The troll is back and imitating me and others in the reviews, this time trying to make it look like I'd attack my own reviewers because obviously that's a thing I'd randomly do from a guest account. Ignore the nonsense.


Note: Yes, I'm aware Jaune's eyes are blue. I was surprised at the idea of "gold eyes" confusing some people last chapter when he's been pulling them out from chapter one. I'm told it might be that I may have made it seem like gold was the "only" colour when I really just meant it as the first. It was a way to write one colour instead of several. When using Null his eyes go through a spectrum of colour, the first of which is usually gold. It's a visual cue to provide some small warning for the sake of his opponents.


Cover Art: Serox

Chapter 19


Glynda saw the flash of colour and remembered the Belladonna girl's warning. "Take us higher!" she told the pilot, trusting they were already out of range but unwilling to take the risk. The Bullhead swerved upward at the same time the gun did. Glynda's Semblance came to the fore, aura pouring into a purplish shield – the same she'd used to protect Miss Rose from Torchwick's dust round.

The round impacted it and exploded, again something she'd known about thanks to Miss Belladonna's insight. He has limited ammunition for that, she thought as the flames washed over her shield, licking at the Bullhead's hull. With the main force of the explosive charge spent, the fire did little but stain the metal black. Better he use those on me than on civilians.

Even though her Semblance blocked the blast itself, the force couldn't be dissipated and pushed the aircraft to the side. Beacon's pilots were no amateurs, however. Wrestling the aircraft under control, they avoided the industrial cranes and came back to a low hover as the smoke and fire cleared.

Predictably, Jaune Arc had run.

"Nothing on visual, ma'am," the co-pilot called out. "Cameras are scanning clear."

"He must have ducked back into the warehouse then," she replied. "Give us some height and circle the building. He can't stay in there with it on fire."

"Yes ma'am."

The Bullhead pulled up and to the side, engines firing quick bursts to bring them off-centre to the burning building, circling around the blackened pillar of smoke without getting close enough for their vision to be obscured. The easiest route out for him would be to slip through the adjoining warehouses. The other route, into the main yard, would put him out in the open in full view of their cameras.

"You can't stay in there," she whispered to herself. "Don't be an idiot."

It was no surprise to her he chose not to give in, not with the way she'd phrased it. Less an invitation and more a command, but what was she supposed to do? The Council had decreed he be arrested. Atlas wanted him dead or alive. If she publicly made offers that went against those, Ozpin would be investigated and just as likely forced out of his position. Like it or not, the boy was a wanted killer. Whether those charges were true or not didn't change the fact he had to be arrested before he could be proven innocent in a court of law.

If Beacon couldn't prove themselves strong enough to detain and hold him, Atlas might send teams to remove the threat before a court case could take place. There was always the possibility for a posthumous pardon, but that wouldn't satisfy anyone.

"Are the rubber bullets installed?" she called to the pilot.

"Yes ma'am," he replied, voice fed from his headset into a speaker set in the carrier compartment. "We always keep one loaded with rubbers. I checked it before we embarked." The less said about why Beacon needed one with non-lethal ammunition the better. They weren't only sent out to hunt Grimm. "Open fire on sight?"

"Wait until I launch something at him. He'll be tempted to use his Semblance to make me drop it." The pilots knew about his Semblance, having been drilled on the importance of it, and the importance of the fifteen-metre rule, on the way here. "Even if he can't cancel my own, he can presumably cancel it once it enters his range. When the object I'm lifting drops, that's your cue. His aura will have dropped as well."

"Movement!" the co-pilot yelled. "Below and west – between the red and green building."

"Intercept!" Glynda barked, struggling to pick out what the co-pilot had seen through the smoke. "Head him off if you can, we don't want him breaking out onto the main roads."

"Ma'am!"

The Bullhead swerved left, cutting partially through the smoke and out onto the other side. Glynda held an arm over her eyes and squinted, other hand gripping the railing. She spotted the coloured buildings first, more warehouses, and only just made out the shape running between them, cutting away from the burning building and toward the mesh wire fence.

They were faster. Soaring overhead and dipping down, still maintaining distance, the pilot brought them to a low hover on the other side of the fence. The guns whirred threateningly but didn't fire, not when the chain links would certainly block most of it. The warning was enough. Arc would need to stop and climb the thing to get out, and he'd be an easy target. Even if he had aura, the impact of so many rubber rounds would knock him back onto the other side. He skidded to a stop, one hand on the concrete floor, kicked back and ran the other way.

