Mark had almost gotten clear of the fire-zone when Ore's constant hum in his mind became a warning shriek, demanding wordlessly for him to turn, look. First he saw the mightyena bounding towards them between patches of burning grass. And then behind it, he saw her. She'd masked her face with ORCA blue, but her hair still stood out flaming red.

Despite the press of heat all around, despite the pirates somewhere behind him and the chilly throb of his banette wound—he stopped in his tracks. Un-fucking-believable. Blood rushed to his head so suddenly that, for an instant, the edges of his vision wavered.

Ore was simultaneously several feet away and also there inside Mark's bubble of rage, taking it in and pulsing back an undercurrent of righteousness through his thoughts. Without language, the solrock told him, I am with you. As Mark took the first step towards Natalie, the light shield was already reforming around him.

If she wanted to finish what they started in that Rustboro parking lot, he was more than ready.

The mightyena moved toward them in syncopated bursts, cutting in and out of shadow. Orwell glided in front of Mark, buzzing in distress each time the mightyena vanished. But Mark wasn't worried. As he tracked the mightyena's zigzagging path, his anger settled into icy calm. Even shadow-hopping, there were only so many places it could go without rematerializing among the flames.

He stepped back, into the heat, trusting Orwell's light shield to protect him from the worst of it. The mightyena would have to run straight at him to avoid the fires sputtering behind and to the sides. Sweat dripped down his face and neck, but he ignored the flames licking at his back, his gaze fixed on the mightyena. When it vanished from sight again, Mark closed his hand around his next pokeball. He flashed a smirk that remained hidden behind his bandana, and then he released Rand.

His darmanitan burst forth with a roar. When the mightyena reappeared mid-lunge, Rand was already swinging. He caught the mightyena upside the head with a smoldering fist, smacking its jaws shut. Leaving it no opportunity to recover, he beat it back with several quick hits to the ribs.

Mark followed his darmanitan forward. "Keep it tight, Rand! Don't give it room to jump between us."

Gritting his teeth through the stab of pain in his shoulder, Mark swiveled toward Natalie. She stood frozen, her eyes wide, just as she had when ORCA had arrived and blown her cover. The reminder made Mark's blood boil. He'd gone out of his way to protect her, and what had she done in return? Lied to him. Led him into ORCA's path. He'd lost Gibs because of her.

As she fumbled for another pokeball, he saw his opening. She should've kept her mightyena closer.

To Ore he said, "Go for her head."

The solrock's eyes flashed violet. A soundless wind ripped through the grass—and then Natalie clutched her head and doubled over like she'd been punched. Her expression was difficult to read at the distance, but her shock and alarm showed in the way she slowly straightened and stared at him for a long moment before flinging down the pokeball.

Her wingull rose easily on an updraft. It was even smaller than Mark remembered, but he knew better than to underestimate a threat from above. He didn't wait to find out whether it was coming for him and Ore or for Rand.

"Go, Octavia."

She might have escaped the worst of the explosion, but she wasn't in great shape. Her flight was crooked as she approached the wingull. But there was nothing he could do about it now. If he recalled her, they'd be open to attack from the air. Let it play out, then; Octavia could manage for a little while. He just had to finish this quickly.

Clenching his jaw, Mark turned back to Natalie. He counted two more balls at her belt, but she hadn't reached for either yet. Too slow. "Again, Ore."

This time Natalie's knees buckled. He watched with surprise but not pity as she dropped. No more tricks up your sleeve, huh? You really had no idea what this was like.

From her knees, she finally sent out another pokemon, the gurdurr. It tottered momentarily and then, at her command, lurched towards Mark's darmanitan. Rand was leaping away from the mightyena's teeth and couldn't see the gurdurr drawing back its fist behind him, but—she keeps forgetting about Orwell.

His solrock knew what he wanted before he'd even finished the thought. Ore spun to face it, and Natalie's gurdurr froze mid-swing. For a moment, it strained uselessly against the invisible hold, but then it toppled as if its legs had been knocked out from under it. Ore lifted the gurdurr and tossed it out of sight, through the veil of smoke. At no point did the solrock leave Mark's side.

