"I'm called Zachariah the Clanless." Zac answered Brett's question. "Because I'm an exile. So, no. There's really no one."

Zac studied the floor. He'd had a family, once. They took him in after his own blood kin discarded him. They were human, and they were kind, and they all died. They didn't mean to abandon him but they did.

"But you shouldn't feel obligated," Zac continued. "I've made it on my own for this long.”

“That doesn't make me feel better,” Brett muttered. “What if you get sick, or injured? What if those bastards come after you again? You should have someone around to watch your back.”

“It's just not safe," Skye agreed. "We still don't know why the Initiative wanted you."

Zac shuddered, remembering the make-shift lab.

“Don't worry,” Zac said to Skye, “I understand, you feel like you need help protecting your family. And I did promise to help you learn how to control your abilities. I'll do that, regardless of whether your parents offer to shelter me. It is my duty and privilege to help another Crimson Dancer.”

"Well it's my duty and privilege to protect and care for my Scythes," Skye said, chin jutting out. "I've a duty of care to you because I forcibly altered your magic core."

"Oh." Zac blinked. He didn't feel all that different. He didn't think. Shouldn't he be able to tell if something that central to his nature had changed?

"You did what?" Brett yelped.

"It was to save my life," Zac pointed out. Then, he sat back against the wall to think. Both humans waited, giving him the space he needed. There was sound reasoning behind Skye's argument, and genuine concern behind Brett's offer. And. Well. Zac didn't relish the thought of finding himself in the custody of the Initiative again. He could protect himself, sure, but he needed to eat, drink, and rest. There would be times when he was vulnerable.

He remembered, then, the moment he'd realized there was no one to come for him. The moment he'd lain helpless at the feet of men who hated him just for existing. He'd stared up at a man he'd thought was his friend and saw only disdain in his eyes. And he'd realized no one would even know to look for him, let alone be able to rescue him. He'd been alone. Helpless. 

Skye and her family were offering what he had not had in so long. Someone to look for him if he went missing. Someone to care where he was.

How could he turn his back on that?

And how could he turn his back on Skye? She was a child. She was even more vulnerable than he was in many ways. 

"I'll stay with you," Zac decided. "For now. You're right. It's not safe to be alone. For any of us."

"Thank you," Brett said. There was sincerity in the man's voice. "Are we ready to go?"

Skye nodded, just as her phone chimed in her pocket. She shifted the trunk to a one armed grip that made even Zac boggle slightly and pulled the phone to her ear.

“Oh, hey, just the man I wanted to yell obscenities at," Skye said into the phone. "You're lucky my father's right here and I don't feel like shattering his illusions.”

“What illusions?” Brett muttered. 

“So, Jake. We need to talk," Skye continued, voice frighteningly cheerful, "I sent you my report, so you know damn well what I'm talking about. The 'incidental civilian' you asked about? Yeah, he's with me. He's an elf, he was their captive, and he helped me save a bunch of them for reasons I cannot personally fathom. I think he's just a good person.”

Zac didn't think he was that good of a person. He just did what came naturally. He was a Crimson Dancer. He fought. 

“Yeah, so, I can't find a file on him even though he's living right on campus, where my father works." Skye's voice picked up a slight edge. "I thought you had people monitoring my family, huh? Isn't that what you promised me? That if I worked for you, my parents would be kept safe?”

Zac could faintly hear the voice over the line. He heard the man stammer something consolatory.

“Of course he's not a threat to my Dad!" Skye replied, "But there should still be a file. And someone should have been checking in on him! He's 356 years old!”

Silence on the other end.

“Yeah. Exactly." Skye said, "You know what the equivalent age to that is for a human? I'll give you a hint: he does not belong on a college campus. He should be in high school! Barely!”

Zac blinked and looked over at Brett, who was staring at him in dawning horror. 

“No, that's not-” Zac began. 

“Yes, I'm sure that's the age he told me," Skye said. "Yes, I'm sure he wasn't lying. He literally cannot lie to me, Jake.” 

