"Genevieve." Fiero was waiting for her in her room, after she had finished up in the kitchen for the night. Something was off. He wore his hood up and he had clearly been pacing the floor because he was moving when she walked in.

"Fiero, is everything alright," she asked, concern took over any self-conscious memory of their last meeting. Shock froze her in the doorway. She was unable to feel totally at ease, in case he was injured again. As much as she wanted to see his chest and shoulders, she didn't want to be distracted by cuts that needed sewing up.

"I've come to ask for a favour," he told her solemnly as he passed her to close the door himself. He approached carefully, taking off his hood to reveal a face worn-down by the day. His eyes were focused and mouth drawn in a straight line. There was no playfulness anywhere, not in his face, his attitude or stature.

"Ask anything," Genevieve replied confidently, refusing to allow Fiero's stilted and agitated state overcome her calm. She promised herself that she would be more composed the next time she saw Fiero. Now was her opportunity.

Fiero nodded and reached for her hand. His were rough but gentle as he pressed a brown token bag into it, the size of a handkerchief. Something chinked inside, like coin, before settling again.

"Genevieve, this is very important," he spoke directly to her face, not a foot away, "You must guard this with your life." Of course, she wanted to ask what it was but she resisted, instead, meeting his grave gaze with solemnity. She nodded.

"I'll come back for it, but you must keep it hidden in your room. Somewhere no one would think to look," he continued, letting her go. Again, she nodded, feeling the surprising weight of the bag as he dropped his support. His eyes were calculating again as he stared at her. It was almost as though he was going to take back his trust in her, and take back the bag. Genevieve even suspected a hint of jealously in his eyes. He frowned, evidently deciding against second-guessing his decision. "I must leave," he told her, squeezing her shoulders affectionately, "Remember, if it goes missing then your life is forfeit."

"I understand," she replied. As he walked to the window, a question occurred to her, "Fiero, when will you be back? How long will I have this for?"

"I'll be back within the month. Remember Genevieve..."

"Yes, Fiero, don't worry. I'll take care of it," she interrupted and gave what she hoped was a confident smile, "I'll be right here." The corner of his mouth tugged but didn't develop into his any of his usual smiles. He soared out the window and Genevieve drew her curtains against all the night's prying eyes.

The bag had a weight to it and without a second thought, she upturned it onto her bed. There was no way that she would guard something with her life without knowing what it was, though she saw the irony in accepting the challenge before she could find out.

There were three large discs inside with diameters larger than her palm but smaller than her fingers outstretched. They were solid and weighty, coloured gold and flecked with silver. One side was bare and subtly rough, like tight hessian. The embossed face had a red cross on it, even in each extension of its arm that thickened to twice the width of the middle. Genevieve traced her fingers over it. She hadn't seen anything like it before. Upon closer inspection, parts of the edges were a little worn. None of the three was shiny new. She couldn't guess how old these relics were.

Curious, Genevieve looked around her room thoughtfully. Her eyes landed on the perfect hiding spot and she got to work.

It was dark, one morning, when Genevieve was still asleep. She'd had an exhausting day of work, the day before, and didn't hear Fiero enter. Her blankets were drawn over her shoulder and she lay on her side, lightly snoring in the chilly air of her room.

Seeing she was asleep and hadn't noticed him, Fiero didn't immediately come over to her. His leathered shoes tip-toped around the room, looking, looking, looking. He quietly opened her dresser drawer and rummaged through. He pulled the dresser from the wall and felt in behind it. The sewing machine in the corner was new to its position there and he slowly inspected it too. He opened the drawers and tucked his hand in to feel the bottom of the tabletop. But there was nothing to be felt. The tall cupboard was next and he opened the door and used his hands to investigate every square inch of the dark enclosure. Still nothing. This went on for some time. Fiero pulled up her rugs and scrutinised the floorboards beneath. He examined her curtains, window frames and walls.

"Genevieve," he whispered, giving up and approaching the bed. Genevieve didn't stir. He sat down next to her, taking off his gloves and running a hand over her shoulder.

Genevieve flinched badly, cried out and scrambled away from him across the bed. Her hand flung out towards him. Fiero saw it coming and grabbed it, holding it steady. His eyes, more accustomed to the dark, saw the blade of the knife in her clenched fist. She yelped in surprised.

"Shhh, it's me," he scolded her, "Is that my knife?"

Her breath came fast as her eyes adjusted. She laughed, like she did when she scared him those months ago. Fiero considered this an odd reaction to terror but it was infectious and he had to smile.

"Thank God, it's you!" she whispered. She took a few more breaths, then, "Oh you're here for your items!"

"No," he said, still holding her fist, keeping her attention on him. His tone changed back to serious, "I only need to know where you hid them." He unfurled her fist and took the knife from her, threading it through one of his various leather belts, and let her go. She was going to hurt herself or someone with it.

She twisted where she sat and reached down between the mattress and the headboard of the bed. Using both hands, she felt around for a few minutes before extracting the token bag he had given her. Relief washed over him as he fingered the relics through the bag.

"Will you take them with you?" she asked after a while. He realised he had sat silent, thinking about the three large discs inside the bag.

"Not yet."

"You're checking up on me," she stated.

"Only because I care," he reassured her. She sat there in the dark next to him, her hair in disarray and her nightdress billowing from her shoulders. He reluctantly passed the discs back to her. "Keep them between your bed there just in case I need to find them and you're not here."

She made a movement with her head, a nod, he guessed. "Is everything alright?" Genevieve asked him.

"Yes, everything is fine," he replied distractedly as he stood again, "How about you?"

"There hasn't been a change here. Except it's getting colder," she babbled.

"Make sure you're interacting with Luca and Marcella," he interrupted, "They told me that your character has changed a little. They like sharing dinner with you. You should accept again. You need to stay constant. Just in case."

"Just in case of what."

"Anything. I'll be back, in another few weeks' time to pick the discs up," he told her, his anxiety had subsided and he needed to get back, "Take care of yourself." He knew he sounded a bit crazy to her but there was no way that anyone would know where the discs were. So he moved away from the bed, back to the window. He was gone before she could utter two words.