"Good work," he said, giving Ore a grin the solrock would sense even if it couldn't see.

Overhead, the wingull was a white smudge, weaving and twisting to avoid Octavia's snapping jaws. To the right, Rand pinned the mightyena by the throat with one massive hand and pummeled it with the other, ignoring the shadows lashing his face and chest. The mightyena snarled and then blinked out of sight; but it hadn't managed to move out of striking range, and Rand caught it with a left hook before they tumbled together through the haze. Flame spilled across the grass on either side.

But it wasn't about beating her pokemon. He'd bled for his team and his convictions countless times, and he'd do it again—but he didn't think she would be so ready to accept the real price. Next time, she'd know better and stay the fuck out of it. He'd make sure of that.

Mark started forward, ignoring the pain that shot through his back. "Come on, Ore. Let's finish this."

—

As Mark strode towards her, Natalie struggled to her feet, her head throbbing. Something dripped hotly under her bandana, and she wasn't sure if it was sweat or blood. Red-hot lines webbed Mark's light shield, but the solrock bobbing alongside him sealed the cracks with pulses of light like they'd never been there. And, gods, she still had nothing.

She closed her fingers on her last pokeball, picturing her whismur's velvety nose and quivering whiskers. The metal was slippery in her grasp. It didn't feel fair. Gus wasn't ready for this, but—

Mark was close enough now to hear him. His voice came distorted from behind the light shield, but the malice was unmistakable. "Get the fuck out of here."

The solrock's eyes began to glow again, so Natalie pressed the release button and threw down her pokeball. The whismur's silhouette formed from the red light, ears unfurling—

Again, the bone-rattling hum filled her head, squeezing against the confines of her skull and wrenching her sideways. She screamed—

—and her scream poured from Gus's mouth. The sound stretched until it was unrecognizable, booming with such force that dirt and sparks and flaming debris flew.

Mark's light shield burst like a soap bubble. This time he was the one who ducked his head and pressed his hands to his ears. He straightened stiffly, flinching as he lowered his arms—he was hurt.

Good. He deserved it.

Heart pounding, Natalie scrambled to right herself. She drew in a smoky breath and shouted with all her strength, "You leave!" Gus amplified her voice, the sound vibrating through her shoes. "HOENN ISN'T YOURS!"

Mark stumbled back, and his solrock wobbled. It was trying to reconstruct the light shield, but the light flickered out again with each reverberation. Behind them, Samson was back on his feet, but he had stopped to clamp his hands over his ears, too. And Luna. Where was she? Natalie couldn't even see her anymore.

When Natalie quieted, so did Gus. Mark's voice made Natalie jerk to attention. "Rockslide."

As the first pebbles showered their feet, Gus sucked in a breath and started to howl again. But the rocks kept falling, each one larger than the next. Huge shapes hurtled through the haze, outlined in purple light—great hunks of the ruined overpass, Natalie realized, some of them almost as large as her.

"Gus!" she shrieked, but she couldn't hear herself over the whismur's cries. Natalie recalled him moments before an enormous concrete block dropped where he'd been standing. She narrowly avoided being crushed herself. Concrete dust showered her as she skittered out of the way, leaving rubble scattered behind her.

Natalie fought for breath. Each gulp of the smoky air burned her throat. Mark was drawing closer, his solrock ablaze with violet light. Their eyes met. For a moment she thought she saw a softening in his face, but then his mouth opened, and he said, "Again. Take her down."

A rock flew past her ear, forcing her to duck. The concrete chunks that lay all around lit up and lifted shakily into the air. Mark watched, arms folded.

The first rock grazed her shoulder, and then another struck her leg. It was no bigger than a tennis ball, but Natalie stumbled and almost went down again. As a third rock flew towards her, Natalie shut her eyes—but no impact came. She blinked. The air in front of her shimmered blue. Then the keening call of a wingull rose over the roar of the flames, and Amelia swooped to land at Natalie's feet.

