Enna stirred slowly; she had a parched tongue, a body full of sore muscles, and a pounding headache from a horrible noise echoing through her skull. Grunting, she fought to her hands and knees, shook her head dizzily, and squinted as she looked around for the source of the sound. After a moment, she saw it.

A few feet away, Orton lay slumped over the body of Jiann; an awful, whistling rattle was coming from his throat, and it took Enna several seconds before she realized that it was a keening, broken cry. Numbly, she watched as Orton rocked back and forth, sobbing; she couldn't understand, didn't even have any idea of what the fuck was going on.

Chains of thought slowly began to fumble their way through her brain, then faltered, broke, and swirled aimlessly apart. It was too much, she realized; she couldn't make sense of any of it. Giving up, she fell back onto the freezing dirt and sighed.

She might have lain there forever, listening to Orton crumble and disintegrate against the wall of his grief -- a grief she couldn't comprehend or make any sense of, a foreign and unknowable chasm between the Orton she barely knew and the alien, perilous creature she had glimpsed inside the realm they'd escaped. She was struck dumb, hobbled by questions she couldn't even begin to ask. And so she just slumped limply, nailed to the earth by the weight of her lassitude, until his groans and sobs became gasps, then sniffles, and then finally silence.

As she watched, he sat just as stiffly for a time, then rubbed his fingers together and made a strange gesture she vaguely recognized. Touching it to Jiann's empty shell, he moved back slightly as the many-hued tongues of fire sprang up around it, consuming it without ember or fume. She blinked, then crawled slightly closer. "Wait, I've seen this before. The man at the bar."

Orton nodded, not bothering to turn. "Durga's Purifying Flame. Not just for banishing Spawn of Ielmabaoth."

"Did you know that guy, too? The bartender?" She watched Jiann's body burn, surprised she wasn't sobbing herself. Shock, I guess, she thought to herself dazedly.

He shook his head. "No. I didn't even know his name."

"Seriously?" She pushed herself up on one elbow, staring at him curiously. "Then why'd you do this for him too?"

"Because." Orton licked his lips, then sighed. "Because I have a lot to atone for."

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After Jiann's body had burned away, they made the slow and silent trek into Rankin Inlet. Orton felt drained and empty; he wasn't sure how much of him was left after what he had just endured. Enna, for her part, simply felt lost.

As they reached the center of the tiny settlement -- a large pair of standing stones topped by six stacked lintel blocks -- Orton looked towards the airfield and sighed. He just didn't have the strength. "Fuck it," he muttered. "One more day won't make a difference." Turning his back on the path forward, he trudged to the Siniktarvik Hotel with Enna in tow, like a copper-haired shadow.

Quietly, he paid for their lodging out of his stash of hard currency; when the clerk asked in heavily-accented English if he desired a double occupancy, he laughed bitterly before regaining control of himself. "No, two rooms, thank you," he managed, then handed Enna her key and walked away before his control broke down entirely. She stood in the hallway and watched his retreating back, but said nothing.

In his room, he locked the door, then collapsed face-first on his bed; he didn't have the energy to even be anxious about not casting wards, let alone to actually create them. Despair and apathy swirled in him, threatening to overwhelm him; after a while, he rolled onto his back and just watched the ceiling for a while, thinking of nothing at all.

Eventually, the knock on the door came; he sighed, struggled to his feet, and managed to let Enna in before collapsing back onto the bed. "Sorry. I'm very tired." He let his eyes close, as much to avoid looking at her as to rest.

He heard motion; the bed creaked as it accepted her weight. "Orton, it's okay." He heard her start to say something else, stop, and just breathe. He felt his skin contract slightly and shivered.

"So," he began lamely, "I don't... actually know very much about whatever just happened. I remember being in Mexico, getting..." -- he winced, pained -- "something important... and then I was trekking across America and Canada to come here for some reason. And then I met you and Jiann, and ate the seed, and something went wrong with the ritual." He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "Then the next thing I knew, we were here, and Jiann was..."

