"The fuck, Valen?" I snatched my hand from his.

I think of all the things I could have said, Valen hadn't been expecting that. His expression was shocked, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as he reached out to still me.

I slapped his arm away.

I pushed away from the table, stool tipping sideways and hitting the floor with a crash. Heads swung towards us, smiling with gleeful curiosity. But most turned away with disinterest, chins upturned.

My chest was heaving, shoulders rising and falling with each furious breath.

'Let go of your past' — what did that even mean?

I swallowed down my rising panic, grasping desperately for a memory — of my husband, of my family, of my life — and knew a moment of relief when they were right where they'd always been. I turned them over and looking for some flaw, some difference.

His voice rang through my head on repeat; let go, let go, let go…

An imp's cackling cut through the chant, little red eyes boring holes into my very being.

I backed up, stumbling over the felled stool and almost joining it.

I could feel more eyes on me. I needed to get away.

"My lady, I —" he stammered, all careful formality.

I wanted to cry as rage filled my belly.

"What were you thinking?" I spat out, silencing whatever he was about to say.

My voice was cold. Every word over pronounced; slicing rather than tumbling through the too-hot air.

He paused and I saw the muscles in his jaw clench.

"You don't have any right to change things like that." I hissed. "My past and my pain, they're…"

I closed my eyes. I had intended to say it was important, but I had a moment of doubt, the word dying on my tongue.

But was that the command of my Name talking, or was it me?

I opened my eyes again, blinking away the watery sting.

I could see the hurt on his face, and my heart clenched painfully for the barest of moments, shocking me with the rawness of it. But then his words came back to me and I couldn't look at him a moment longer. I turned away, searching for the exit.

"Jane," he said desperately, voice lost.

And it was only my name from his lips that could have stilled me in that moment.

I waited, back turned and fists clenched.

"I had thought…" his voice wavered and he tried again. "I had only wanted to help you. Like you had me."

I had another moment of doubt, my angry retort dying in my throat.

Was this the same as what I had done for him?

And, even if it wasn't, hadn't I intended to do the very same thing with Aribeth and her Name, before facing Mephistopheles, to ensure she'd be harder for him to sway.

I bit my cheek in uncertainty, temples throbbing with the effort of keeping everything in.

But how could I trust my own thoughts, when he might have altered them irrevocably? How could I trust anything I thought or felt?

I ripped my eyes away, wanting only to be alone before I said or did something that I would regret.

But would I regret it?

Uncertainty tore at my insides.

So, sucking in a breath, my vision blurring, I left.

I didn't turn back, I couldn't. I needed to think, away from that look on his face.

Pawing my eyes with a palm, I found myself in front of our door, wiping away the threat of my stubborn tears. I stared at it, shoulders hunched.

With a nervous glance at the devil's beyond the hall peering down at me, I took one final shuddering breath and pushed the door open. My hands shook on the doorknob.

"Boss?"

Deekin sat on one of the two beds, pages littered all around him, head perking up in surprise.

Lost for words, I searched the room vacantly for something to do, some reason for my being there. My eyes darted from the bed to my pack to the small vanity and age-fogged mirror.

I froze, catching my reflection.

My neck was splotchy and red, and my eyes were bloodshot with evidence of my threatening tears, the pale grey iris' stark in contrast. They looked sunken and unhealthy, against the dark circles that ringed my eyes, and the new gauntness to my cheeks wasn't doing me any favours.

I blinked in surprise, experiencing a moment of doubt that it was actually me I was seeing. The stranger blinked back at me.

I didn't even hear Deekin approach as I watched curiously as this person in our room shut the door just as I did. As she allowed the little kobold to wrap his arms around her stomach in a hug free of reason or judgement. As she was led to the empty bed, her hand in his little clawed one.

I blinked and she was gone and I was staring into Deekin's concerned face.

I swallowed, smiling shakily.

"Shit," I attempted a chuckle. "I look terrible."

"Deekin doesn't think Boss ever look good," he assured me with a cheeky smile.

We sat there for a while. Me perched on the side of the bed, him standing in front of me.

His head was tilted to the side as he considered our predicament, scaled brow ridge pulled down hard. He made a couple of false attempts at saying something before giving my hand a final squeeze and letting go. He jumped up on the bed beside me.

"Goatman be angry again?"

I shook my head slowly.

"No," I sighed. "He was trying to help."

I felt defeated. The truth of my words washing over me.

"How?" He pressed skeptically.

"He used my Name. My True Name. To try and help me… move on, I guess?" I gritted my teeth.

"Like you did with Goatman." Deekin stated simply.

My steadily growing anger froze in its tracks.

"Yeah," I eventually admitted. "Just like I did."

He considered my words before suddenly perking up straighter. "Just how well does True Name work? Can Boss make Goatman do anything? Like his tail crow curly?" He perked up suddenly in excitement "Like make little Deekin fly, even?"

I couldn't help myself. I chuckled at his excitement. "If I knew your Name, maybe…"

But who knew how the Name's power worked. Would the magic make Deekin sprout wings, as he'd always meant to? Would it force him to hop as high as he could, and consider the command complete? Or would he simply jump off the nearest cliff and fall to his untimely death?

I shook my head.

Or did that depend entirely upon his own interpretation of the command? Or the commander's intent?

This was precisely why I had been so damn angry; we didn't know how it worked. How any of it worked.

"Deekin think Goatman have thick head," he told me matter-of-factly, earning a snort of agreement. "Probably the human half," he muttered to himself, earning himself a nudge. "But he thinks Goatman just trying to help."

