It's been days and I've lost count of them. I haven't seen the Shadow again since we reached this little shelter but I hear him talk to the doc occasionally just outside the room. This place is not what I had imagined of a shelter, to be fair.

We're far in the lower-city district, in an old abandoned factory. It's a place I have heard of but never visited before, not even job-related. And I've seen many places on my job, good and bad ones. But I would remember this little sanctuary.

The big hall with the heavy door has been repurposed into a place for the poor and homeless, with a lot of tables to sit at, chairs and pillows to sit on. In the far back, they built a food bank. Volunteers cook food daily and distribute it to whoever finds their way here.

Some bring food from home, but most people cook here in one of the repurposed old staff rooms.

The main hall is the heart of this sanctuary, it's filled with people almost around the clock. Even late at night, when the doors are closed, there's someone around to help those in need.

The upper floor of the main hall was turned into sleeping quarters. It's hard to see them up there, but it's easy to look down and observe what is happening.

This gives many people dealing with anxiety and paranoia the possibility of feeling safe, to feel in control. Most of them couldn't be locked up in a small room, and yet some of them struggle to be among so many other people.

I'm one of them, and I'm kind of glad I am kept in one of the smaller rooms.

I assume the smaller rooms were for storage back when the factory was still running, but now they are filled with makeshift beds for the sick and wounded. The doctor comes to see me every so often but I came to understand that he is attending to many people here. Most of my time I spend alone, which is good, to be honest.

The first few days I wasn't in a state to think clearly. Mainly due to the pain but my mental state played a big part in it as well – it still does.

I… I hate to admit it, but I am anxious. With every passing day, I should feel safer but I don't. I'm counting the days till Thayer will find me. There is no way he doesn't know of this place.

Maybe, and that's the only thing I can cling onto, he just doesn't expect the doc to bring me to such an obvious hideout. Is this what my life is going to be from now on? Am I going to be on the run for the rest of my days?

A knock at the door, then it slowly opens.

"Good morning, Sunshine." His voice is too carefree and I can't say I am happy to see him. I haven't worked through all the things that had happened, and I haven't forgotten about the betrayal. Every time I heard his voice outside I could feel my body tense up as the fear settled in my guts. And it's no different now.

"Look at you, your face finally got some color," he chuckles, but I can't really answer. I know I should address it, the one thing that keeps me awake even when I'm exhausted beyond salvation. Lately, he's been on my mind way too often in a negative way.

I was annoyed by his presence more often than not, but I also appreciated it. Secretly. He turned boring, lonely jobs into something not as numbing, and while I really wish he would find his sense of personal space, I stopped to bother at some point.

But now… His presence feels like an ill omen. Part of me wants to get rid of that sinking feeling of distrust and disgust, and part of me doesn't.

What if I confront him? What if he explains everything that happened? What if I'm blinded yet again? I have no way to prove if whatever he tells me is true, and I don't want to believe his words solely. Because… Trust is fatal.

"I brought you some things from your home, thought it makes your stay here a little more homey." He's holding a small box with no lid, and yet I fail to see what is in it. It just goes to show that there is little I possess of value.

"Why?" I can't stop myself from asking, and I don't even know what I'm asking exactly. He pauses and eyes me up and down, then a smile crosses his lips. I'm used to his smug face but, to be fair, I have rarely seen him smile this way.

"Because I can only imagine how isolating and unfamiliar your situation must feel. Your daily life was ripped away from you, so bringing you something that feels familiar seemed like a good thing."

I look at him. I feel this knot in my stomach, this settling feeling of angst and distress. My fingers are buried in the thin blanket, hiding from his sight. I feel the trembling that slowly creeps into my limbs and I don't want him to notice.

Being in a room with him all alone sets off my anxiety. There's nothing stopping him from killing me, nothing stopping him from betraying me yet again. I feel my breathing getting shaky.

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"I'll just leave it here." He talks to me like one does to a scared child. Soft, calm, he moves slowly, thoughtfully. He notices my body language, of course, he does. I am not well enough to mask my mental or physical state. The wounds may have healed well so far thanks to the doctor and Mrs. Blair, but they are still there.

The doc's magical abilities are only an assistance, not an instant cure. I still feel the piercing pain whenever I move too much. I haven't been able to get up yet without collapsing under the agony, let alone walk. I'm dependent on Mrs. Blair bringing me food every day – but at least I recovered enough to eat.

But still… I am trapped here. Unable to get away, unable to move on my own past this bed. And the more I try to focus and mask the signs my body displays, the more I tense up and feel the pain rising from my stomach. I can't face the Shadow with my usual demeanor of annoyance, cynicism, and indifference.

I'm watching him closely, unable to avert my eyes. I need to see every movement; every step he takes. It eases my mind at least a little bit to be able to keep an eye on him and his doings. He places the box on the makeshift bedside table.