But as rock and concrete clattered against Amelia's light shield, it began to crack, blue shards splintering off the edges. "Hang in there, Amelia!"

In response, Amelia lifted her wings, beak open in a threat display ... but she was such a tiny thing to hold back so much weight. Her wings trembled. Natalie's heart felt ready to burst. The shield wasn't going to hold, and Natalie couldn't bear the thought of all that rock coming down on her brave little wingull.

She reached for Amelia's ball, and then hesitated. Natalie couldn't outrun this. If she recalled her ….

Amelia trilled, and Natalie raised her eyes—but the wingull was too bright to look at directly, the white of her feathers incandescent. Natalie shielded her face in the crook of her elbow. From the corners of her vision she watched Amelia's silhouette ripple and stretch, blazing ever-brighter, and then bloom into something new.

At last, the sound of rocks battering the shield faded away. The air hung thick with dust and smoke. But the air was clear inside the unbroken dome of blue light where Natalie crouched behind Amelia, who flexed her new pelipper wings.

Natalie couldn't see Mark through the smoke—which meant he couldn't see them either. They had one chance for a surprise attack. "Amelia," she said with a ragged voice, her lips cracked and dry. "Water pulse."

Amelia flapped, scattering smoke and sparks as she lifted into the air, and she opened her beak to release a torrent of water. The blast cut through the dusty haze, then smashed into the solrock's light shield with enough force to drive both it and its trainer back several yards.

But, through the smoke, the solrock's shield still glowed a steady purple. Silhouetted against the flames, Mark reached to his belt again.

Natalie cast her eyes around wildly. Could she run? Sam toddled towards them—but Luna! Natalie still couldn't see her anywhere. She couldn't just leave her.

Behind Mark, a second, smaller figure cut through the smoke, a crobat flying at his side. The trainer caught him by the arm, their faces close, and Natalie wondered if she was saved. But instead of attacking, the crobat turned its back to the solrock, watching the rear while it guarded the front. They knew each other. She didn't stand a chance against two of them.

Mark shoved off the other trainer, who grabbed the front of his sweater instead and pulled. Straining away, Mark twisted to face toward her one more time—she could feel the venom in his gaze even if she could make out none of the details of his face. How had she ever admired him?

Natalie wanted to return the glare with even greater ferocity. She wanted to tear him down and make him hurt as much as he'd hurt her. But she didn't have anything left in her, and instead she shrank back.

But, to her amazement, he turned away and recalled his pokemon one by one, red light flashing through the smoke until only the solrock was left. Then he and the crobat trainer turned and ran towards the trees.

She didn't watch them go. Hands on her knees, she let herself drop to a crouch, gasping in tearless sobs of relief. She felt like she might throw up or pass out.

The entire fight must've lasted only a minute or two. How had it spiraled out of her control so quickly?

At a squawk from Amelia—a new, lower register—Natalie lifted her head. Samson had rejoined them. "Sam! Are you okay?" Legs shaking, she clambered over to lay hands on him and assure herself that he was whole. He was covered in ash and dirt, so she couldn't tell the full extent of his injuries, but at least he was on his feet.

Still woozy, she forced herself to stand up again, scanning for signs of her mightyena. She could hardly see anything but flame and curtains of smoke. "Luna!" The shout tore at her throat, but she could still hardly hear herself. "Luna!"

There was no response.

"Come on," Natalie said in a voice pinched with panic. "We have to find her."

With Sam on her heels and Amelia coasting overhead, she plunged through the smoke in the direction she'd last glimpsed Luna, calling her name. Even with the bandana over her nose and mouth, she was arrested by a coughing fit. Then she saw Luna, a lump of fur on the ground just ahead, illuminated by the encroaching flames.

Heart in her throat, she ran. She directed Amelia to fight the fire back from them, and then she dropped to Luna's side, cradling the mightyena's face in her hands. "Luna? Oh gods. Luna, baby, are you okay?"

