Cat.

A cat wandered aimlessly across the path in front of her, down a nearby alley and out of sight. The sound of the sea was to her right, endlessly crashing against the sand, lost in the dark. Lights danced across bay like water snakes, shimmering briefly and then dying. She walked with her cell in her hand, so that she could glance down and see the time illuminated on its face. She checked that it was on vibrate again, and then double checked to see if she had missed any calls. She was late but then again, she had only decided to come at the last minute.

Palm trees lined the road, carving sharp black shadows from the spotlights lit beneath them. The cafes and bars spilled their crowds out on to the sidewalk, wreathed with fairy lights and music. Jon Arryn owned a hotel somewhere along here – pale blue and cream by day, but bathed in a hundred translucent shades of rose, olive, peach and gold as the city moved in to night. Cat had been there a few times, and recalled a softly lit bar with overstuffed chairs and a piano, and rows of martini glasses across the back wall. More importantly, it was neutral ground.

She arrived a little breathless, although she had not been aware that she had been walking quickly. As she made her way across the foyer, she caught a glimpse of herself in the long, thin mirrors hung behind the reception desk and saw a woman pale and messy, with hair in a tangle at the back of her head. She kept walking, but did her best to smooth down the unruly curls and retie her ponytail. She was still wearing the clothes she had gone to bed in – sweatpants and a thin jumper. She had given herself a cursory glance before leaving, and had been satisfied that she was clean and relatively unwrinkled. But now she was here, and surrounded by the eyes of others, she regretted not taking a moment to change.

It was too late now. She took a table away from the bar, near the back. The waiter had the good grace not to make any obvious judgement of her attire when he took her order, although he called her Miss Tully, and was obviously aware of who she was. She did not take a sip from her glass when it arrived, merely moved it around the table and watched the colours it made as the light hit it. Her cell remained palmed carefully in her hand, out of sight, near her thigh. She glanced at it again, but still nothing.

The thoughts that occupied her where old and stale and she wished they would vanish. She had gone over this too many times now to be surprised by anything her subconscious might throw up. She had decided, against all sensible reason, to give him this opportunity. She would have happily scrubbed him from her mind weeks ago, and had tried, until an hour ago, to do just that.

Cat made lists whenever she faced a dilemma; a habit she had picked up from her mother. She had found it necessary, in order to navigate her way through the fanciful, emotional realms her siblings so freely occupied. Cat saw very little good come from acting solely on impulse, although Lysa and Edmure always seemed so enslaved to it. It was emotion that had driven Lysa in the arms of Petyr, and blinded her to the truth of his character. It was emotion that ruled Edmure, and let him happily neglect his duty in favour of an easy life. Cat had felt the pull of it sometimes, when her guard was down. A cord, linking her to that part of herself that insisted she just feel, just know, just be, and not to question. She had felt its tug when Brandon kissed her. She had felt it still when he hurt Petyr, even though she had hated his violence. She could feel it now, threatening to pull her down under the waves, in to the crushing black beneath.

And so she made lists, to establish the facts and weigh things in the proper manner. She made lists, so that she could be sure that her decisions were not ruled by her heart. She made lists, so that she would not forget her duty.

And yet.

She looked at her cell again, and saw no missed call or message. The time was edging onwards, and now he was nearly 40 minutes late. Another item to add to the inventory. She already had more than enough reasons not to be here, it felt almost churlish to add another. She felt the tug again, and the waves were calling her.

When her phone began to vibrate, she nearly fell from her chair. In a scramble, she picked it up and tried to compose herself, caught so unawares that she didn't even see who was calling. She answered breathless and unsure.

'Cat?'

The voice was unfamiliar. She said nothing for a moment, confused. It spoke again.

'Cat? Are you there?'

Not unfamiliar, just unexpected.

'Dad?'

There was fear in his voice.

'Come home, Cat. Now. Something's happened.'