"Keep him in the compound!" she ordered. "What of the civilians?"

"All evacuated ma'am," the co-pilot responded. He was on call to the local police. "The fire department is requesting entry, however…"

"Denied! Obviously. Are they stupid?"

"Bureaucrats, ma'am. Target has turned right at intersection. Lost sight." The Bullhead rose again, taking a vertical angle so they could see back down into the routes between the warehouses. Glynda scanned as best she could, but again it was the co-pilot and his magnified cameras catching sight of their quarry. "Acquired. Breaking from red building – moving toward containers in central area. By the crane."

"Take us over but be careful. Stay away from that crane. I don't like the look of it."

They drew toward and around the back of it, skirting what could become a serious obstacle if not avoided. Below, multicoloured containers dotted the concrete like brightly coloured fish in a grey pond. Picking out the single figure moving among them was next to impossible, especially when the crates weren't stacked perfectly. Some overhung or were placed atop two others, creating blind spots for him to hide in.

"Jaune Arc!" Glynda called out. "Surrender yourself to Beacon. You will receive a fair trial and representation. If you're as innocent as you claim to be, come out and place your weapon on the floor." No response. No shots, either. Glynda narrowed her eyes. "Tell me there isn't a sewer system down there."

"There is, but no entry points. He'd need to blow through several metres of concrete."

"Got him! No – He's gone." The co-pilot cursed swiftly. "He's still in there, ma'am. Ground level. Are we high enough if he climbs?"

"Altitude of fifty metres. We're more than fine. Ma'am," the pilot called. "What about sending teams in while we hold?"

"No." The thought horrified her, though she realised he'd probably meant huntsman teams, not students. Even so, she wouldn't feel safe going in there herself, and that was a big problem when she was an experienced huntress and he was a teenager who hadn't even been to a prep school. "It's a maze down there, and with his Semblance it's whoever shoots first wins."

It would be even worse with students. An absolute massacre not worth thinking about. Biting her lip and cursing how useless hovering up here felt, she watched the crates below as the Bullhead lazily circled. In truth, they didn't have any great plan for this. The traditional way to handle this was as the pilot said. The air support kept visual and harried the opponent long enough for ground forces to move in and subdue. They didn't have ground forces. Not even Qrow fancied his odds – and there was no way she was sending people into that maze of containers.

Their best and possibly only bet was to bring him down by force.

"He's breaking cover!"

The Bullhead made to swerve but had to pull back with the crane in the way. He'd chosen his moment well, waiting for the circling Bullhead to move around the crane, which they had to avoid at a wide angle lest he try and topple it with explosives, to break cover and run the other way. The cameras continued to track him, but they couldn't open fire. Glynda clung to the railing as they ducked and went under the crane's arm, rising up again on the other side and soaring after him.

He was halfway across open ground when Glynda engaged her Semblance and tore up a chunk of rock, hurling it close to him. The debris exploded close but not too close. It shattered and showered him with bits of stone, knocking him to the side a little.

"You missed, ma'am."

"I hit as I intended to," she rebuked. "I'm not in the habit of crushing people. We have no idea what his aura reserves are like." Louder, to Arc, she yelled, "Surrender! You will be taken to Beacon for trial. Don't make this harder on yourself."

Three bullets pinged off the Bullhead. Three out of eight or nine fired. In response, she used her Semblance to bring up another large piece of rock and send it rushing in at his side, again not close enough to hit, but to clip and knock him down. She saw his head swivel in its direction, and though she was too far away to see his eyes, the rock dropped suddenly, cracking onto the floor.

"Now!"

Guns whirred and spat. Pellets pinged wildly off the concrete behind him and the co-pilot adjusted his aim, bringing the trail up until it struck the back of his legs. He fell hard, toppling and rolling with a cry that could be heard even from so high up.

"Direct hit!"

"Cease fire," she called. "We could still kill him if we're not careful. Bring us low. Stay out of range – at least twenty metres – but I want us low enough that I can tag him if he tried to stand. If he stands, fire a burst at his legs."

"Yes ma'am."