What now? He could lie if he wanted. He didn't, certainly not about something as petty as his true age, but he could.

“You know why," Skye paused, then shook her head. "Oh, wait, that got left out of my report so you don't know why. Never mind. Point is, he is that age, the Aspect checked. He's a damn kid, Jake, and he's been left hanging with no one to help him for how long now? The agents who did a threat assessment should've pinged this situation and he should at least have had some damn warning! He was eating breakfast with a Hunt Initiative agent!” 

How did Skye even know that? Oh, he'd told her that Alex used drugged coffee to capture him. She was very good at extrapolation.

“No, I don't want you to do anything about the situation. I have that under control, now," Skye said, "What I want is for you to make damn sure it does not happen again to anyone else on your watch! I don't care how you do it, you do it!”

Silence, and then what sounded like sheepish assent on the other end.

“Thank you," Skye's voice shifted from angry and sharp to crisp and professional. "Now. You called me, and since you already have my report and I told you I had the civilian secure, I assume there's a reason?”

The voice spoke again, audibly trying to collect his shattered pride. 

“A mission?" Skye yelped. "It's been less than 48 hours, Jake! I'm good, man, but I need to recharge!”

The voice spoke.

“It's always an emergency," Skye grumbled. "Fine, I'll hear you out. But we're not doing this the old way. My parents know. Yes, that's where I went. I literally just said that my father was here next to me.” 

A squawk.

“Because I trust them," Skye replied. "I know they won't try to manipulate him into anything.”

A softer, shamed squawk.

“You can say that to them," Skye said. Her voice softened for a moment. "I know you were doing what you thought was right, if that's any help. Anyway. You want me on this job? You convince my parents it's that important. Bring coffee. Fatima's, yes. We'll be home in roughly 45 minutes. If it's more of an emergency than that, send in a couple necromancers to hold the line.”

The voice said something soft.

“Oh, we have that long? Great. Hardly an emergency at all.”

Skye hung up the phone before the voice could respond.

The ride back to the house was largely silent, beyond a short discussion between Skye and her father concerning that phone call.

“Are you planning on taking this job?” Brett asked, voice neutral.

“If it’s really an emergency, I should,” Skye said. “Don’t tell him I said this, but Jake’s actually surprisingly good at determining whether a job calls for the big guns, or if another agent or a group of agents can handle it.”

“And you’re the big guns?” Brett asked.

“Well... I’m not the biggest, but, yeah, pretty high caliber.” Skye paused, seeing something in her father’s expression Zac missed from the back seat. “They really don’t like to send me in, Dad. Jake has messed up more than once, sending someone else or hesitating to send me in when I could just,” she snapped her fingers, “handle something. Because I’m so young. But I am Death, well, the avatar thereof, and sometimes I’m just the right person for the job.”

“I know that. The Aspect explained it, often enough,” Brett sighed. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I know. And I am so very sorry.”

Zac blinked. That wasn’t Skye. That was the Aspect. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was certain that if he could see her eyes, they would be blazing silver. 

Brett didn’t seem to register the switch. “You can’t help what you are, Sweetie. You don't have to be sorry.”

Neither Skye nor the Reaper replied.

They pulled into the driveway shortly after that. Zac handed Skye his backpack before she could try to carry the steamer trunk in full view of her neighbors. Zac and Brett lifted the trunk down, even though Zac could have done it alone, and Brett pulled it up the driveway because Zac was “a guest.” 

Inside, Brett wandered off to inform Rose of their impending visitor while Skye and Zac retreated to the guest room to help Zac settle in.

“Is this room okay?” Skye asked. “I wouldn’t mind switching.”

Zac shrugged. “It’s perfectly fine.” He paused. “Your parents really don’t mind me being here?”

Skye said, "They've decided you're the reason I came home. They're more than happy for you to stay." 

