This was so embarrassing.

Gray didn’t know how long he’d been in that side alley, but it’d been a damn while. Night had been replaced by day. The summer sun beat down.

Any effort he made to get up and keep running was overthrown by crippling weakness and a kind of emotional pain he’d not felt since - since Alistair - and made him curl in on himself.

The few souls that ventured down this way gave Gray a wide berth. If they noticed him at all. He was somewhat hidden between piles of old cardboard boxes and a giant metal bin.

In Krydon, if someone had been slumped and having a quiet emotional breakdown in a random street, they would’ve been hauled to the nearest pub for beer and a meal in an instant.

In Sirentown, the people skirted around him and averted their eyes.

But honestly, right now, Gray was grateful for the space.

He just had to pull it the damned well together and then get the hell out of Sirentown.

As soon as he could stand.

He held onto Killian’s dagger, keeping it ready.

His strength refused to return and the shadows grew long in that side alley.

-

There was a soft pad, pad, pad as someone approached.

Gray didn’t need to look up because he knew those footsteps.

He hadn’t thought his heart could sink any lower than it had been all day.

But it could.

Those footsteps belonged to the last person he’d ever want to see him like this - well, top three, at least, because there was Lunn. And, you know, Wilde. That guy with the roundhouse kick, too.

Killian still looked like he’d crawled out of some kind of war trench.

His uniform was tattered, charred, missing buttons, and nearly entirely covered in mottled dark stains. The skin around his wrists was raw. His dark gaze was hollow and his battle scarred cheeks were gaunt. But there was definitely a hint of colour in his face and he was moving like he was ready to pick a fight with the first person who looked at him the wrong way.

’Not a smart move,’ said Killian as he watched Gray without batting an eye. ‘Out here alone. There’s a lot worse than poachers in this city. Right now, you’re perfect prey.’

So this was how they were going to play it, Gray thought dimly. No hellos, no acknowledging of the past days in the basement or the horror of the escape.

No mention of the urgency of the situation, because the Silver Axes had to be angry and searching, and here Killian and Gray were, out in broad daylight.

No thank you, Gray, for saving my life. Though, to be fair, Gray had nearly killed Killian in the first place.

And no efficient and brutal dragging of Gray to the king.

Which was unexpected.

Perhaps Killian didn’t have the strength quite yet.

‘The Ralphs,’ said Gray, because gods, if the Ralphs had run into trouble in this damn city, if they’d run into poachers, he’d never forgive himself. ‘Sorena,’ said Gray. ‘They’re here, they’re …’

‘I found them,’ said Killian. ‘They’re somewhat - easier - to handle than you are. They’re at the barracks here.’

Gray was too shaky to fully extract himself out of the boxes, though he made a good effort. He ended up sitting against the sooty alley wall, Killian’s dagger held limply in his hand.

Gray’s cheeks were hot and wet. His head was pounding from the kick to his mouth and dehydration.

Killian crouched in front of him. ‘This,’ he said coldly, easily tugging his dagger back, ‘is enchanted, you boiled potato of a child.’

Killian stashed the dagger in his boot, and then watched Gray again, looking mildly put off.

No matter what, Gray could not stop sobbing.

He couldn’t - control - it.

And he kind of wanted to die.

‘It’s the drugs,’ Killian said, his dark hair hanging in his dark eyes. ‘They give it to mages to harvest their tears. It’ll pass in a few days. Maybe a week. Whatever you’re feeling, it isn’t real.’

‘It feels real,’ Gray said hoarsely. ‘You know, those guys are assholes. Laughing can make you cry.’

‘You want to be laughing like a maniac in this alley?’ said Killian.

‘They - they could’ve made a potion that tugs at the heartstrings - in a good way - that can make a person …’

He ducked his head between his knees, not wanting Killian to see.

‘That’s not going to help you, kid,’ said Killian. ‘You - are - half - air - mage. Head up, look at the sky.’

‘Damn the sky.’

There was a sharp sigh. Killian’s heels ground against the dirty cobblestones as he shifted. ‘Let me fucking see you, hm? They clocked you pretty good, and pumped you full of gods know what.’

‘Yeah,’ said Gray thickly, refusing to lift his face from his knees. ‘That roundhouse kick was something.’

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‘Yes,’ said Killian. 'Your head might be full of concrete, but surely that kick fucked you up.'

When Gray continued to hide his face, Killian said, ‘I’ve seen you every which way, kid. You’ve got no dignity left. You may as well let me see you. I’ve seen you crying, your nose running, your face busted, glowing to the damn heavens, throwing your guts up …’

There was a hard pause.

‘Look, you’re not going to like this, kid, but it’s the fastest way to make you stop weeping. Which, frankly, is making me uncomfortable. Then, will you let me look at your damn head?’

Making Killian uncomfortable was enough motivation for Gray to lift his face. He ignored Killian's wince. His busted lip must've been spectacular, but he didn't care, he barely felt it, aside from throbbing numbness.

‘Like what?’ said Gray warily.

‘Either you can do it, or I can do it,’ said Killian, his voice harder.

That … could not be good.

‘Do what?’ said Gray.

‘You need to get the drugs out of your system. Although, maybe it’s too late …’

‘Do what, Killian?’

Killian winced again. ‘Dragon’s fire charcoal.’

‘Huh?’

-

‘You’ll need the bathroom,’ said Killian, as he shoved a brown paper bag with dragon’s fire charcoal into Gray’s hands.

Killian was trembling just enough that Gray was beginning to wonder if it had been a good idea for him to go walking around the neighbourhood to go and find the dragon’s fire charcoal. Sweat covered his too-pale forehead in a sheen.

Not to mention he had to be giving any poor person who passed him good cause to have nightmares.