Another bullet pinged off the Bullhead ineffectively. A second hit lower and a third even lower, skimming underneath entirely. He was on his back, gun held in both hands as he steadied his aim. Another shot skimmed by beneath them. Odd. His aim should be getting better, not worse. We're hovering still and- wait…

Even from such a distance she saw his manic grin. He fired again but the discharge was louder. A single round whistled beneath the Bullhead, missing by a good three feet. Or maybe that was right on target. Glynda hung out and looked back, eyes widening as she saw the round hit the stacked crates he'd come from and exploding in a ball of fire.

With the dust shortages caused by Torchwick's failed crime wave, there was a lot of dust coming into the city. Too much. The explosion tore through the first container and crumpled its walls, causing those above to topple down, disgorging their contents into the flames.

At least one of those was crates and crates of SDC dust.

"Get us airborne!" Glynda cried a fraction of a second before the dust ignited.

The force of the explosion set off more, sending out a shockwave that knocked the Bullhead forward. The pilot had already pulled back however, meaning that even as they came closer to him on one axis, they pulled up and away, escaping the reach of his Semblance. The aircraft span and shook, and if it weren't for the metal belt securing her to the interior, she'd have been thrown out entirely. As it was, she clung on for dear life, hair flapping free of its bun as the scenery outside whooshed by, buildings, crates, buildings. The Bullhead continued to three-sixty as the pilot wrestled for control. The continuous boom of fresh explosions behind them didn't help.

A tortured snap and a groan had her staring up. Shadow covered them and Glynda swore, stabbing her hands upwards.

Glynda dropped to her knees and screamed. "Ahhhhh!"

"Ma'am!?" The pilot looked back and saw what she was stopping. The huge industrial crane was suspended not twenty metres above them, mid-fall now that its base had been torn asunder by the dust explosions. Tonnes of steel inches down bit by bit, already speeding up in its descent as the huntress' Semblance tried and failed to stop it.

Glynda had bought them seconds, but those seconds cost her. With a gurgle, the huntress snapped back, collapsing onto the floor in a heap. Aura, willpower or just her body itself gave way under the strain.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

The pilot wrenched the stick sideways and the aircraft tipped, more falling out the way than flying. Twisted metal on fire in places crashed down, missing by ten feet – mere inches when dealing with aviation. The force of the crane touching down shattered concrete and kicked up dust, buffeting the already out of control Bullhead and slamming it down.

The chassis grated and screeched as it hit, snapping off the landing pads and the under-turret as well, showering spars every which way as they skidded along with a sound not unlike nails on a chalkboard. Alarms blared within as red lights flashed to tell him he was exactly 0 metres above ground level.

"I fucking know!" he screamed, bucking in the seat.

The Bullhead came to a stop and he looked over the unconscious body of his co-pilot, seeing the wrecked industrial crane laid on its side no more than thirty metres away.

"That was close. Ma'am? Goodwitch?" Leaning back, wincing as his harness dug into him, he spotted the woman tossed onto her side and curled up at the back of the Bullhead, unmoving. "Fuck. Beacon, this is Alpha-One requesting emergency pick up. Two-" He winced as his chest pulled. Something wet dribbled down his stomach. "T-Three wounded."

"Beacon receives, Alpha-One. Medical assistance is en route. ETA three minutes. Requesting update on target. Is it safe to land?"

Target? Oh, the kid. Groaning, the pilot looked up and out the cracked window. To absolutely no one's surprise, the brat was long gone. "Target escaped. Landing zone clear." And on fire, he noticed. With the dust containers adding to the warehouse, the entire compound was a mess. "M-Might want to send the fire crews in."

"Understood. Rest east, Alpha-One."

"Not like I can do much else…" The pilot heaved a sigh and sat back, lacking the strength to get himself out his harness and unsure what it might do to aggravate his injuries. "So much for an easy mission. Fuck…"

/-/

Jaune uncapped the dust and poured it into an emptied round, slipping it into the special barrel designed to hold his three explosive rounds. Without those, he'd have been toast. He'd have to remember to thank Adam for it. Mors clicked as the chamber closed, the sound making the man in the driver's seat next to him whimper.

"I'm not going to-" His chest tugged and Jaune grunted. He was too tired for this. "Just keep driving and you'll be fine. Stop and I'll test these on you."

"Y-Yes sir."

There really was no point convincing his hostage he wasn't going to kill him. For one, no one believed him, but even if they did it would have only given the guy the confidence to refuse. He was only this compliant because he thought his life in danger.

