Dawn crept into the village like a cautious traveler, its light seeping through the slits of the shutters and painting the room in hues of soft gold and amber. Theory had fallen into a restless sleep, his dreams a tangled weave of fire and shadow, of Niro's stern countenance melting into Caspian's smirking visage.

He awoke with a start, the remnants of his dream clinging to him like cobwebs. His body was a map of aches, each muscle twinging with the memory of the previous day's ordeal. With a groan, he pushed himself upright and swung his legs off the bed, his feet meeting the cold wooden floor.

The room was silent, the absence of Niro palpable. The Breeder had not yet returned from his supply run, leaving Theory in the quiet company of his own thoughts. Thoughts that now lingered on Caspian's parting words, the offer of help, and the insistent warning against the tonic.

The vial seemed to mock him from its hiding place. To take or not to take? The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. He resolved to leave the vial untouched, at least for now, to explore other avenues that did not lead to dependence or despair.

He dressed quietly, his movements methodical, as if by focusing on the mundane, he could keep the chaos at bay. As he finished, his stomach gave a low growl, a reminder of needs more immediate than the impending storm of his heat.

Descending to the tavern, Theory found it sparsely populated at this early hora. He chose a secluded table near the back, ordering a simple breakfast with a side of strong, black brew. As he waited for his meal, his eyes scanned the room, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of either Niro or Caspian amidst the rising patrons. But the faces that met his gaze were unfamiliar, wrapped up in their own beginnings.

He ate in solitude, his mind drifting to the events that awaited them once they departed from this temporary haven. Faltaire was known for its unpredictability, a land where one's mettle was tested by more than just the elements. The thought of traversing such a landscape with Niro was reassuring; the addition of Caspian to their ranks was a variable he had yet to reconcile with.

Returning to his room, Theory found it just as he had left it, the bed unmade, the air still carrying the faint scent of yesterday's incense. But there was a shift in the atmosphere, an unspoken promise that lingered in the space Caspian had occupied.

With Niro still absent, Theory made his way to the front desk, inquiring after the Breeder's whereabouts. The innkeeper, a portly male Pixie with a permanent apron stained from years of service, offered only a nonchalant shrug.

"Folk like him don't tend to say where they're going. But they always come back, one way or another. Your friend's no different, I reckon."

Unsatisfied, but not unduly worried—Niro had always been capable of taking care of himself—Theory decided to use the time to gather his own supplies. If he was to forego the tonic, he'd need alternative remedies to manage his condition. He remembered hearing about a local apothecary, a place where one might find natural elixirs and herbs, things that could ease a transition that he'd been artificially suppressing for far too long.

As he stepped out into the crisp morn air, the village stretched out before him, a tapestry of life and activity. Merchants were opening their stalls, the sounds of livestock mixed with the calls of traders and the laughter of children playing in the streets.

Theory made his way through the cobblestone lanes, each step taking him further from the inn and deeper into the heart of the village. His thoughts were a whirl of strategies and scenarios, plans forming and reforming with each new piece of information he gleaned from the snippets of conversation that floated to his ears.

Finding the apothecary was easy enough; it was a quaint shop with an assortment of jars and bottles displayed in the window, each filled with contents more colorful and mysterious than the last. The bell above the door announced his entry, and he was greeted by the earthy aroma of dried herbs and the subtle tang of minerals and salts.

The apothecarist, a wizened Vampire with spectacles perched precariously on her nose, peered at him with a keen eye. Theory explained his needs in a careful, roundabout way, and the female nodded, understanding more than he said.

She provided him with a small cache of goods, potions, and balms, along with advice on how to use them—when to seek warmth, when to embrace coolness, how to find balance in the throes of fire.

With his purchases secured in a leather pouch, Theory stepped back into the village, a sense of purpose steadying his stride. He was preparing for a battle of his own body and spirit, one that he would not face alone, but with the help of those who had, against all odds, become his unlikely guardians.

And as the sun climbed higher, marking the passage of time with its relentless ascent, Theory returned to the inn to await Niro's return, and to prepare for whatever the future might hold.

When the door creaked open, and Niro stepped into the room, the air around him practically crackled with a brooding energy. Theory, who had been sorting through his new supplies, glanced up and immediately sensed the shift in Niro's mood. The atmosphere felt heavier, suffused with an unspoken anger that seemed to emanate from the Breeder.

Theory hesitated, biting back the questions that sprang to mind. The telltale glint of red in Niro's eyes was warning enough that now was not the time for probing. Instead, his gaze was drawn to a faint glow emanating from beneath the bandages that wound around Niro's waist—a curiosity that had always lingered at the back of his mind.

"Why do you always wear those?" Theory found himself asking before he could rein in his curiosity. "Are you covering a scar?"

Niro's glare was as sharp as a blade, and he gave no answer, just a simmering silence that seemed to fill the room with static.

The tension between them grew taut, and Theory's own temper flared in response to the standoffish attitude. "What's with you?" he challenged, unable to contain his frustration any longer.