He was very distinctive.

Rememorable.

You know, the opposite of lying low.

His tattered uniform was the kind of get-up you’d expect to see on one of Krupin’s undead.

Gray had been curled up on the sagging bed in the same room in the same sketchy inn from the previous night, and he slowly sat up, clutching the paper bag.

‘Bathroom?’ he said hoarsely, wiping his face on his shoulder.

That did not bode well.

He’d had enough of bodily fluids to last him a lifetime.

Ten lifetimes.

As well as taking stuff. Potions, draughts - if Gray lived through this, he was never taking anything ever again.

‘It’ll give you sweats,’ said Killian. ‘Fever. But, that means it’s working. It’s what you want.’

Killian staggered and sat down on the floor near the closed door, his legs splayed and his head tilted back against the wall as he regained his breath.

‘You going to take some?’ said Gray, carefully extracting himself from the blankets.

Killian was quiet, his eyes closed.

Then, ‘I’m a wolf-shifter, kid. We’re pretty tough. That fae’s crap is already clearing from my system.’

Gray peered into the brown bag. It was exactly what he expected. Lumps of porous charcoal, with the distinctive glimmer of a dragon’s fire product.

‘Being …’ Killian hesitated, and ended up waving a vague, exhausted hand at Gray, ‘... what you are, I’m not exactly sure how you’re going to react, but you will get overheated, at the very least, which is dangerous … for you. Run a cold bath.’

-

The charcoal worked as promised.

Honestly, it kind of worked wonders, because Gray was feeling the effects of Lunn’s potion draining from him, like poison being extracted from a bite.

Not cleared entirely, but miles better.

In the bath, Gray felt his head drop. He started back awake. Then, his chin was on his chest again.

He was dimly aware of being lifted from the cold of the bath, being wrapped in a rough towel. Gray rested his forehead against charred buttons.

Then, he was on the sagging bed, and he’d never slept on anything so comfortable.

-

Sunlight was on Gray’s face, yellow and hazy.

He stretched. Gingerly. Slowly. The sagging bed underneath him groaned.

Running a hand through his hair, Gray swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet touching the rough floorboards.

He felt -

Gray froze.

Killian was slumped against the closed door, drenched in blood.

It wasn’t real fresh. It had been on him for a while.

It pooled underneath him.

Like someone had thrown a bucket of the stuff-

Gray’s stomach wasn’t so strong as to be tested right now and he turned away, covering his mouth.

His breath hitching, Gray made himself move, made himself cross the tiny space of the inn room, to check, because Killian was still enough to be dead, but he couldn't be, the man was near indestructible, and what the actual hell had happened?

Killian moved so suddenly that Gray staggered backwards and tripped into the bed.

‘Did I sleep through the apocalypse?’ said Gray.

‘It’s not mine. I,’ said Killian, stiffly getting to his feet, ‘ah, found Longwark.’

Gray felt as though his eyes had popped out of his head. ‘You murdered Longwark?’

‘No, I-’ Killian glanced down, as though double checking the blood, ‘-Longwark’s in the barrack’s prison. An apt prison. One with wards to stop damn crows and familiars getting in. I, ah-’

‘How the hell did you find Longwark?’ said Gray, his mind reeling.

Killian answered Gray with a dark look and a soft snort.

‘He was close?’ said Gray.

‘Of course he was,’ said Killian.

This made no sense. Unless Longwark was too weakened to fahren too far, unless something had gone wrong.

His confusion must’ve been on his face because Killian clicked his tongue in annoyance.

‘Kid,’ said Killian. ‘Denial is not a helpful quality. He was fucking loitering around, sniffing like a damn stray dog, waiting for his opportunity to take his precious little apprentice.’

Gray rubbed his forehead.

He did not want to get into an argument with Killian over this collection rubbish even though he thoroughly disagreed.

‘So,’ said Gray slowly, ‘all this blood is his?’

‘Some,’ said Killian. ‘And I took care of the poachers.’

’Took care of the poachers?’

‘I went back to their lair, and I … took care of them.’

Gray stared at Killian in frozen disbelief.

‘Don’t look so shocked, kid,’ said Killian, an edge creeping into his words. ‘Those cowards had no chance against me without the handicap of silver.’

‘You,’ said Gray, the words slipping out without him thinking, unable to wrench his gaze away from the mess covering Killian, ‘kill a lot of people.’

‘Yes,’ said Killian impatiently. ‘Look, they tried to harvest every damn thing from me, and from you, very slowly and painfully. They do this on the regular. They were bad people. It is my job to get rid of people like that.’

‘Have you ever thought, perhaps, jail would do?’

Killian fixed him with a very dark stare. ‘Death is too good for them, true. I’m too merciful.’

’Not what I was trying to say,’ muttered Gray. ‘Lunn - you - you …’

Killian raised his eyebrows. ‘The fae wasn’t there. I don’t know where he went. He wasn’t in the basement.’

Maybe Lunn was free. Somehow. Maybe he was in the forest, right at that very minute, staring up at the open sky and breathing in the scent of the trees.

‘Why didn’t you shower?’ said Gray. ‘You - you’ve got blood everywhere. That’s not - it’s dangerous - we’ll have to pay a fee, I've got no money, nothing-’

‘Trust me,’ said Killian, stiffly adjusting his dagger in his boot. ‘They’re not going to be asking us for payment. If anything, they’ll pay us to leave.’

Gray waited for Killian to head to the bathroom.

But, Killian remained where he was, blocking the doorway.

Flexed his scarred hands.

'Now,’ said Killian, ‘are you going to behave yourself, or do I have to signal for back up to take you to the barracks?’

'Beg pardon?'