As such, he kept Mors in his lap, leaning back in the cabin of the lorry he'd hitched a ride in. There'd been more than enough of them parked outside, each waiting to bring their supplies into the compound. Most of them had been too distracted by the fires and chattering on what it might mean to notice him slip into the cabin of one and point a gun at its driver.

I wonder if those people survived that crash. It no longer bothered him how little he cared. They shouldn't have gotten in the way. I've no problem with Beacon. They knew about my Semblance, though. Did Blake rat me out to the authorities?

Maybe she'd gone to Beacon. If so, he had reason to hate them, but still not to hunt them down. Vengeance was nice and all, but if he could get his family out and escape to Menagerie, that was enough. If nothing else, those people would think twice about bothering him again. Shaking his head, he helped himself to a bottle of soda the driver had in his centre console, then hooked his stolen scroll into the charging port there, pulling the driver's off it. Without anywhere safe to bunk, scroll charge was valuable.

"What's your password?" he asked.

"1-2-3-4."

"Cute." Jaune thumbed it in and it opened quickly. He thumbed through to the local news.

"W-Where am I taking you?" the driver asked anxiously. "Sir?"

The place he'd been bunking was close by, but was it safe to stay near to the place he'd just wrecked? Probably not. He'd also have to contend with whether sparing this man would just lead the police to him. Like the last, this person would instantly rat on him the second he was safe. Unless he couldn't, of course. Food for thought.

"The docks are on the other side of the city, right?" He waited for the nervous nod. "Drop me off outside there."

He had no interest in the docks of course, but it might make sense to the police and make it look like he was after dust or something. It'd be good to throw a red herring, and he could then sneak back into the city and find somewhere to stay. The lorry pulled up onto one of Vale's many highways, joining a lane and trundling along. Cars drove by on both sides of the metal barriers in the centre, lights shining. No one had the time to look into the cabin of a moving lorry and he allowed himself to relax at last, sighing.

He'd confirmed Chivalric Arms were active in Vale. That was something, at least. It meant they had to have a base nearby, otherwise they wouldn't have been able to move so quickly. Could it be in the city? The size and scale of the previous bases made that sound unlikely, and yet what did he know? It could be a smaller one fronting as a legitimate business.

That's the problem. I know next to nothing about Vale. Adam had done everything before. He'd found the facilities, planned the attack, and pieced together where the next were. All Jaune had done was tag along and lend his Semblance to the matter. I need to think like Adam. What would he do here?

They'd found the Mistral base because of a captive they interrogated. Not the soldier; like the ones here, they'd been prepared to fight to the death. It'd been a scientist and a Bullhead pilot. People who weren't quite as well trained on resisting it. I need to capture someone who knows something and get the information out of them. For that, I'll need to find targets. It's the same problem all over again. I don't know enough about Vale.

The White Fang might, but how was he supposed to reach the White Fang branch here? It would be so easy if he could just call Adam, but it wasn't like he had his number. When had he ever needed it? They'd been together from the get-go and if he needed to reach Adam, he had him saved into his contacts on the scroll Adam bought him. The one Blake stole. If only he'd thought to memorise it, but why would he have when there were bigger fish to fry?

I either need to do something to get the White Fang's attention or I need to find someone who knows Vale better and who would be willing to help me.

Easier said than done. Who was going to help a wanted criminal like him?

Other than another criminal. Jaune leaned forward suddenly, pushing through the driver's scroll to flick across news articles. It made sense, didn't it? He'd already worked with the White Fang, so why not someone else. Finding a crook wouldn't be easy - they survived by being hard to find – but there was one surefire, if dangerous, way to do it. Jaune clicked on an article link.

"Change of plans," he told the driver. "Take me here…"

/-/

The lorry slowly pulled into the layby. Its lights turned off as the engine died. The driver kept both hands on the wheel, eyes haunted and body unnaturally still. End of the road, and in more ways than one.

Jaune closed the scroll and pocketed it. "I'm taking this." He paused and eyed the driver. "Take your coat off. I want that as well."

The man hurried to comply. It was a long navy-blue coat with a hood. Waterproof by the looks of it, but more important because he could use it to hide his face. Jaune pulled it on, pleased to find that while it was a little short for him, it still fit as close as he needed it to. He patted the pockets and found the man's wallet. After a second's thought, he kept hold of it. All the timewasting didn't fully take away from the severity of the situation.

