Alex couldn’t sleep that night. For what might have been the first time, his room felt like an actual prison cell, the walls closing in on him more and more as the hours dragged on. He twisted and turned, drowning in the Happy Motel’s cheap linens. Meager moonlight seeped through partly closed curtains, casting dim patterns on the wall.

His head still throbbed from earlier. The painkillers doc had given him did little for these migraines. Maybe he should have taken his warnings a bit more seriously, but what was he to do? Every moment he stayed logged off Elderpyre was a moment Fawkes spent waiting for him in the middle of a haunted vale, with nobody but Fyodor and her own grief keeping her company.

She was right, Hunter thought. He was Transient. He couldn’t be there for her. Not really. Maybe if they stayed in one place, maybe he could figure out some kind of schedule. She was a vagrant, though, a wanderer who’d lived half her life on the road. And as for himself? He was slowly but surely turning into an adrenaline junkie. All his delve into the depths of the Halls – and his subsequent brushes with virtual death – had done was leave him craving more.

His last talk with Grimm, the strange man that got him tangled into the whole Elderpyre business in the first place, had made something click in his head. He’d spent his whole life playing it safe. Not growing, not thriving, but simply surviving. Elderpyre was his chance to learn how to change that mindset. He wanted to see things, try things, take risks. There had been a thirst for adventure building up in him, and there was nothing he wanted more than to drink deep from what Elderpyre had to offer and finally quench it.

Still, he didn’t feel comfortable enough to do so on his own. Fawkes wasn’t just his friend and companion. She was an impromptu mentor, too, and his safety net. It was the first time in his adult life he felt like he had someone he could rely on. With her on his side, he felt safe.

And now she wanted to part ways.

His mind was a battlefield of options, and none of them seemed particularly good. The head-splitting migraine he was still trying – and failing – to ignore didn’t make things any easier either. He threw the covers off him, sat at the edge of his single bed, and buried his face in his palms. He reached for the casque that was sitting on his nightstand. Migraine or no migraine, he needed a fresh set of eyes.

Οr at least someone to bounce ideas off of.

Not two minutes later, Hunter materialized in the old-timey speakeasy that was his personal Shard, his mind palace of sorts. A cloud of smoke hung in the air above the rich mahogany tables, giving the very air a sepia tone. Behind the bar, Mortimer, the solemn custodian of the Shard, wiped crystal-cut tumblers and glasses with a rag.

“Hey there, Mort,” Hunter said, climbed on a stool, and collapsed on the worn counter. “How’s your evening going?”

“Splendidly, sir. How about yours?”

“Less than splendidly. Hence the visit.”

“I guessed so, sir. Drink?”

“One Grimm special, thank you.”

“One Grimm special coming up, sir.”

Mortimer carefully poured Hunter a glass of rich brownish liquid from a gleaming crystal carafe and, with a practiced grace, placed it before him atop an ornate coaster. Hunter took a small sip, savoring the rich and smoky flavor. He had no great love for Grimm, but he couldn’t deny the fact that the man knew his liquor.

"It seems something's been weighing on your mind again," Mortimer observed.

“It’s this whole thing with Fawkes,” Hunter sighed. “She, uh… Shit, where should I even start?”

“If it helps you, sir, keep in mind that as your Shard’s custodian, I have access to everything you know. This includes your memories, your knowledge, your experiences, and your inner thoughts. Which, of course, is how I can provide you with advice and information beyond what a traditional bartender might offer. I am here to assist and support you. I do not judge, and I respect your privacy.”

Hunter tried to wrap his head around what that meant, the implications and the possibilities. For the time being, however, his thoughts were consumed entirely by Fawkes.

“So, you already know what has happened and what I need to talk about?”

“Indeed, sir. Nevertheless, I would suggest that you proceed as if I do not. The act of putting thoughts into words often brings clarity to one’s mind.”

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Hunter took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. “It's Fawkes. She's... well, she's obviously going through a rough patch. A couple of days ago, we found the body of her friend, Reiner. He was killed by the things down in the depths of the Halls. Fawkes had been looking for him for a long time, I think.”

Mortimer's expression remained neutral, but his eyes held empathy. "I see. That's a heavy burden for her to bear."

“It's more than that,” Hunter nodded. “Just when things seemed to be changing between us, she’s shutting me out. She's decided she wants to take off on her own.”

“And how do you feel about that, sir?”

“Conflicted.”

Hunter swirled the drink in his hand, staring at the bottom of the glass as if there was some answer to be found in there.

