Cyrus hadn't left his room for more than a few moments at a time in days. He couldn't stop replaying the last time he'd seen Tuesday in his mind, forcing himself to relive the moment over and over.

He hadn't realized how much it would hurt her. To Cyrus, it was just a simple fact: if he had caved to his baser instincts one of those first times reconnecting with her, his life would never have gone so far off the rails.

Raziel had quickly gotten sick of the long self-pitying session and for the most part left Cyrus to his own devices. Nevaeh had seemed a bit more sympathetic; when Cyrus braved the kitchen for just a few seconds to get a drink of water, she'd stopped him, smiled, and said, "Blue isn't your color. Cheer up, who knows--things may change for the better very soon."

He had a very hard time believing that.

Evening had come, darkening the sky outside his window at which he sat for most of the day, when he heard a sudden thud from the other room. Cyrus crept out, peering around the corner tentatively--

--and saw Tuesday and Raziel.

Cyrus's chest tightened, a strange mixture of shock, confusion and relief coming over him. He stayed out of view for a moment, watching Tuesday rise shakily from the ground. She wobbled for a second before careening to the side, catching herself on the counter and placing another hand to her head.

"Put your head between your knees, you'll be fine," Raziel was grumbling.

With a low groan she slipped back to the floor and obeyed, rocking herself gently.

Raziel caught Cyrus's eye and beckoned him forward with annoyance in his eyes. "Right, yes, why don't you come talk some sense into her?"

Tuesday visibly stiffened but did not look up at Cyrus's approach.

"Your on-again off-again psycho girlfriend has resorted to totally ignoring her already dysfunctional moral compass," Raziel continued. "You know what she asked me to do?"

He paused for effect, and Cyrus had to bite back the string of curses that rose to his tongue. If there were any worse of a time to have to deal with the demon's unfortunate personality, it was now.

"She wanted to become like me," Raziel continued with a humorless laugh and his tone grew colder with each word. "And when I explained as politely as possible that isn't how it works--she decided becoming a reaper was the next best thing."

Feeling like the floor had dropped right out from under him, Cyrus glanced back to Tuesday, who had still not moved from her huddle on the floor. It was so far out of left field Cyrus couldn't make sense of the information--and then he remembered the dreams that had been plaguing him since the night on the beach.

Something had changed then. Something he himself had put in motion the second he decided to live.

Obsessing over the black-eyed girl from his nightmares, Cyrus turned to Raziel, a thousand things he wanted to shout grappling for his attention.

''Relax! I would never damn a child," Raziel said sourly. "Like I said, you need to talk some sense into her, stat."

At some point Cyrus hadn't noticed, Nevaeh had silently entered the room, spectating the scene with crossed arms. He noticed her when Raziel's eyes trailed from him to the hall behind him. Nevaeh glanced at Cyrus and said in a voice as sharp as he'd ever heard it, "Why don't you go to your room? The adults need to have a talk." Her eyes slid back to Raziel, who squinted at her with confusion evident in his own.

A shudder wracked Cyrus's body. Attempting to hide his sudden wariness, he hurried over to Tuesday. Ignoring the way she flinched at his touch, he grabbed her arm and lifted her to her feet, tugging her down the hall.

She swatted at his hands but he only let go when the bedroom door was shut. Hatred warred with grief in her eyes, and the latter won when tears began to spill over and drip down her cheeks. "He says you didn't do it. Please tell me that's true."

"Do what?" Cyrus asked slowly, not liking the implications of all of it--her accusation, her desire to suddenly become something unearthly.

Tuesday sighed, sagging against the door, apparently believing him. Cyrus didn't have enough time to feel any relief at this. Sucking in a deep breath, she relayed a gruesome recap of her day so quickly Cyrus almost couldn't keep up. When she was done, Cyrus sank to the floor, the shock making his limbs go numb.

"Do you think...do you think he did it?" Tuesday suddenly said, jerking her head at the door.

"Raziel isn't a killer," Cyrus quickly responded.