Luna lifted her head and whined.

Natalie swallowed hard and gingerly pet the top of Luna's head. "I'm so sorry, Luna. You're so good and, gods, I screwed up. You're okay. I'll take you to the pokecenter, and you'll be okay."

With another whine, the mightyena weakly wagged her tail.

Natalie's stomach felt like it was full of rocks. She bent to press her face against Luna's cheek and then recalled her. The pokeball came away covered in dark fingerprints; her fingers were black with soot from Luna's fur.

The heat was oppressive, a reminder not to linger. Amelia wheeled, gliding low to douse the flames and then rising again, but the fire was still moving forward. At heavy footfalls behind, Natalie spun around. Sam, rejoining her at her side. Hadn't he already been right behind her? She paled at the thought of leaving him behind without even realizing. She knew better now than to rely on Amelia alone if another of the MGMA came upon her, but she also couldn't afford to slow to his pace. The fire was moving fast now. "Good job, Sam," she said, recalling him. Then she shouted over her shoulder for Amelia and moved towards the open air.

A pelipper's plaintive call brought her up short. For a moment, she thought it was Amelia in trouble. Then, from beside her, Amelia trumpeted an answering cry. To the left, where the smoke was thinner, blue shadows circled in the air. Below them, the fires were settling down, and trainers stood in the thick of the smoke and steam that rose when a spurt of water hit flame. More trainers waded in the shallows, commanding their pokemon to stem the flow of oil down the coastline. Among them was the glowing outline of a starmie, and Natalie thought she saw Scarlet turn to look at her, but it was hard to tell through the haze.

Natalie gave a start at the realization that, all along, ORCA trainers had been less than a hundred feet away. Not that it had helped when she'd been fighting for her life. She wasn't one of them.

And, of course, that meant the rest of Magma might've been nearby, too. She'd gotten off lucky.

Amelia landed beside Natalie, smoke eddying in her wake. She called out again, craning towards the other pelippers.

"You want to go to them," Natalie said softly.

She imagined how she might move through the fray, Amelia carving a path with wind and water. They could put out fires, redirect the waterflow. They could help.

Amelia's head came to Natalie's chest now, her wings almost as large as doors. But already her feathers had gone gray with smoke. She wasn't invulnerable.

Just past the ORCA trainers, scraps of flame floated across the water. And farther ahead, at the heart of the roiling smoke, splotches of burning oil rained down, and flames taller than buildings continued to spew into the sky. ORCA was making their way towards that column of fire, but so much was still burning in between. Maybe too much even for them.

No. Natalie had already done enough—and her pokemon had paid the price. For once, she knew when she was beat.

"Amelia, let's go," she said, voice quavering, and turned towards the main road. She paused to cast a look over her shoulder. Awash in orange smog and still listing towards the shadows of the ORCA pokemon, Amelia gave another squawk. But finally, she took to the air, sailing up and away from the fire. Natalie breathed out in relief.

It was a long walk to Slateport, but there were no other options. Natalie wasn't about to wait for a ride home. Not tonight.

As she walked, Natalie pulled off her bandana, sucking in the cool air. Her mouth tasted like iron, but the smell of the ocean was so sweet that she felt maudlin with it. She moved almost in a trance, mystified by her own ability to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Down the road, red and blue lights flashed, too distant for her to hear the sirens yet. They'd come far too late.

Amelia wiffled past, and then she was a white dot receding towards the city lights, leading the way home. Don't look back, Natalie told herself. She kept her eyes on Amelia and kept her feet moving.

—

The spare key was in the lock box hooked under the back stairs, like always. Natalie's own key was in her backpack … which, of course, was still many miles away in Rustboro. She shook her head at herself as she spun the number dials—but how could she have known that she wouldn't return to the hostel after the protest? That felt like a thousand years ago.

The moment she opened the door, she was hit by cool air and the smell of laundry. There was something else too, a smell she had never noticed before and couldn't quite pinpoint. The definitive smell of home.