Okay, to be fair, it's a crate that doesn't even try to look like a bedside table, but I couldn't care less as long as it serves its purpose.

He sends another smile my way, warm, reassuring. I hate it. Why can't he just be as ugly as Thayer? Violent, dismissing, distant, sadistic? I was always able to read Thayer and even in the rare instances when I couldn't, I could imagine what to expect. Well… almost. I wouldn't be here otherwise. But that's beside the point.

But I can't read this annoyance right in front of me. It bothers me more than I am willing to accept. I'm vigilant, looking out for anything that could give me a clue to his intentions, to his real self. But he's just… He's… Understanding, and cautious, and calm, with this warmth coming from within. He treats me like a person, an injured, troubled person – which I am, I know – but it angers me.

"You look like you're about to jump me. In a way I didn't anticipate," he chuckles so light-heartedly that it throws me out of the loop. I take a deep breath, clawing the blanket so hard my knuckles turn white, then I slowly let this tension go, feeling stings and pinches in my abdomen slowly rising.

Calm down, Eon. You're here, you're safe, for the moment, thanks to him. At least try to appreciate that much. "That's because I really do want to jump you," I mumble, exhausted from the sudden anger that still lingers.

I try to swallow it but I can't. There are so many emotions bottled up. Fear, anxiety, dread, hurt… I feel lost and betrayed, abandoned and locked in. And all these emotions are boiling up to something I can't contain. I inhale deeply once more, but I can't get a hold of this feeling.

"If it helps."

He throws me off once again… What even is this godforsaken man?! For a second the anger subdues, solely because confusion gets a hold of me – and that's exactly what my face shows.

I… I can't even ask, just look at him, baffled while still ridden by this sudden anger. Standing next to the bed he just opens his arms, almost inviting me, and if I could move I probably would have snapped. But the pain keeps me firmly seated.

Instead, we lock into a staring contest. While my gaze grows angrier by the second, he remains calm and collected. If I don't get a hold of myself, I may really jump him. I can feel my finger twitching in anticipation. I feel how my body gets ready to move, to bolt right at him. I…

Huh…?

I blink. The deep green eyes are suddenly so close. I'm pinned down, holding my breath, while this mountain of a man is towering over me, and yet the way he holds my hands down is… gentle? Suddenly, the anger is just gone, lost to the sudden situation that had occurred.

"My apologies, but you really shouldn't move that abruptly," his voice isn't more than a whisper, low, warm, sincere even. Though I can't trust my own perception right now, for all I know I could read way too much in the tone of his voice and the expression of his face.

"What…?" I still try to wrap my head around what has happened just now. One second I felt angry, ready to jump him, and the next I'm pinned down, unable to move.

No… I'm not unable to move… The way he had locked me down feels more like a suggestion, not an order. It feels like he would let go of me, let me move the moment I decide to do so.

And just because of that, I twist my wrist under his warm grip. While he doesn't let me go just yet, his hold on my hands loosens up, gives me space to move, to twist and turn.

If it wasn't for my overall physical limitation, I could just slip away. That's it. My anger has been replaced by irritation and confusion for good.

"I'm amazed you even manage to move that fast," now he chuckles again but his voice remains a low whisper. "But I really suggest we wait with the jumping until you can at least stand on your own two legs."

Did I move? Another blink, a moment to think about the situation, then I feel it. The velocity of everything and the confusion it left me with had numbed the pain, but suddenly it hits me with all its force and I flinch, gasping for air.

I feel his warmth releasing me, I hear his steps leading away from me. The door opens and closes. I couldn't care less. This sudden agony fills every inch of my body and forces me to twist and turn. I hear the door open again, two sets of steps rushing in, cold hands trying to keep me still.

It's a wave of overwhelming pain I can't navigate.

The grip pinning me down this time is firmer, trying to hold me still and prevent me from moving. But I know it serves its purpose. I just have a hard time keeping my body from holding still myself. I'm making this so much harder for the doc but no matter how hard I try; I can't help but want to curl up.

If it wasn't for the magical aid, I would lie in agony for hours – but luckily the wave washes over rather quickly the moment I feel the doc's cold hands on my abdomen. I remind myself to breathe, to get the twitching and jerking of my muscles under control to make this easier for everyone involved.

The pain hadn't gone the past days, it lingered, reminded me of my injuries with every movement. But it had subdued enough for me to feel more comfortable in my body again. Yes, sometimes it would hurt, but I would just grit my teeth, let the wave of pain wash over me, and collect myself afterward.

I guess I just forgot at some point how severely I was injured. It became bearable to the point where I became reckless again. That has always been the problem, hasn't it? Reckless people do reckless things because they have nothing to lose. Despite everything, I'm still reckless. I'm an idiot.