I fell back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Yeah," I hummed. "I know."

"Deekin knows you know."

I felt the bed shift as Deekin jumped back down, but — instead of returning to the other bed and his mess of notes, I heard him shuffle to the room's door.

I lifted my head to show him my raised eyebrow.

"Deekin goes get thick-headed Goatman," he said, matter of factly. "Boss wants to say sorry, right?" He tilted his head. "Before we get crushed by devil tomorrow?"

I blew a huff of air out loudly between my lips.

"No." Yes.

"That's what Deekin thoughts," he said with a nod, seeing right through my lie.

And then, without another word, he left. I let him, a disbelieving smile pulling at my lips.

I fell back onto the bed, my heart thudding in my chest as I considered what I would say to him.

Shame and nerves replaced the space anger had rushed to fill earlier.

I barely had any time to consider anything, before the door was opening again. The air seemed to suck from the room, the room's warm temperate dropping almost immediately.

Shit, that was quick!

My eyes widened, and I shot bolt upright, rubbing furiously at my face with my sleeve, in an attempt to freshen up. My arm fell away in surprise.

Because it wasn't Valen at the door. And it wasn't Deekin.

But I knew him all the same.

"Shaundukel…" I muttered in surprise, leaping from the bed.

His answering smile, whilst friendly and open, sent chills down my spine.

"Knew you'd figure it out," the corner of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

The older man stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him as if he owned the place.

I swallowed, stepping back and dropping my hand to Enserric's hilt. I felt the sword's uncertainty.

He didn't move to approach me, but seemed undeterred by my less than warm welcome. He crossed his arms across his broad chest.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, a million other questions racing through my mind.

"Talking to you," he replied matter-of-factly. "Hard to catch you away from that demon-spawn, of late."

I sized him up with a frown. I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was doing the very same to me. I wondered briefly what he thought. I was a far cry from the scared girl he'd met across the embers of a dying fire, almost a year ago.

His expression was blank, but otherwise friendly, and he offered no further reasoning for his sudden reappearance. He simply allowed the silence to silence to stretch on, until I felt I would burst.

"Why?" I eventually pressed. "Why did you bring me here?"

Because it could have only been him.

"Why?" He smiled, as if I were a very young child, asking a very simple question. "To kill Mephistopheles, of course. Emma obviously wasn't cut out for the job," he shrugged. I recalled my last memory of her, his flippant tone making my insides clench. "So I had to make sure someone would be."

"Who killed her?" I pressed. "She was never meant to die."

He looked at me as if it were obvious. "A devil killed her," he said. "Who do you think?"

I swallowed. The next question already leaving my lips. "But why me?"

"Because you're special," he stated simply.

'Careful,' Enserric suddenly warned me. I ignored him.

"Bull-fucking-shit," I snapped instantly, crossing my arms.

The smile never left his lips, but something dark and angry flashed across his features for the barest of moments. It was there and gone so quickly; his mask of amused consideration carefully settled on his features once more.

I forced myself to relax my shoulders, but I gripped Enserric harder than ever. He eyed my defensive posture, but — instead of causing insult — it only seemed to amuse him further.

I raised an eyebrow, despite my growing unease. When it was clear I wasn't letting him get away with his cliche, airy-fairy bullshit he dipped his head in an admittance of mock defeat.

"True," he finally admitted. "There were many potentials — not as many as you would expect, but a valid sample, all the same. They would have suited my purpose just as well as you. Of them, you were simply lucky."

Chance? Chance landed me here?

'Ha! Some luck!' Enserric scoffed.

"And just what was it that landed me on your shortlist?" I pressed, fighting the waver in my voice and trying to keep the anger from it. I suspected anger wouldn't serve me well in this instance.

"I knew you'd do what needed to be done," he stated simply. "You would kill Mephistopheles."

There it was again; kill Mephistopheles.

"I don't know that I will," I admitted slowly. "I was planning on sending him back here…"

He shook his head slowly, the smile never wavering from within the bush of his greying beard. "Not if you want to go home."

I perked up instantly. "You can send me back?"

Very slowly, he said; "Kill Mephistopheles, and I'll send you home."

'Think about this, Jane,' Enserric warned me.

"Deal," I said over whatever the sword was going to say next.

Suddenly, a white hot band of pain seared at my finger. The skin beneath my ring — his ring — burning red hot for the barest of moments, before fading. I waved my hand out with a hiss.

"A little warning next time," I muttered, rubbing my hand with a grimace.

He showed me his teeth in a lazy smile, eyes flashing in the low light of the room.

I could hear footsteps down the hall, the light clang of armoured boots. Valen.

Shaundukel glanced behind him slowly at the sound of the approaching tiefling.

"So," I started skeptically, "Just what do you get out of all of this?"

'Sure, she asks these questions after making a deal,' Enserric muttered, his disapproval clear.

He waggled his finger at me with a smirk, raising an eyebrow, and I knew that I wasn't getting anything further out of him. Before I could say anything more, he turned, reaching around and opened the door.

But it wasn't the hall on the other side.

The portal sparked and spun, taking up the entire doorway. It was black and clear, the hint of what lay on the other side.

He stepped through without another word, cloak billowing behind him.

He disappeared in a spark of light, the portal snapping into a small black dot before disappearing with a fizzle — leaving an alarmed tiefling, flail in hand, standing in the doorway.

Back to regular updates going forward.