The first person he'd spared started a manhunt. The second died to Chivalric Arms.

Was he really going to make the same mistake a third time? His finger stroked the trigger of Mors, hand itching to bring it up and fire. It would be quick. Over in a second and no worse a death than the one Chivalric Arms imparted on that worker. It might be pinned on him now that they knew he was here, but it'd take a day or two. If nothing else, it would distract the police.

I may as well kill him. It wouldn't be my first. Not sure how many it's been now.

The upsetting part was that he didn't feel any reluctance to. And it was only upsetting because he felt he should. Sanctity of life and all that, or just the fact that the average person didn't kill and no matter what Atlas claimed, he was still just a normal person. Innocent. Framed. He chuckled quietly. Who was he kidding? There was nothing normal about him anymore.

"I have a family," the driver whispered.

"Last person I spared had a family too," Jaune muttered. "Didn't stop him ratting me out. I have a family. Or had. That got destroyed by Atlas and now I'm the monster." He shook his head, unsure why he was even talking to a random person about this. Did he want to get it off his chest? Not really. I'm just talking to buy time, aren't I? Hoping I'll come up with a reason not to pull the trigger.

"Sorry," Jaune said, bringing the gun up to the man's face. "No hard feelings."

He wept; he sobbed; he whispered a goodbye to someone he didn't recognise – and through it all, Jaune wondered why none of it moved him. Not the tears or the fear or the thought of depriving another family of someone important.

There was nothing. He felt… not empty, but impatient. Disinterested. Blank.

In the end it was nothing more than the thought he theoretically should spare the man's life that brought the gun down. He didn't feel a better person for it, about it and he didn't feel pleased with the decision. Maybe someone would. Maybe that someone would be his mom. "Consider yourself lucky," he said, climbing out the cabin. The man had collapsed over the steering wheel to sob like a broken child. "No one cared when we cried."

Dad hadn't cried. Everyone else had and begged and pled and held onto one another and screamed. He could still remember mom screaming as she was pulled away, separated, each of them shuttled off to different testing sites. No one gave a shit then, so he wasn't sure why he felt he ought to here. His thumb hovered over the slide, half ready to insert an explosive round and fire backwards. In the end he didn't, but not for what felt like the right reasons.

The explosive rounds were too valuable to waste on one man.

Pulling his new hood up, Jaune stepped out and away from the truck. At least with the man's scroll stolen, he wouldn't be able to report this quickly. Trudging along, he read through the article again. It was dated only three days ago. Too recent for anything to have changed, especially with the city in uproar over his appearance. The police were too busy and would right now be scouring Vale for him or attending the fire at the train yard.

This was the last place they'd think to look for him.

"Hello," the uniformed man behind the desk said, not looking up from his terminal. He had a Styrofoam cup of coffee on his desk, but it had clearly gone cold. He looked tired. With everything going on in the city, Jaune could imagine why. "Sorry. I'll be with you in a second, I promise." He tapped a few last things in, sighed and looked up. "Welcome to the VPD Central Station. How may I help y-" The man's eyes widened. "-Y-You…?"

Mors clicked once as it was levelled over the desk at the officer's face.

"I'd like to speak with a prisoner."

"I-If you shoot, the alarm will go off. The whole building will come down on you…"

"Will that save you?" Jaune asked. The man swallowed. "I've had a bad day, sir. I don't want to kill you, but right now, as tired as I am, I can't figure out why I don't want to. There's a big part of me that thinks the only reason I don't want to is because I think I shouldn't want to." Jaune stared the man in the eye. He wasn't lying. "I need to speak with a prisoner you have, and I may also be walking out of here with him."

"I can press the alarm."

"I can pull the trigger."

"You wouldn't be able to stop me in time."

"What's your point?"

The officer's eyes crossed over the barrel. "The alarm would go off."

"And…?"

"E-Everyone would come…"

"They would." Jaune didn't look worried in the slightest. "In which case I'll be forced to kill them and blow a hole in the cell walls to find the guy I'm looking for. That'll mean even more people escaping. And you'd be the first to die, obviously." He pulled back on the trigger slightly, just enough to make it click. "I'll let you decide which way we're doing this."

"Y-You're insane. A psychopath…"

"I'm not…" Jaune sighed. "You might be right actually. But I'm the psychopath with a gun to your head. I've already seen five people die today. What's a sixth?"