Natalie pulled off her filthy sneakers, and padded through the house like a thief. The dark rooms were like museums of normal life: the kitchen table covered with bills to be paid and one of Mom's articles, half-edited and scattered with three colors of pens. The remote and the empty beer can next to Dad's chair. The school portraits, a younger Natalie with no front teeth and a teenaged Archie smiling cooly. The carpet looked freshly vacuumed. Natalie, conscious of her unclean hands and clothes stinking of smoke, touched nothing on her way to the bathroom.

She sat on the edge of the tub, and for several moments, she was so overcome with exhaustion that all she could do was stare at the tiles. But, although she knew her team would be fine in pokeball stasis, she couldn't stomach going to bed without tending to them. So she made herself sit up.

The pokecenter had admitted only Luna. Natalie had never had a reason to visit a center late at night before and had been surprised by the "emergency hours" policy. The nurses on shift were stony and impatient, asking terse questions about the cause of Luna's condition. She'd stuttered through her story of being attacked by a rogue trainer. It wasn't untrue, and her ragged appearance made good evidence, so they sent her off with little more than a cautionary word. Guilt wormed through her, but she was grateful they'd turned away her other pokemon. She wouldn't have felt safe walking home alone.

One at a time, she released her remaining pokemon into the tub. Sam was dirty more than anything else. He grunted and groaned in protest as she began to wipe him down with a wet washcloth. From upstairs, a floorboard creaked. Natalie shushed him, straining to hear. She hoped she hadn't woken her parents; she couldn't face them right now. There were no more footsteps and no knock on the bathroom door, so she finally turned back to Sam, sprayed him with one of the potions she'd bought on the way home, and then returned him to his ball.

Gus she feared would come out screaming loudly enough to wake the entire block and probably damage the walls too, so she bit her lip but decided to pass over his ball until the morning. That left only Amelia.

For the first time, Natalie had the chance to really look at Amelia's new shape: a broad and unyielding wedge like an axe head, but with the same golden eyes and speckled wingtips she knew so well. Still Amelia. The pelipper nibbled at her fingers, and Natalie allowed herself to smile for the first time since she'd seen fire on the horizon.

Gently, she stretched open one wing and then the other to check for damage. A few feathers had been ripped out, and ash streaked her breast and head, but nothing looked too serious. Then Amelia half-turned and revealed the dark splashes down her back, shimmering with chemical rainbows. Each black splotch was like a stain on Natalie's heart.

She scrambled to find dish soap and a fistful of paper towels. When she came back and caught Amelia grooming the oiled patches, she bit her knuckle to stop herself from crying out in horror. "That's poison," she hissed, wresting Amelia's beak away. "Don't touch."

As Natalie worked the feathers into a brown lather, she was powerless to stop the angry tears from running down her cheeks. She rubbed her face into her shoulder but didn't stop what she was doing until the water streaming off Amelia's back ran clear. This must be how Archie felt after Devon Horizon, she thought. This must be how he feels right now. Greasy suds swirled around the drain. Natalie felt sick thinking about the oily dregs most likely running back to the ocean, but she didn't know what else to do about it.

Finally, she planted a kiss on Amelia's beak, earning a too-enthusiastic headbutt to the shoulder, and recalled her. She drooped against the side of the tub with her head resting on her arms ... and then jolted awake again a moment later. If she didn't get up now, she wouldn't be able to.

When Natalie stood, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her tears had cut two tracks through the soot on her face, and dried blood crusted under her nose. She didn't look like any kind of hero. And she wasn't—she knew who was responsible, and she'd watched him run.

Badges and bullshit, she thought with a grimace. Mark could burn in hell, but he'd been right: earning badges hadn't made her strong in the ways she needed to be. She cringed thinking how her pokemon had fought those bullshit battles for her, for an empty prize.

Natalie turned her back on her reflection and ran the shower. As if she could wash away her disgust with herself as easily as the dirty fingerprints on the side of the tub, she scrubbed herself until she swayed on her feet in exhaustion. When she collapsed into her bed at last, her hair still smelled like smoke.

