“Don’t move too fast.”

Rainwater was pattering down around them. Snag’s hair and beard were wet.

“Let me help. I have the things.”

Snag didn’t move. Water joined blood and trailed down his arm to fingertips, then joined mud.

The first of the lines faded.

“You could let me go,” Snag said. “If you had any mercy in you at all.”

“If I let you go, you’ll come after me again.”

“Yes,” Snag said.

He felt the faint tingle of the lines start to fade. The boy hit him again. Two more. One at the neck.

“No,” the boy said.

Snag took a step forward. With his second step, he brought his one intact arm up, and drove it down in a heavy punch. The boy let himself be hit, only bringing his arms up to shield himself.

The impact, dampened as it was, vibrated through Snag’s body. He felt the line at his neck rupture. The blood from his head and neck flowed down and out through the open wound, which extended from shoulder blade to clavicle. With the blood, he felt his thoughts struggle, and he dropped to the ground.

⊙

He was back in the room.

No dream to precede it. No others.

There was a surrender in the moment, as he stood there, and realized why he was there.

Frustration peaked, and then dissipated.

Anger flowed freely, then found it had nowhere to go and nowhere to settle.

He was alone in the room, and for once, there was none of the chaos. None of the jostling or noise, no babble, no overflowing emotion.

He felt like himself again.

No anger, no numbness. He missed his brother, his store. Was it that the connection had been severed, or that this mad quest had ended? His time as a cape was over. There was no going back.

Light and shadow distorted, becoming vague impressions of people that clarified into the people themselves. The Fallen boy was in his room now, bending down to pick up his chair. The boy looked in Jonathan’s direction.

“You really did it,” Cradle said.

Love Lost appeared at nearly the same time. She approached the dais with a quick stride. She met Jonathan’s eyes, looked down.

Jonathan touched the wounds of his arm, his wet beard. There was no pain as he touched the wound at his neck.

The light in Jonathan’s fifth of the room dimmed, then returned to its normal strength.

“I don’t get it,” the Fallen boy said. “I don’t see why you’d die just to hurt me.”

“I hope that by the time she and I get to you, you will get it,” Cradle said.

“Cradle,” Jonathan said. “The way we’re going about this—”

The lights dimmed as he spoke.

“I can barely hear you, Snag,” Cradle said.