“On the one hand, I get it. Seeing Reiner like that… hell, even I feel bad about it. I can’t imagine what she must be going through. On the other hand, however…Well, you remember the conversation we had the last time I was around. I want to make the most of my time in Elderpyre. Take risks, gather experiences, go on adventures. Grow as a person. If Grimm’s right about one thing, it’s this. It’s a unique opportunity. I don’t want to let it go to waste.”

He took a long sip of his drink, winced, then took another.

“I want to see it all, Mort. Do it all. Take it all in. But I can't imagine doing it without Fawkes.”

The bartender listened attentively, wearing a solemn expression on his face. When Hunter stopped talking, he nodded.

“Sometimes, sir, life presents us with choices that are as complex as they are significant. It's natural to feel torn between your own desires and your loyalty to a friend.”

“So what do I do?”, Hunter asked.

“That’s not for me to say, sir.”

“She’s going through the stages of grief, isn’t she?”

"It's possible, sir. The stages of grief can take different forms for each individual. Fawkes seems to be experiencing a significant loss. If you believe this may be the case, it could be beneficial to offer her support and understanding as she navigates her feelings."

“Well, I can’t do that if she’s shutting me out, can I?”

"It can be challenging to provide support when someone is distancing themselves, sir," Mortimer replied. "In such situations, it may be helpful to approach her gently, express your willingness to listen, and let her know that you're there for her whenever she's ready to share. Sometimes, all we can do is to simply be present and wait for others to open up in their own time."

Hunter frowned and gave it some thought. Mortimer was right, of course. Time, however, wasn’t on his side. He only had until they made it back to the Brennai village, he supposed. And even so, he couldn’t spend too much time in Elderpyre yet, not without risking blowing up his brain.

What was he to do?

Trying to break himself out of the vicious circle of his own thoughts and frustrations, he downed the rest of his drink in one big gulp. It burned him on the inside, the sensation spreading from his mouth down to his throat and all the way through his stomach and chest.

As if reading his mind - which was very probably the case - Mortimer filled his glass again.

“Am I being selfish here, Mort?” Hunter finally said, the pressure mounting in his head.

“Selfishness, sir, is often a matter of perspective,” the bartender said as he put away the carafe. “While your desire for adventure is natural and valid, it doesn't necessarily make you selfish. It's crucial to strike a balance between your own aspirations and your commitment to others. You care for Fawkes and want to be there for her, but you also have your own needs and desires. It's a complex situation. Finding that balance is a journey in itself.”

Finding balance in such situations wasn’t among Hunter’s strong suits. If anything, his hectic string of on-again, off-again friendships and romantic relationships was a testament to the opposite. With Fawkes, though? That felt different. He found himself surprisingly open to seeking common ground, more so than he had ever been with anyone else. That struck him as odd.

“Know what’s strange, Mort?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “I’ve known Fawkes for what, a few weeks? I shouldn’t be so hung up on her. It feels odd. A little silly, maybe.”

“Feelings, sir, can be remarkably unpredictable,” Mortimer shook his head. “Consider the soldiers who bond on the battlefield during times of war. In the crucible of extraordinary circumstances, they form deep connections in a matter of weeks or even days. The intensity of their shared experiences forges bonds that are strong despite the short duration. Caring for someone, regardless of how long you've known them, is a testament to the power of empathy and shared hardships.”

That was something Hunter had already known in his heart of hearts, but hadn’t consciously realized until now.

The feeling might not be mutual, he knew that. The experiences they’d shared weren’t exactly symmetrical. For him, these few weeks had been the most intense time of his life. Fawkes, on the other hand, had been roaming the land for decades, hand never too far away from the grip of her saber. To her, he couldn’t be much more than just another short-term traveling companion in an endless line of short-term traveling companions.

Especially given her grief over the loss of her friend.

Especially given his own Transient nature.

His head was killing him. He slouched over the bar, burying his face in his hands, trying in vain to make heads or tails of the situation.

“Might I suggest a course of action, sir?” the bartender said after a few moments of fallow silence.

Hunter sighed and nodded, not even bothering to show his face.

“You’ve never shied away from trusting Fawkes with your life, so to speak. Why not simply trust her with your feelings, too?”

“Trust her how?” Hunter looked up. “What am I supposed to say to her?”

“What we’ve been discussing here,” Mortimer said. “Nothing more, nothing less. Be open and honest. Show faith in her.”

“And what if she still doesn’t change her mind?”

“Then that is that,” Mortimer shrugged. “When it comes to relationships with others, reciprocity is never guaranteed. It is a reality of life you will have to accept.”

Slowly, Hunter nodded.