She pressed her fist to her lips, curling herself into a ball, and armored herself with a promise. She didn't know when or how, but she would find a way to make Magma pay for what they'd done. As she plunged into a black, dreamless sleep, a final thought chased her down: I bet Archie didn't run.

—

From the fire escape, Route 110 was little more than a red glow peeking through the Mauville skyline, but Mark saw flames every time he closed his eyes. He floated in the haze between sleep and waking, thoughts churning too hard to fully relax but too tired to do more than laze on the steps with a borrowed cigarette. In his dormant form, Rand curled up on the landing below, stone head fused to the crook of his stone elbow. Eventually, Mark would have to try to sleep, too, but he wasn't excited about the idea of lying down.

When he'd shown his back to Sienna, asking, "How bad is it?" he'd been ready to hear a sharp intake of breath or sounds of concern.

What she said was, "Huh."

There was no bleeding gash, no tears in his pullover—just five sewing pins. He had to take her word for it: each one had evaporated the moment she'd pulled it out. Immediately, he'd been able to move more freely, even rolling his shoulder all the way around. He was grateful. But a check in the bathroom mirror later had revealed five star-shaped bruises across his shoulders, still tender to the touch.

Somehow, he didn't trust the injury not to worsen when he wasn't looking, even though he knew he was being paranoid. For now, he leaned his elbows on the top step, leaving his back open to the air. Mark shivered, the nape of his neck still damp from the shower. He imagined Gibs warm against his side, but the thought made him feel more alone. Watching the smoke swirl in the languid breeze soothed him, though. He'd already inhaled enough smoke that night to last a lifetime. And yet.

On his return to the hostel, Mark had encountered a trainer trio who'd bought out the liquor store to celebrate earning their badges. "What happened to you?" one of them had blurted at the sight of him. "Bad run-in with a camerupt?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's about right."

That had set them giggling and, in their minds, made him one of their own. They pleaded for him to join them—"You've earned a drink! It's on me!"—but they were already shitfaced, and he suspected he wouldn't have wanted their company sober either. But he didn't mind bumming a Blue Ring off them and then slinking off to nurse his guilty thoughts alone.

Their laughter and tinny phone music still drifted down from the roof like sounds from another planet. Mark wondered if his teammates, now scattered to separate corners of the city, were celebrating in their own ways. Were they also up watching the fires burn, or had they already glided into dreams of a better tomorrow?

Mark's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he jolted. It had to be Montag. Who else would call at this hour? Except … no, it was his personal phone.

At the sight of his sister's name on the screen, Mark stubbed out his cigarette as if he'd been caught in the act. He tipped his face to the sky and breathed slowly. I can't handle another emergency tonight. But if she'd been hospitalized, Kathy wouldn't be calling—Mom would.

He weighed the phone in his hand for a moment and then, fuck it, answered. "Hey, Kath."

She squeaked.

"Hello?"

"I didn't think you'd answer!" Scoldingly, she added, "Isn't it like three in the morning there?"

He did the math. In Unova, it was still yesterday afternoon.

"I can hang up instead if you want," he said.

"I was gonna leave a voicemail."

She did that from time to time, nonsense postcards in audio form, anecdotes about her performances and the weather, interspersed with car alarms and the rumble of traffic. Mark wasn't much for talking on the phone, but he appreciated the reminders of home. It was a softer place through her eyes—he almost missed it.

Kathy asked, "Did I wake you up?"

"Nah. I've been awake." Sitting up, he tucked what was left of the cigarette through his boot laces, not yet ready to be done with it but unwilling to dirty his shirt pocket. "You sound out of breath."

"It's fine," Kathy said sharply. "I'm just walking home."

He pictured it: Her cello case, strapped to her back, was broader than she was. She'd made him carry it for her enough times that he knew it wasn't all that heavy, despite its size. She was definitely straining, though. Castelia was a cleaner city than Virbank, the avenues wide and sometimes tree-lined, but it was still smoggy and gray most days.

