, even if it isn't exactly true. If Dauid wants to think I'm nothing but some silly young noble, there's nothing wrong with that. It means he'll pay less attention to me."

Genesis considered this, his confusion evident in his furrowed brows. "I had never considered the...benefit to allowing another person to think that you're incompetent."

"Methinks you couldn't do it even if you tried, messire. Everyone knows you're smart just from looking at you. And if they don't pick up on it then, they'll know as soon as they speak with you." They'd also know within minutes that Genesis's knowledge was limited strictly to magic and tactics and the other kinds of things it was possible to learn from books, and that he was completely hopeless with everything else. But Mirk thought it better not to mention that.

"I can be nothing other than what I am," Genesis said, shifting his gaze back to the ceiling.

"That's not a bad thing. I like it."

"...explain."

"Most people pretend to be someone they're not, at least some of the time. They want to make people think they're a certain way. Clever, or powerful, or something else that they think can help them get what they want from others. Or they pretend they're friendly when they don't really mean it just to get along. But you never do. You're just...sais pas. Yourself. You don't care whether people like you or not."

Genesis snorted. "They will...dislike me nevertheless."

"That's not true. People do like you, Genesis. They just have to take the time to get to know you first," Mirk said as he pulled the sheet covering Genesis's wounded midsection back down, contemplating his injuries. He knew he didn't have the magic to do much else to help Genesis; he felt like he'd been running on fumes since he'd healed Alice. If he was sensible about things, it was because that was the truth. Mirk needed rest badly, lest he start having to draw from the hot, bright core of his own life's potential to help heal in an emergency. But he felt bad leaving Genesis in such a state, barely healed and probably in pain, though the commander was too stubborn to let it show.

Mirk reached out his hands and settled them on the wound across his stomach, feeling for abnormalities with his fingers first before tugging on his magic. There were hard knots of flesh that weren't supposed to be there underneath his skin, evidence that his innards hadn't healed themselves right. He touched them with the barest edge of his magic. There was nothing grave there, only extra twists and growths and sinew that meant Genesis would get a terrible stomachache once he tried eating and drinking. Which was how things were most of the time for Genesis anyway, as depressing as the thought was.

All the while Mirk was examining him, Genesis remained silent, his eyes closed. Mirk wondered what he was thinking of. Was he dwelling on the implications of what he'd done with the staff? Trying to make sense of all the talk of appearances and reality? Or was it something more mundane, was he only remembering some book he'd memorized long ago to make up for the fact that he didn't have any on hand? Whatever it was, Mirk was certain Genesis wasn't sleeping. His body still had that rigidness to it that rarely went away, that sense of watchful self-control that never eased except for when he was deeply asleep. "Is everything all right?" Mirk asked him, as he pulled the sheet back up to Genesis's shoulders.

"That is not the...precise term I'd choose to describe this situation."

He should have expected that kind of unhelpful response. But it made a wave of exhaustion wash over Mirk nevertheless. "How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? Your stomach’s healed itself wrong, but if it's not hurting you too badly, methinks I'd rather leave it for later. I'll have to do most of it by hand. And, well. I'm tired, even if you're not."

"A proposition, then."

"Yes?"

"I don't object to being healed at a later time. However, I would prefer to rest in my own quarters. This place is...too much. I will return when you are less strained."

It was selfish of him. Genesis was better off staying in the infirmary, in case his condition took a sudden turn for the worse. But Mirk felt bad for the commander, isolated up on the fifth floor, alone with his thoughts and with none of his projects and his books to distract him. And if he let Genesis return home, that meant both of them would be recovering in comfort. Genesis's quarters — their quarters, Mirk supposed — were as good as any heavily shielded room on the long-term ward, and even better if Genesis himself was nearby. Though Genesis's chaotic aura wasn't so strong at the moment that it'd ward off the clamorous emotions of passers-by, Mirk always felt more at peace with him close at hand. Like nothing could hurt him, even if Genesis was so weak that he couldn't draw a weapon or summon a wave of shadows.

He really was useless, clinging to Genesis like a boy to his nursemaid. Though his reasons for staying close to Genesis were far from innocent. "I suppose it can't hurt,” Mirk said. “I don't know how we'd get you there, though. Do you feel strong enough to walk? Methinks Mordecai's already gone home. And you shouldn't be using that much of your magic."

"I am." Genesis paused, opening his eyes into the barest slits again as he glanced toward Mirk. Their color had returned to normal. "Though I may require some...assistance."

Mirk smiled, dipping his head. "I'll go with you, of course. Like I said, I could use the rest too. Though, euh...we need to find you something to wear. It's still cold, even if you have your coat. Methinks we might have some robes made up for Niv and Slava around somewhere. They'll be a little too big around, but they should be long enough."

A look of distaste crossed Genesis's face, but he nodded. "A...small price to pay for a proper bath."

"Then I'll go and get things ready."

Despite everything that had happened over the last few days, Mirk felt a strange sense of calmness descend on him as he hurried off to go find the robes. Things were complicated, troubling and dark, but he felt like he'd manage to get through it somehow. Genesis was all right. And though it'd cost a great deal to save him, Mirk felt certain he'd be able to fix what he'd broken. As long as he had Genesis beside him.