Niro closed the distance between them in a few short strides, his expression darkening. "Just because I helped you through your heat, doesn't mean I've forgotten what you've done," he growled, the words laced with a bitterness that took Theory by surprise.

Anger bubbled up in Theory, a hot, seething torrent. "Tell me, Veniro. Just what the fuck do you think I've done?" he spat back.

The scorn on Niro's face was palpable. "You mean you don't remember? How you left your comrades to die? Burned them to death while you turned tail and ran? But I know nothing, right?" The sneer twisted Niro's features, transforming his usual stoic appearance into something malevolent.

He must really be itching for a fight if he was bringing that up.

"I don't know what crawled up your ass and died, but don't fucking take it out on me," Theory shot back, his voice a venomous hiss.

Niro cornered him, his body a wall of muscle and barely contained rage. "I'll do whatever the fuck I want with you, and I'd bet you'd fucking beg me for it. It's what your kind does." His breath was hot against Theory's neck, and Theory could feel the danger in his proximity. "We can smell it, Carrier. Taste it," Niro murmured, his voice dropping to a taunting tone. "Is that what happened to them? You tempt them with your heat, beg them to take you, then killed them when they refused?"

The words were like a physical blow, forcing memories to the surface that Theory had tried to bury deep within himself—the jeers, the hatred, the flames. He could still hear the crackling of the fire, the screams that had followed. He remembered the pain, the betrayal, and the desperation to survive.

"Just like you to assume it was me. That it was my fault." Theory's voice broke through the room with a raw edge. "I didn't set that fire, in case you've forgotten, I can't. They did." His breath came in ragged gasps as he recounted the truth of the tragic incident.

The red in Niro's eyes burned with accusation and contempt, but Theory's own anger sparked to life, defiant and ready to sear the truth into the open.

"You want to know what happened? Fine." Theory's voice was a tight coil of emotion, each word laced with venom and pain. "You think you've got it all figured out, don't you? The Carrier, the weak link, is always the first to be blamed."

Niro's expression didn't change, but he remained silent.

"We were assigned to a task, a simple extraction," Theory began, his eyes not leaving Niro's. "A straightforward mission, get in, get out. But things went sideways, as they often do. An ambush, enemies jumping out from every damn shadow."

He paused, the memories surging like a tide within him. "I saved them. Me, the Carrier they loved to mock. I took down more than my share, covered their retreat, and dragged their sorry asses out of the fire. Literally."

Niro's brow furrowed, a crack in his stoic facade.

"And what did I get for my trouble?" Theory's laugh was hollow, void of any real humor. "A pat on the back and a sack of coins heavier than their pride. They couldn't stand it, that they owed their lives to someone like me. It ate at them, that festering wound of pride."

Niro shifted, the intensity of his gaze faltering as Theory's story unfolded.

"The next mission, they planned to settle the score. It was supposed to be my end—trapped in a blaze of their making. Poetic justice for the broken fire Shifter with no affinity for fire. They cornered me in the dead of night, outside the camp. Flames danced in their eyes before they even struck the match. They wanted to watch me burn, to reclaim their twisted sense of honor."

Theory's fists clenched, his knuckles paleing. "But the fire they started turned on them. The wind shifted, and the flames roared back. I managed to break free, but they..." He trailed off, his throat tight.

"They didn't make it out. And you know what? I don't mourn them. They got what they deserved." Theory's gaze was steely, unyielding. "I didn't light that fire, Niro. I'm no monster. And if that's too hard for you to understand, then that's your problem. I survived, and I won't ever feel sorry for that."

Niro stepped back, the red in his eyes dimming. For the first time, uncertainty flickered across his face.

"You're a fire Shifter. You should be impervious to fire," Niro growled.

Theory laughed again. "Yeah, well, I'm not. My blood burns hot, my body even hotter. Sometimes I can even taste smoke. But guess what, fire fucking hurts."

Niro blinked at him, still seeming to process this new weakness Theory had revealed. 

Theory straightened up, his chest heaving with the effort of his confession. "You want to hate me for surviving? Go ahead. But don't you dare paint me as the villain in their deaths. They made their choice, and I made mine."

With that, Theory pushed past Niro.

Theory couldn't fathom why Niro would care about those Breeders—they weren't friends, had never been close. This was just a way for Niro to project his anger, to find a reason to hate.

Without another word, Theory snatched up his belongings, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear, anger, and a determination to escape the oppressive energy of the room. He needed space, needed to breathe, needed to be away from the male who looked at him as if he were a monster.

He stormed out of the room, his destination clear. Caspian's room, the stranger who had offered aid without judgment, who had promised a respite from the turmoil. Theory would take his chances there, with the Incubus who, despite his enigmatic ways, had shown more understanding than the one he thought he knew.

And as he walked away, he realized that no matter what Niro—or anyone—thought of him, he could stand tall in his truth. He had survived, and he would continue to do so, against all odds.