Finch had been prepared to watch with great anxiety as Shadow climbed down from the roof, ready to grab him at the slightest sign of lost balance, but Shadow turned and moved backwards down the roof tiles like it was nothing and then dropped himself effortlessly onto the railing before hopping the rest of the way to the ground.

Finch had to go far more slowly and carefully. He wasn’t too concerned about what would happen if he fell off the roof, but he still didn’t want to. Shadow waited for him by the door, patient and silent, and once Finch was down, they went inside together.

“Ah!” Adin said when he saw them. “You found him. Where was he?”

“On the roof,” Finch said.

“Oh,” Adin said. “I wish you wouldn’t do that, Shadow. I don’t mind giving you as much space as you need, but you’re here because someone wants to kill you. It worries me when you go missing.”

Shadow nodded, though what that meant, Finch didn’t know.

“I’d set rules, but I compared having parents to being a slave five fucking minutes ago, so that might be a little hypocritical,” Finch said as he walked over and opened the fridge. “What do you want to eat, Shadow? We’ve got… I don’t know. I haven’t opened the fridge in like a week because I just eat whatever Adin puts in front of me.”

“I’ll make you something,” Adin told Shadow. “What do you like? We have fruit, eggs, I can make sandwiches, noodles, soup…”

Shadow went to his bag, retrieved a moderately smooshed loaf of bread, and brought it to Adin. “Sandwiches.”

Adin’s smile faltered as he held up the bread, but only momentarily. “No problem. What would you like on your sandwiches?”

“Cheese?”

“I can do that. Why don’t you sit down at the table while I make that for you?”

Shadow sat. Finch sat next to him.

Shadow’s eyes were sensitive to the light. He didn’t make a big deal about it, but it was obvious from the way he kept his gaze downcast and kept blinking and squinting his eyes, his whole face subtly tense, that he’d been more comfortable outside in the darkness of night. In the kitchen light, his pupils were contracted to pinpricks within those strange pale blue irises, like the light was something his body was actively trying to shut out.

"Your eyes are, uh…" Finch waved his hand vaguely.

“Photosensitive?” Shadow volunteered. 

Finch didn’t know what that meant and he never would have come up with it on his own, but Shadow sounded confident. “Yeah. Seems like the light is bothering you.”

“It’s dark where I’m from.”

It was technically against house rules, but Finch risked a question. “You miss it?”

“The dark…” Shadow said.

“You miss the part where the light didn’t hurt your fucking eyes?”

This whole time Finch had felt like there was a disconnect between himself and Shadow, like his words weren’t quite getting through. So when Shadow lifted his head just slightly and gave him a hint of a smile, it caught Finch off guard. "Yeah."

Once Adin finished the sandwiches and set the plate down in front of Shadow, Finch got up and turned off the kitchen lights. The room dropped to the dim glow of the lamp on Adin's desk, and the change was immediate—Shadow's shoulders dropped, and his gaze lifted to move freely around the room for the first time since he'd come inside.

Finch sat back down, across from Shadow this time, and immediately noticed Shadow’s gaze land on the brand that marred the inside of Finch’s wrist. Finch gave him a shake of his head. If Shadow asked, he wasn’t answering. 

Tyla had asked about it on his first day living in the house, and Finch had felt so bad for him that he’d actually answered. Tyla, recently introduced to the concept of tattoos, had innocently assumed that it was just another form of body art. The rough, raised lines etched vertically down Finch's wrist were not that. It had taken everyone else in Finch’s life years to get to the point where he’d felt comfortable talking about it, and someone so close to Luther wouldn’t be an exception like Tyla had been.

That was an issue of personal boundaries, though. When it came to how they dealt with Shadow in a more general sense, it really wasn’t going to work to treat him like an extension of Luther. He might be a part of their lives for months. He had to be able to live here comfortably.

Finch's phone buzzed against his thigh. He fished it out, glanced at the screen. Unknown caller. He answered anyway. "Yeah?"

"Ah, Finch," Luther's voice said from the other end of the line, smooth and unhurried. “How is Shadow settling in?”

“Well, I just had to get him down off the roof, so, y’know…”

“Why did you need to get him down from the roof?”

“I don’t know why he was on the roof.”

“Because he wanted to be on the roof, obviously. Why did you need to get him down?”

Finch was silent for a moment. “That’s not a good question, but I still don’t know how to fucking answer it.”

“Mm. Can I speak to Shadow, since he is no longer on the roof?”

“Sure.” Finch set his phone on the table and slid it across to Shadow. “Talk to your dad.”

Shadow picked the phone up and placed it against his ear. Finch had been preparing to eavesdrop, but as soon as Shadow started talking, it became clear that wouldn’t be happening. He had the ability to talk so quietly that Finch couldn’t make out a single word he was saying from just across the table. He wasn’t even really whispering. Not muttering. Just… talking quietly, like the volume on his voice had been turned down.

It sure as fuck put to rest any ideas that Shadow was incapable of putting a sentence together. He was saying plenty, and he seemed agitated about it—his free hand fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, his brow furrowed, the closest thing to emotion Finch had seen on his face since he’d arrived. Finally, Shadow sighed and slid the phone back across the table.

Finch picked it up. "He been telling you all about what terrible hosts we are?"

“No, Finch,” Luther said. “He was worried for my safety. Why? Have you been bad hosts?”

“Well, apparently not letting him climb all over the roof is being a bad host. Who knew.”

“Just let him be. He can take care of himself. If you insist on doing something other than leaving him alone, try sparring with him. It might help you take him a little more seriously.”

“Are you suggesting I wouldn’t just kill him in a fight?”

“That’s why I said spar, not fight. Do you have no ability to moderate your strength? I could kill him easily, but that doesn’t mean we can’t spar. I just show a modicum of self restraint and don’t cave his face in with my fist.”

“I was just asking because I don’t know what the fuck he can and can’t do, you dipshit.”

“Go find out,” Luther said, and hung up.

Finch set the phone down and looked at Shadow, who was eating the last of his sandwich. "Your dad thinks I should spar with you."

Shadow nodded. “I heard.”

“Do you want to spar?”

Shadow nodded.

They went outside and turned the light on above the back door. It still wasn’t exactly well lit, but Finch suspected that wouldn’t be a problem for Shadow.

“Okay, ground rules,” Finch said. “I can take a hit, so unless you secretly have crazy super strength, go nuts. I’m going to be holding back on how hard I hit you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be willing to knock you down.”

Shadow nodded.

It started slow. Finch deliberately let a couple of Shadow's hits land just to show him they wouldn't faze him, though if Shadow was used to sparring with Luther, that'd be nothing new. Shadow's strikes were quick and precise but light—testing, feeling out Finch’s guard. 

Finch tried to clip him with something gentle to test his limits, but there was almost no gap between his own movements and Shadow's reactions. Before Finch could finish a strike, Shadow was already somewhere else. It wasn't quite preternatural, at least not in a way Finch could pin down. He could track Shadow's movements with his eyes. The guy was just damn fast.

Finch swung again, and this time when Shadow leant back, Finch pushed forward to take advantage of him being momentarily off balance. It should have worked. Instead, Shadow twisted around and sprang upward, a hand pressing down on Finch's shoulder—barely any weight behind it, just using him as a pivot point—and then Shadow was behind him and Finch's foot was being swept out from under him. He landed flat on his back, staring up at the night sky.

He lay there for a second, processing that.

"Huh," Finch said as Shadow offered him a hand up. "Okay. You can sit on the roof as much as you want."