They reached her house ten minutes later. She opened the front gate. He followed her up the footpath to the porch. He had to duck beneath the vines that trailed from the overhang. Loose dead ivy leaves stuck in his hair. He waited, quiet, eyes averted, hands in pockets. Muscles stood out on either side of his clenched jaw, like they did when he had something to say and was trying not to say it.

Kai searched her purse for her keys, found them, kept searching. She closed her eyes and leaned against the door.

She thought of the red notebook in her bag, but all she felt was tired. One more conspiracy, one more chance to jump in and try to save the world. Always throwing herself at other people’s problems. Sickening, and a sign of sickness. Stand aside. Let go. Accept.

“Are you okay?”

She took the key from her purse, slid it into the lock, turned the knob sharply as if breaking a kitten’s neck. The house received her, warm and empty, walls and furniture and the drug dealers’ bad shag carpet. She should get a pet. A dog, maybe. A big, noble dog. One of those with floppy ears. Strong across the shoulders. Happy to see her.

“Would you like to come inside,” she said. It wasn’t a question. For a sentence to be a question, you had to care about the other person’s answer.

He stood at uneasy equilibrium, not quite balanced, not quite falling. She prepared for him to ask—are you sure. Is this what you really want. You’re upset. Whatever happened to you tonight, it set you off, and it wouldn’t be right of me to take advantage. Prescient, telepathic, she saw him form all those answers, all those ways to say no and make her feel a fool for asking.

She dreaded his voice. Even if he said yes, she thought, she’d close the door in his face.

He stepped inside. He took her in his arms. They kissed like crashing rocks. Their teeth touched. He smelled of sweat and scorn and so did she. They broke, separated, saw each other: her dead eyes reflected in his own. She closed the door. The latch clicked. She left her cane propped against the wall and with the wall’s help walked to the stairs, pulling him behind her, up to the bedroom they had last shared months ago, the bedroom hung with charcoal drawings and dark curtains. A spider crawled across her down comforter. She swept it away with the back of her hand.

His jacket fell to the floor behind him. As she watched he pulled his polo shirt off over his head. She hadn’t turned the lights on, and he did not, either. Scars crossed his chest and arms, where the Penitents once and forever broke him.