/-/

The electronic lock keyed open and the cell's bars rattled open. The sole occupant looked up, smirking past the bruises that dotted his face. "A little early for dinner, isn't it? Did you miss me that much already-?"

An officer was shoved into the cell. He fell, hands cuffed behind his back and tape strapped over his mouth. His eyes were closed but he was clearly alive and conscious, just wishing he didn't have to be where he was.

"Well. This is new…"

"Are you Roman Torchwick?" The man who asked was more of a boy, and yet Roman wouldn't have liked to run into him in a dark alley. Everything about him screamed gullible idiot. From the hair to the clothes to his age.

All of it except the eyes, which looked down on him with an incredible lack of emotion. Roman recognised them. They were the eyes of someone who had run out of shits to give. Someone who was fast running out of reasons not to kill the next person that annoyed them. Trapped in a cell with said man, Roman swallowed.

"I am."

"You're some kind of bigshot around here, aren't you?"

Not from Vale, that much was obvious. Oh shit. He recognised that face. Who wouldn't nowadays? Jaune Arc. Wanted killer. Big reward on his head, but the kind of reward that told Roman all he needed to know about the intelligence in going after it. You didn't get a bounty that large without being able to back it up.

His wisecracks failed him. To be fair, he didn't think he looked the part, scuffed and burnt and bruised, and he doubted this man wanted to hear them either. "Something of one," he said honestly. "I've got connections and resources if that's what you mean."

"It is." He stepped forward with a key in hand but didn't slip it into the lock. "You're going to help me with what I need to do."

"And in return you free me?"

"No." The dead eyes swirled with colour before sliding back to blue. They didn't look any less worrying. "And in return, I don't kill you."

"W-Well." Roman laughed weakly, all too aware the kid wasn't lying. "Ain't that a deal for the ages? What else can I say? I'm yours. Help me and I'll help you with whatever it is you need. Just watch out. It was a broad from Beacon with a tricky Semblance that put me away. She might come after you as well."

"Beacon?" His eyes narrowed. "You mean the blonde teacher?"

"Yeah. Goodwitch. Scary huntress with her-"

"I already dealt with her. Not sure if she's alive or not, but I brought her Bullhead down with her in it."

The locks clicked and Roman's wrists came free. He rubbed them but didn't stand, not wanting to move too quickly and startle his new friend. Dealt with Goodwitch already, had he? Well, that was only slightly terrifying. He'd been counting on Fall to help him out there, but the flaky bitch had been off in Mistral trying to rustle up some animals. She'd called to say she'd be a week late, but he hadn't thought it would cause such problems. Captured by a fifteen-year-old and a teacher, only to be saved by someone two years older. He wasn't going to live this one down easily.

"Do you have a place we can stay?"

"I do. Got a few safehouses." He nodded to the officer on the floor, indicating they couldn't talk about it here. Apparently, he hadn't indicated hard enough because Jaune cocked his gun and aimed it down. "Whoah! Whoah! I meant we'll talk about it outside!" Swallowing, he urged the kid out the cell. "Killing cops is a bad idea. Gets you hunted down."

"I'm already being hunted."

"Yeah, well, I'm not." Though that might change with this. Crap in a handbasket. "Look, you want my help and I'll give it. Let's get you somewhere safe so we can both catch a bath, meal and a nap, alright?" He was relieved to see the man nod and lower the weapon. "Maybe we'll both be a little more human in the morning."

Maybe. Going by the look on the kid's face, he wasn't sure how much human was left.


Obviously, we saw Cinder in Mistral before the train, and since the Ruby – Roman incident presumably happened before Beacon by a few days, it's already happened here. The idea is that since Adam and Co were wandering around Mistral a little longer for the sake of Jaune, their recruitment by Cinder got delayed. I assume that in canon Adam only accepted her offer once he got dumped and basically transformed into a deranged lunatic over the fact.

Small knock on effects, but it meant Cinder wasn't there to stop Glynda smacking Roman's Bullhead down and arresting him.

Part of Jaune's rapid transformation this chapter is how exhausted he is. He's not literally a stone cold killer right now, as you'll see next chapter, but he's inching toward it bit by bit, and when he's in full on panic mode like this, exhausted, spent and too tired to give a damn? It shows.


Next Chapter: 22nd June

P a treon . com (slash) Coeur