Mark wished yet again that she'd chosen a school in Hoenn or even Alola. But it had to be CAM.

"Yeah. Alright," he said.

"Don't do that."

"What?"

She went quiet, and he knew she was making a face. "I haven't had a flare-up in months."

"I didn't say anything."

"Hmm."

Mark rolled his eyes. He wasn't going to apologize for worrying, but he knew enough to leave it alone.

"Anyway," she said. "How are you? I haven't heard from you in forever."

Now he winced. "I know. I'm the worst. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you are, you jerk." But there was a smile in her voice. "So, you've been pretty busy, huh?"

"Ha. Yeah."

"Gym stuff?"

Ah, shit. He hadn't considered what he'd tell her about that. After a moment he said, "I quit, actually."

"What? How come?"

He settled on a partial truth. "The gym leader's a fucking corporate sellout. She's signing away wilderness for political favors. I couldn't just sit there and watch."

"Yeah, that sounds like you."

"I'll figure something else out." Then he paused, because this was the real sticking point. "It'll probably be a little while before I can send money again, but—"

"You really don't have to, you know. Mom and I will figure it out. It's not the end of the world if I take out a couple of loans."

"Yeah, well. I want to help."

There was a lot he couldn't do for her, but this one problem he could solve by throwing money at it. Mom shouldn't have to shoulder it by herself. Meanwhile, Dad had insisted he'd be happy to support Kathy getting a degree in a "practical" field, as if it had anything to do with him, but he hadn't had the opportunity to prove it. Or fail to.

Of course, the air in Castelia was killing her slowly, but the music wasn't Mark's to take away from her. And he was glad to know there was still something beautiful left in Unova.

Kathy made an exasperated sound, and Mark smiled.

"So when are you coming home?"

That caught him by surprise. "I ... don't know. I don't have any hard plans for my next visit."

"If your job isn't keeping you anymore ..."

No, I've still got a job to do here. MetFalls wasn't done yet, after all. There were still lines left to draw, boundaries left to defend. But he couldn't tell her about those things without telling her too much. How could he explain that he was a soldier and the fight for Unova's soul had been lost before he was born?

Kathy continued, "The leaves are turning. It's been really pretty out lately."

"What would I do in Unova, Kath?"

"Eat Mom's food. Come to my concerts. Read too much. Complain."

"Sounds pretty good."

"I mean, you can be a trainer anywhere, right?"

The words flared up in him like Roman candles: Hoenn isn't yours.

Fuck Natalie. What did she know? She hadn't even been to a protest before—he didn't think that part had been a lie. But the sinking feeling stayed with him even after he pushed the thought away.

Mark closed his eyes as a new wave of fatigue swept over him. Maybe it was time for him to take a break. Just for a week or two. For a moment, he was tempted to tell Kathy, Yes, tomorrow. No one would stop him, not even Montag.

But how could he go home without Gibs? And what would Mark say when Mom and Kathy asked where he was?

"I'll think about it and keep you posted," he said.

Kathy sighed. "Sure." They both knew he meant no.

"I miss you, though," he said. "Send me some music sometime soon?"

"I just got in. Give me two minutes to set up and I can play you something right now." She paused. "It really is late there, though. I should let you sleep."

"I'm not going anywhere. Get set up."

In the absence of conversation, Natalie's voice crept back in. He turned his phone as loud as it would go, smashing it to his ear, and let Kathy's music chase her out.

He didn't recognize it at first as a lullaby. Smartass. He smiled. Leaning his forehead against the railing, he shut his eyes against the fires burning in the distance. He tried to imagine himself in Castelia, but it was a fruitless effort; he hadn't visited Kathy's new apartment yet, and his mind offered nothing but an empty room. She played on, and he reached instead for a memory of Montag.

They'd been at the threshold of the dark woods, Montag driving an unblinking stare into him: Hoenn belongs to anyone willing to fight for it.

There had been anger in his voice. A challenge. A benediction. But never a single shred of doubt.