Enna nodded. "He said there was something hiding in your mind -- a dead god, and that your knowledge of it gave it power over you. He erased your memories of it, so I guess it makes sense anything related to it would be affected." She flopped back on the bed next to Orton, trying to sort through her own feelings. "It doesn't feel real."

Orton said nothing for a few moments. "What happened? Did the ritual fail?"

She shook her head. "The... I don't know its name. The thing. He said it 'got in between' the power of the ritual and you, and pulled us into something called an 'internal domain'." She looked over at him, then looked away, stung by his expression. "You were inside... well, it doesn't matter. Jiann distracted it while I tried to free you, but I don't..." -- she swallowed -- "I don't think anything I did mattered."

Orton wanted to protest, but didn't have any words. He bit his lip. "I'm sorry."

They were silent together a few more minutes, then Enna rolled over to face him. "Orton, I saw some things in your mind I don't understand. A lot of things, actually, but only two that I really can't wrap my head around."

He sighed again. "I can imagine."

"No, it's not..." she bit her lip. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Orton had very little energy left for emotional labor. "Enna, just fucking ask me."

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She frowned a little, stung, but controlled herself. "Okay, fine. I saw a version of you in there with a shaved head... and red eyes. What was all that about?"

Orton curled into a ball involuntarily; hiding his face, he forced his answer out through gritted teeth. "The old me. From the first loop."

Enna waited. Time passed, and Orton slowly began to relax. He turned onto his back again, watching shadows from the room's dim lamps express their geometry on the ceiling. "You remember when you learned about Fade. How you didn't really give a fuck about normies because you didn't know it was important."

Enna winced. "I mean, ouch, but... yeah. I remember."

Orton didn't blink. "Great. Now imagine ten years of nobody stopping you. Nobody telling you what you were doing. Nobody checking your ego." He balled his fists, feeling his nails dig into his palms. "And then imagine you meet people just like you. People who encourage you. People who teach you cool spells, spells that let you fuck shit up like you never imagined." He sucked in a long breath, held it, and then let it out. "People in black ties."

"Jesus." Enna sat bolt upright, staring at Orton in shock. "You were one those guys, the ones you mentioned. The Order of the Black Whatever."

"The Black Curtain," corrected Orton wearily. "Yes. I did... a lot of very bad things, because I didn't think any of it mattered and I didn't know what it was costing me."

"So you were one of those things, like the cultists in Venice?" The repugnance in her voice wounded him, poisoned him; he closed his eyes, unable to bear looking at anything. "A Shade?"

"Almost. A half a whisper from it." He covered his face. "I can't even claim it was anything good in me. Squeamishness, more than anything else. I didn't like hurting people because..." he swallowed, finding his throat suddenly dry. "Reasons. Not noble ones."

She looked away, hugging herself. "And then Gentry."

"Yeah." He rubbed a hand across his face, drawing in a shuddering breath. "I had the amulet since I was eighteen, but I never knew what it did. I just used it to store power, like a battery, so I could draw on it for extra energy. But when the sky collapsed..." -- he looked at his own hand, watching the blood ooze from the crescent-moon wounds -- "I figured it out, in desperation. And then I had a second chance."

He turned over, looking at her; her face was turned away. It hurt more than he thought it would. "I started trying to learn more, figure out what had happened. All my power was gone, but I still had my memories and my knowledge. And, by accident, I did one thing different. I saved somebody."

"You did?" She turned back, surprised. A small smile formed on her face. "Seriously, accidental heroism?"

He didn't smile back. "Yeah. I solved a problem with violence -- " he winced, reflecting on how little that had changed "-- and it turned out I had protected someone. At first, I didn't think anything of it, but... the feeling was different. I started reading up on things I hadn't thought about before, and..." he spread his hands. "You can guess the rest."

She nodded. "That dharma stuff you mentioned."

"Right." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked away. "So... now you know."

"Yeah." He heard her clothing rustle as she shifted. "It makes sense, I guess."

He snorted. "Sure. It's all so rational and reasonable." They sat in silence for a few more minutes before he could speak again. "What was the second thing?"

