I passed by the Darkness, checked how business was, and then I decided to take my weary bones home. I didn't have to go far, since my apartment is over the club.

An uninhabitable apartment before closing time, among other things.

The cost for soundproofing the club was already too high, it would have been impossible to soundproof the apartment too. So I halved the costs, using this very apartment to soundproof the Darkness roof. Besides, when I'm not home, I'm at the club, and the other way around.

I close the door behind me and sigh. Sin wasn't at the Darkness, so he must have gone home with someone. Or in a motel, a park, an alley, on a roof...

Ever heard of the game 'Where is the weirdest place you did it?' Well, he always wins.

But I was wrong.

When I reach for the light switch, I do it just to be sure. I don't need to see him to know that he's in the room. - Home already? - I ask as I turn the light on.

Sin's slender figure is curled up on the armrest of the armchair in the living room. He turns around a bit to look behind himself, where I stand. He squints his eyes, disturbed by the light. - I got bored, – he says.

- No one interesting at the club? - I ask while throwing my leather jacket on the coat rack.

He stretches, and then drops back down on the armchair crossing his long legs in an absurd way. I can't understand how he can be comfortable when he sits that way. But he's flexible, and that's a fact. In fact, it's a good quality.

He moans something as an answer.

Sometimes he makes strange noises instead of talking, some kind of moans, and in time I've come to learn to distinguish them. This one means something like, 'I don't want to talk about it, you're boring, what a drag...'

I enter the kitchen, and take a bottle from one of the shelves. - I've got some intel for you, - I say.

- Is he dead? - He cheerfully asks from the other room.

I reappear in the living room, and throw him a pill. He catches it, waiting for an answer with one raised eyebrow.

- Oh, hold on a sec, - I say - Can we talk now, or am I interrupting something? -

He flips me off.

He swallows the pill down with a swig of what he was drinking before I came in. Probably rum.

I grin. - No, he isn't. Well, at least not yet. He had surgery, but we will not know the outcome until tomorrow. Or at least until he wakes up, that is, if he does wake up. - I sit on the couch and stretch. The French window in the living room is open. Sin loves the cold, I love it a little bit less.

He rolls his head to stretch his neck muscles. - I want to sleep, - he says.

That's what he was doing here, he wanted to sleep, but I was not here. I smile.

- Oh, one last thing, - I say. I pull the gun out of my pocket and throw it to him. He catches it easily with a simple gesture of his right hand, he looks bored.

When he realizes what it is, the look in his eyes totally changes. - Did he give it to you? - He asks as he uncrosses his legs and sits up straight.

I nod. - He caught me while I was calling your informant. He told me to give it to you, that you'd understand. -

He jumps up with a movement that is more feline than human. And a chill of pure fear runs down my back. - What else did he say? -

I shake my head. - Nothing else. Then he disappeared as if he could teleport himself. -

- Tom! -

I shrug. - Really. He put a gun to my head, but then he decided not to shoot. It must be a family thing. - I smile. He slightly shakes his head and closes his eyes for a moment, a gesture he often does when something bothers him. I decide to continue the conversation with no more digressions. Crossing him now doesn't seem a smart idea.

To be honest it's never a smart move.

I sigh and shrug, then I lean on the table and pour some rum for myself too. - However, he wanted to know if your informant was Daniel, because he heard me talking on the phone. I did not answer, but he took it for granted. Then he gave me that gun and told me to give it to you, that you'd understand. I asked him if he wanted to come to the Darkness for a drink, but he disappeared and that's all. -

When I look up again, I find myself all alone in the living room.

I guess teleportation is a family thing too.

****

We are on the other side of the glass panel that divides the postoperative room from the inpatient ward. The two areas are, of course, connected.

Samuel looked at me sideways, he sharpened his eyes as he always does when he's trying to metabolize something that he's not sure yet whether he likes it or not, and then luckily, he decided to postpone the thought and go off somewhere else before metabolizing it. I don't know where he went, he didn't report to me.

His shift was over some ten hours ago, like mine, and, frankly, right now I don't care if he decided to go to a bar or directly to the hotel room that is provided to all those who undergo the interdimensional jump for work purposes.

She's still wearing the white coat that she was provided with in order to enter the postoperative room, and with that the hairnet and the surgical mask. She arbitrarily decided not to wear the shoe covers after having declared them pointless, since she was simply paying a visit to her son.

Trying to explain the possible risks of germ transmission to a patient recently operated to Clizia of Samirien would have probably led to Samuel's forced and untimely promotion.

Especially in this situation.

- Can you help him? - She asks. After several minutes of silence, her words strike me as being too loud, although she just whispered them.