She looked unsure at this. "What other man knows what we've done?"

Cyrus had no answer for this. It was yet another mystery he couldn't wrap his head around. First someone was taunting him with his old kills, but now--now they'd crossed a true line. Now they had found Tuesday's own weak spot.

He was still stuck on the whole reaper thing, as well, even if his dreams had predicted it for a while now. Anger bubbling up, Cyrus asked what had possessed her to do such a thing, why she'd want to be one of the very things that had murdered her own mother in cold blood.

"Oh, maybe because your friendly neighborhood demon won't be around the next time to save the day?" she spat.

"Next time?"

Mouth curving downwards, Tuesday shook her head slowly and said simply, "With you, Cyrus, there will always be a next time."

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He flinched back at that, looking away and clenching his fists. Well, it was fair, he supposed. It was true.

"I can't be vulnerable anymore," Tuesday continued, voice quivering. "What about when something like this happens again, what happens when something comes for my aunt next? And not having a conscience, well, that sounds like a bonus right about now."

Still unable to look at her, Cyrus stared at the floor. "You know you'd have to kill to sustain yourself, right?"

Her response was immediate, cold. "Nothing I haven't done before."

"This--this isn't you," Cyrus protested.

"Maybe you don't really know me, ever think of that?"

In the other room, what had started as indiscernible whispers had risen into angry shouts that Cyrus could now understand. Now distracted from his personal conflict, he padded to the door to get closer to whatever fight was ensuing outside.

"You said it yourself," Nevaeh was saying, "they're stronger together, but the girl--she is nowhere near her full potential. If you can't do it, maybe I'll just turn her myself."

"Where the hell is this coming from?"

"Can you really not guess? When you said Cyrus survived, well, I thought it was obvious what you should do with him. And yet, here you've been playing Daddy Day Care--you can't domesticate the antichrist, it's unnatural!"

The shouting cut off for a moment as the breath was knocked from Cyrus's lungs. Having the same realization, now speaking at normal volume he was just able to hear Raziel say, "That sounds familiar."

Cyrus had briefly forgotten Tuesday's presence, but she now joined him at the door, eyes wide. "What's going on?" she whispered, but he just shook his head and raised a finger to his lips. He slowly eased the door open when the voices became too hushed to hear again.

"--did you create that reaper?" Raziel was saying, voice dangerously devoid of emotion. It stopped Cyrus in his tracks as he remembered the encounter, another piece of the fucked-up puzzle he couldn't quite put together. Coincidence was for fiction, he knew that well, which only left all the events of the past few weeks being connected--the killings, the messages, even that visit from the reaper.

Seeing Cyrus, Nevaeh turned her attention to him and tried her luck with him. "You two are a package deal, I had to remind you," she said in a pleading tone.

Cyrus's anger had reached a boiling point as the pieces fell into place; he took another step forward, not knowing exactly what he planned to do just yet but certainly nothing good, when Raziel raised a hand in the air. His back was to Cyrus and didn't acknowledge him in any way, but Cyrus found himself suddenly unable to move. He fought against the compulsion but his power had seen better days; now he was numbed up and helpless.

"That reaper--is he behind the priest murders?" Raziel pressed.

Nevaeh's lips curved down disapprovingly. "Well, yes but--"

"Whose side are you on?"

"Don't you understand? I did this for you! If everyone knew you were able to control him, we'd never have to hide again."

"I do not want this," Raziel said quietly, coldly. "And I think it's time you leave."

Nevaeh took a step back like he'd just hit her. She struggled for words for a moment, genuine shock in her eyes, before carefully smoothing out her expression. "Oh, don't be like that," she purred, stepping closer. "This is all just a lot of information too fast, have a drink with me and we can talk it over--"

"Get out."

Her poker face slipping again, Nevaeh bit her lip, her devastated expression almost making her seem human.

"If you ever change your mind...I'll be waiting."