"Um. I mean, I saw, I..." her voice trailed off. "Never mind." In silence, they watched the scattered lights in the night outside; they were very few in Nunavut. "He's really gone."

Orton nodded sadly. "He is."

Enna paused, then took off her jacket and tossed it into a corner; gathering up the thick wool blanket at the foot of the bed, she wrapped it around herself and rolled over. "It doesn't feel real. There was so much to him I hadn't..." She sniffled a little, surprising herself.

"That's how it is." Orton felt numb. "You can't really appreciate somebody until they're gone. There's always later, always tomorrow." He felt the echoing space in his skull that had for so long held the ghost of another person -- an enemy for most of it, to be sure, but nevertheless a shield against his loneliest hours even when things had been darkest. "Until there isn't."

Abruptly, she turned; her stare bored into him. "Orton, why'd you dump me off on him? I'm sure you had your reasons, but..." her gaze fell. "It hurt."

"I'm sorry." He didn't know what to do with his hands; they flopped about like dead things at the ends of his wrists. "I thought... I was just trying to help."

She laughed, a short mirthless bark. "You're kind of helpless at helping."

He drew back, folding his hands in his lap and ducking his head; instantly, she clapped her hands over her mouth. "Shit, I... I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"No, it's okay." He looked away. "I fuck everything up." Dully, he wished she'd go away.

Then, unexpectedly, she was; folding the blanket, she gathered up her jacket and stood in front of him, her creamy jade eyes staring towards the door. "I'm gonna go. We both need... rest, I guess." She started away, fumbling in her pocket for her room key.

Then, out of nowhere, something broke in him; a choked-off sob escaped him. He was standing -- when had he gotten up? Why was he holding her arm?

Enna stared at Orton, shocked; she'd never expected this. His face was a ruin; pain and despair warred with rage and grief and sadness, making his countenance an ugly knot of confused feelings. She stumbled back, dragging him with her; out of habit, he quick-stepped and moved in close.

Suddenly, she was moving too; her foot coming around in a sweep, her shoulder knocking him off-balance. His reflexes took over; he pulled her with him, spinning, and they both crashed into the door. She let out a gasp as they hit; he had her wrists in his hands, and she had her leg around his, halfway through a trip that had turned into something else.

Abruptly, he realized what he was doing, and shook himself. "Shit. I..." She mumbled something apologetic in response, staring at the floor.

Then, quietly, she looked up; her eyes were full of misery. "Why?" She cast her gaze down. "Why are we like this?"

Orton was exhausted. He had no more strength for lies. "Because it's not fair for me to need you."

He could have stopped there. Should have stopped there. Fully intended, with every ounce of his being, to stop there.

But she looked up again. "You said." She swallowed, tried again. "The whole... full-disclosure thing."

Orton groaned. It nearly killed him. But, like a binding, it compelled him; he could no more have stayed silent than he could have stopped his heart from beating. The words were dragged out of him like hooked things as he panted, "It's not fair of me to want you."

For an instant, everything was taut; everything was still. He had no hope left in him; all that remained was rejection, fury, shame.

Then, suddenly, the unexpected; her body crashed against his, her lips full on his mouth. "You shithead," she muttered, her hands all over his body; he couldn't keep track of anything. "You fucker." He tried to hold her, stop her, but everything kept going wrong; her clothes were coming off in his hands. He tried to protest, but his words couldn't get past her kisses; he tried to withdraw, to give her space and respect, but somehow they were falling back onto the bed together. He closed his eyes, trying not to feel guilty about how much he was savoring this; then he took a breath, trying to stop things before they went too far.

He didn't expect her put her lips to his ear and whisper his name; the connection between them, reinforced and electrified by her invocation of his true self, was so powerful that it took his breath away. And in that moment, in the barest instant of pause before he could fuck everything up irrevocably like always, she said three words against which he had no defense; three words that broke his will in a way that no god's command or demon's torture or anything else in an infinite array of universes could ever have done. In a voice husky with tenderness and vulnerability, she breathed, "I'm lonely, too."