- Not now, - I say. – He's too weak at the moment to bear a regeneration spell. His body is too unbalanced to accelerate regeneration without running any risks. -

I see her nodding out of the corner of my eye. We are staring both at him over the glass and at our own reflections on it.

- There is no one else, - she says.

My reflection opens its eyes wide. - I beg you pardon? - I ask turning to face her. But she's not looking at me, her eyes are set on her son who is lying in bed.

- Apart from him, I have no one left. If I lose him too... - She pauses. – I don't know, - she admits in the end.

As it often happens when I'm in her presence, I feel out of place.

I go back looking in front of me and I don't know what's crossing my mind.

- The culprit, - she says.

- Tears already took care of him, - I answer.

She nods. - And the instigator? - She asks.

I inhale. - We're having a few more problems with him, - I admit.

- Is it Sin? - She asks. My reflection just stares at her's on the glass in response. She closes her eyes for a moment, then she sighs. - It's my fault. -

My eyebrows disappear under my fringe. - The fault percentage that could be ascribed to you is so minimal that it could be easily omitted. Besides, establishing whose fault is it will not change the current state of things. -

She turns to look at me. I stare at my reflection on the glass. I see her raise a single eyebrow. - Which translated from your gobbledygook must mean something nice, I suppose. -

I swallow. She smiles at my reflection, then she puts her head on my shoulder. - Besides Zen, I've only got you, Naki, - she says, and I turn into a statue at those words. - What has become of me? - She mutters then.

I lightly smile.

****

I barely hear it when it happens. It's like someone had whispered in my ear. It's a whisper in the room. I keep my eyes on the chest drainage unit, as if it had been the device that was talking to me. I wait a few seconds that seem like hours, and then I hear it again.

I turn my head.

Zendaru's eyes are closed. His pulse, monitored by the machines, is normal. - Zen? - I ask. I see his eyelids flicker, and I grab the bed sheets, squeezing them in my hands. - Zen? -

A louder breath in my head, in his head. He slowly opens his eyes and his blue irises briefly stare at the ceiling.

Pain.

White.

Breathe.

- Zen? - I ask him. - Can you hear me? -

He closes his eyes and I see the pain on his face.

'Nadja'.

He recognized my voice. I smile. - Zen? - I try again.

'Date'.

I inspire loudly and snort out of frustration. - ZENDARU! -

He opens his eyes. – SHE'S HERE! - He finally says, and this time not in my head.

He turns and stares at me. - Nadja? - He says uncertain, his voice thick with sleep and the fact that he's still partially under anesthesia.

- Yes, - I confirm, and I smile. - How do you feel? -

He stares at me and winces. His reflexes are slow and he struggles to focus on my face. – Broken, - that's his answer. I smile again. He opens his eyes. – Is it late? -

- What? - I say. – Well, I think it's around ten, maybe ten thirty. - I look around for a clock.

- It's late! - He confirms. - The pastry shop must be closed by now! -

For a moment I fear something is wrong with his head, maybe he hit it when he fell down after being shot. Then, I understand that his brain is exactly as damaged as it was before the accident.

- I bailed out! - He says, his voice choked with grief. He tries to move once and he doesn't succeed, so he tries again.

I put my hands on his shoulders and tuck him back down. - Stand still, and don't move. The bakery must have closed and opened up again. It's ten in the morning. -

- What? - He exclaims. He tries to move again and I lay him flat on the mattress. The I.V. and the chest drainage unit's tube stretch for a moment, then he finally gives up and lets me adjust his pillows and sheets. He brings a hand to his forehead. - I feel... heavy... like stone, – he says.

- It's the anesthesia, and the painkillers. And it's only good that you feel this way, otherwise you'd be screaming in pain. At least, knowing you... -

He looks at me a bit crossed. - Well, I got shot, I would have a good reason to scream this time, - he mumbles.

I nod and smile. - It's true. And to be honest, I was expecting much more whining after you woke up. -

He raises his eyebrows assuming a superior expression. - Still, you should know that you're denying moral support to a gravely ill patient. -

I glare at him. – What are you talking about? Do you know who patched you up? -

- I'm not saying that you haven't done an excellent job, but you could reward me with a kiss, this time at least? - He joyfully smiles. Seeing him like this is such a relief. I sigh.

- Maybe it's true, but I don't like to have an audience. - I point to the glass that separates us from the adjoining ward. Zen turns his head and sees his mother, Nakiri and Tears, who is completely glued to the glass like a child against a pastry shop window.

When Zendaru turns to look at them, Tears flips him off and laughs.

An idiot...

Zen answers him the same way.

Two idiots.