Raziel did not respond, half-turning away from her. Now able to see his face, Cyrus noted the pain in his eyes--he'd never seen the demon look so vulnerable.

Nevaeh crossed the rest of the space between them, placing a gentle kiss on Raziel's unresponsive lips; he stared straight ahead, unmoving, until she finally pulled away with a sigh and went for the door. She gave him one long, last look--and then she was gone.

What the hell was Raziel thinking? They couldn't let her go--not after what she'd done, not considering what she might do--

Raziel raised his hand again, lip curling, voice turning acidic. "Don't you get it? This will never end, there will always be new evil vying for the crown." He dropped the hand, narrowed eyes passing slowly over Cyrus and Tuesday, who had crept up behind him. "There's been enough death. You of all people know that," he added wearily, then walked over to the bar, pulling a bottle out from under the counter.

Finding his voice, Cyrus began to protest, "But she--"

"Please, just...stop talking," Raziel murmured, sinking heavily onto a bar stool, clutching the bottle tightly. He uncapped it with trembling fingers, spilling some of the amber liquid on the counter as he attempted to pour it into a glass. When he raised it to his mouth, his hand was shaking so violently around it that the drink sloshed and some of it ended up spattering his shirt.

"Did you ever think," he said idly, staring into the glass, "that maybe it isn't all about you and what you want?"

Cyrus spared a glance beside himself where Tuesday didn't seem any more swayed by the speech. There was still some confusion in her eyes but anger had filled them, as well; she had understood enough to know letting Nevaeh go was far from a smart decision.

Raziel was not done. "That maybe, in a couple millennia when you're long dead and perhaps I'm not, it won't be your name and story they tell around the campfire?" He let out an eerie, hollow laugh that turned into a choking sound as whatever composure Raziel had left broke. He covered his mouth just in time to smother a faint sob. After a moment, he continued, "I've deluded myself into thinking I was helping, but I'm no better than Acheron--I'm still playing God with you, but I can't shape you in my desired image. We've reached the end of the line, kid...I don't want to sacrifice anything else."

Too much was happening too fast, making Cyrus's head spin. He walked over to the bar on shaky legs, forcing Raziel to look at him--maybe Cyrus could change his mind. He had to do something, anything; he needed Raziel, and not just because he had saved his life on multiple occasions or taken him under his wing for a brief respite.

Losing Acheron had been complicated, but now Cyrus was losing someone who had genuinely cared for him--he knew it was true. It didn't matter how many times Raziel insisted he was just trying to right his own wrongs.

But the resolve in his eyes did not waver.

"What--what am I supposed to do?" Cyrus muttered, looking at the ground now.

"You have to figure that out for yourself. I can't tell you how to live your life. Go get wasted in a ditch and die or something, I have no way of stopping you--and if you end up destroying the world instead, or someone destroys you, well..." Raziel sighed heavily, cradling his head in his hands. "My advice? Get the hell outta New York. Keep numbing that aura of yours until it's under control, hope no one catches your scent quite so easily...and live."

"And what about you?"

"I'm beginning to think power is overrated. I don't want this city." Raziel absently stirred a finger in his drink, chewing hard on his lip. "Don't bother coming back to this place, I can't stay here. Not now--"

Raziel raised his head an inch, eyes going to the end of the hall where his bedroom door was open. He winced and closed his eyes.

"Maybe we'll cross paths again," Raziel continued emotionlessly. "I hope, if that day comes, you'll have your head on straight. There may come a day when your past comes a knocking...up to you if you answer that door."

He fell silent for a moment, jaw working, forehead creasing. When Cyrus remained still and quiet, Raziel raised his voice to a snarl. "Get out of here, Cyrus."

The sound of his own name coming from the demon was so foreign he stayed frozen for several more seconds until Raziel turned a fiery glare upon him. Debating only one moment longer, Cyrus lurched over to the door with Tuesday close behind.

He gave his ex-mentor one last look--the sight sinking in his stomach and curdling there--before leaving and shutting the door softly behind him.