“Can I ask you a couple questions?” Zac asked, pulling his laptop out and looking around for a place to rest it. The chest of drawers would be fine. If he needed to do any extended typing he was sure the Rowans wouldn’t mind him using the kitchen table.

“Sure,” Skye said. 

“When the Reaper speaks through you how much of that is it, how much is you? Does the Aspect really feel, um, guilt? Sorrow?”

Skye tilted her head. “Start with the hard one, huh?” 

“Sorry.” Zac winced.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just hard to know how to answer.” She paused. “Does the Aspect feel? I think so, after a fashion. Its emotions do filter through my experience, if that makes any sense. You, um. When I went down, in the mall, you carried the Aspect and fought. Right?”

“Yeah," Zac said.

“You remember how that felt?” she asked.

He’d never forget. “Yeah.”

“In the moment, it’s kind of hard to separate ‘me’ from the Aspect,” Skye admitted. “And after, I’m never sure how much of what I remember is the Aspect’s feelings, I guess, and how much is my interpretation of the Aspect.”

Zac nodded slowly. That did match his experience pretty well. At least he remembered what happened. When he entered the Blood Trance he never knew what he did, what had happened. He could only look at the aftermath and hope there were survivors willing to tell him what he’d done, and to whom.

“Sorry I can’t give you a better answer,” Skye said.

“It’s fine,” Zac paused. “There’s something else.”

“Yeah?” Skye tilted her head.

“Why do you think I’m a kid?” Zac asked. “I’m over three hundred years old.”

“Because you are not the first elf I’ve known. I’ve mentioned Steve a couple times?”

“In passing.” Zac said. “I think you said he was your first partner. You said you shot your first partner.”

Had this ‘Steve’ given Skye a reason to think she needed to defend herself? If he had, well, Zac was a fair hand with a gun as well. 

And he didn’t shoot to wound.

“It wasn’t his fault, exactly,” Skye said, “He thought Jake was exaggerating how hair trigger my threat response was and didn’t make sure I knew it was him, before getting in reach. And then he tapped my shoulder to get my attention.”

Zac winced. “Rookie move. Never touch a Crimson Dancer when they can’t see you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been told to expect rookie moves from him, because he’s only just old enough to be away from his clan on his own.” Skye crossed her arms. “And he’s well over 500.”

“Oh.” Zac wasn't sure what to say in response to that, so he turned his attention back to unpacking.

Zac ducked into the bathroom to arrange his toothbrush, toothpaste, etc on the sink and to give himself a moment. He looked into the mirror. He’d assumed himself basically full grown. He was only a little shorter than most of the human college students. Perhaps a little more slender, but that was to be expected for his species. The mirror showed him the same as he had been before the mall, perhaps a little more battered but that would fade. 

He didn’t think of himself as a child. But she seemed so certain. And she had no reason to lie.

When he stepped into the room, Skye was maneuvering a small bookshelf, just under her height and maybe two feet wide, into the space between the window and the corner. 

“Thought you’d like a bookshelf,” she explained. “This one was just collecting dust in the garage. Sorry it’s so small.”

“It’s fine," Zac said. "That’s extremely considerate of you.”

“I know a scholar when I see one,” Skye said. “We’ll figure out a desk, too. There should be just enough room in here if you’re not claustrophobic.” Skye paused. “Are you?”

Zac shook his head. “Not really, no. You don’t have to go to so much trouble, though.”

“It’s not much trouble.” Skye shrugged. “And I know you don’t plan on staying long. That’s fine. Even if you decide to stay on your own, you’ll have a place to crash if you ever need it. During school holidays and stuff. That’d be nice, right?”

Zac had to admit that the campus was not the most welcoming place when most students were home for break. And he stood out and needed to come up with excuses for why he was still there. Maybe she had a point. 

By the time he’d put a few shirts, jeans, and underthings into the dresser from the steamer trunk and Skye had arranged his selection of books, there was a knock on the front door.

“Showtime,” Skye said with a feral grin.