Chapter 40: Cancer

"If you say goodbye today, I'd ask you to be true—because the hardest part of this is leaving you..."

The first day of the first semester's break came too soon.

Or at least, for one Nexus Shade pawing at a scroll.

"Ugh..." Nex said, wiggling over the toasty sheets. He untangled himself from his girlfriend's legs, all while making sure to avoid poking her with the wood in his pants. "It's too early for this..."

She was sprawled out beside him, dead tired after a night of unloading their stuff and playing a metric fuckton of board games. Her soft snores prodded his extra pair of ears.

Nex stood up, snatching the scroll off the bed stand, chess pieces stabbing his foot. The stupid thing kept vibrating, even as he swept the velvet-white curtains open.

Light.

Oh fucking light, tearing a new one into his eyeballs.

Why the hell did someone have to call at six in the fucking morning?

He walked out of their room and into the glass-domed vestibule, the damp tiles slippery-wet under his bare feet, even as he shut the glass behind him and lifted his legs the extra mile.

Weiss needed every little bit of beauty sleep she could get, considering what she wanted to do for the next few weeks or so—start on the retired Weiss Schnee's comeback into the music industry. No time for long dates and ice cream sundaes on the beaches of Vacuo, even. As terrible as it sounded. But it was understandable.

Gods forbid. It really was.

"Alright," Nex said, his thumb swiping at the scroll as he placed it to his ear. He heaved a sigh. "Who is it?"

Someone coughed on the other end of the line.

Someone who was definitely familiar.

"And a good morning to you too, my boy," Jacques Schnee said, sounding like he got two spoons of sugar instead of one. "Everything's going well then."

Nex quirked an eyebrow, the Valean street below barren save for some stray pedestrians. "Uh... Aren't you supposed to be mad?"

Maybe even furious, all things considered.

Jacques chuckled, steel thudding over glass. "Mad? And why on Remnant should I be mad?"

A lot of things. Weiss Schnee's mysterious beau definitely being one of them. His extra pair of ears, the other. Well, probably only because of the second one. The first would not be a problem if not for the second's existence, after all.

"Should I be mad that my daughter's scroll answered mine for the first time?" Jacques said. "Or that it's her mystery man answering instead of her?"

Nex shrugged, his partner's scroll just a little bit smoother around the edges—which was probably why he mistook it for his. Damn. There was that saying about dads and their daughters. "Both, maybe?"

"Only the first," Jacques said, some sort of liquid sloshing. Probably coffee. "Is it that hard to talk to your old man?"

Admittedly, it was.

For the both of them.

Nex leaned against the iron railing, the cold biting into his arm. "Tell me about it."

"Ha! I'll tell you about it, alright," Jacques said. "At least you seem willing to listen."

A car zoomed past, whooshing through his extra pair of ears.

"Wait, shouldn't you be, you know," Nex said, frowning. He pressed his palm into the thick, one-way glass. The early morning light shattered into motes of pink and red. "More concerned that someone like me is dating your daughter?"

"And what is meant by someone like you?" Jacques said, snorting. Sounding even more amused. Like he just heard a particularly funny joke. "That you have an additional pair of ears? That you are a faunus?"

Nex rolled his eyes. Finally. Jacques got it. But there was something definitely wrong here.

Something fishy.

"Haven't I already made myself excessively clear?" Jacques said, slurping down something. Maybe noodles. "My business is simply business, my boy. There's nothing personal about it."

"Business?" Nex said, flicking a stray, wilted leaf. It fluttered down the street, slipping through the bottom of the dome. Practically a fifty-foot drop. A bike ran over the poor, innocent thing. "All those faunus in your mines and it's simply business?"

It was insane. Becoming public enemy number one of the White Fang and the face of cheap and exploitative faunus labour, practically sinking his own reputation.

And all for what?

Business?

Jacques scoffed, clicking his tongue three times. "You're surprisingly oblivious to the big picture."

The big picture.

Admittedly, Jacques had a point. The business world was probably different.

Well, maybe.

"Enlighten me then," Nex said, stifling a yawn under his palm. The one not holding his partner's scroll. "Tell me all about the business."

Jacques chuckled. "Such initiative. It's simple, my boy. Ask yourself. Where would the faunus go without the SDC? And where would the SDC go without the faunus?"

Nex shrugged, water dripping from the plants hanging off the top. "Maybe free on the first?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Whether they work in our company or not," Jacques said, the rolling of his eyes practically audible. "It doesn't change the fact that they have to work. And surely, you understand—"

"No other company would hire such a large amount of faunus," Nex said, cupping his chin. He sucked in a deep breath, Pareidolia connecting the dots and feeding the words to his mouth. "Because like it or not, an ordinary faunus is simply much more dangerous than an ordinary human. Just like how huntsmen are more dangerous than civilians, so we get separate bars, toilets, and the like. It wouldn't be a problem if all faunus get are extra pairs of ears, but some faunus have acidic spit, chameleon camouflage, deadly poisons, or maybe even wings, stingers, claws, and other more lethal and not corporate-friendly animal parts and advantages."

It made sense, admittedly. In a twisted sort of way.

But still, even if every other company suddenly risked faunus in their labour-force, where exactly would they appoint their newly-hired employees?

Not every company ran mines or factories, after all. And those that did were often the stingy, money-grubbing ones. Exploiting the lack of demand and the surplus of supply. The number of unemployed people in Mantle, or anywhere really—most of them faunus—being case in point.

"Stupendous. Brilliant. Genius." Jacques chuckled, clapping a grand total of three times. "Once again, my boy, you catch on quick." He cleared his throat. "Any more reasons you can think of? Come on. I can hear those cogs spinning."

"You're the only one with big enough balls to aggravate the White Fang," Nex said, frowning. "Or the only one with big enough guns."

Jacques huffed. "Which leaves me in an awkward position. I employ the jobless, pay them whatever I could, then make headlines as 'Jacques Schnee: CEO or Slavemaster. It doesn't make for pleasurable reading, I assure you."

Nex rolled his eyes. "You know, if you just pay them right. Maybe install a good dental plan..."

"Don't be so idealistic," Jacques said, his voice sharp as Hrunting. "If I paid every single labourer the minimum wage, there wouldn't be an SDC left."

Crushed under the weight of its competitors. Left behind in the wake of the Faunus Rights Revolution—the bomb that rendered most humans with jobs and most faunus jobless. Or, well, failing most job interviews, smack dab in an economy controlled by humans—the sore and scared losers of the Faunus Rights Revolution.

Admittedly, Jacques Schnee had a point—the big picture. And maybe even the bigger picture, beyond what he just said.

Where would the faunus be without the SDC?

Where would the SDC be without the faunus?

And for that matter, where would Remnant be?

Everyone relied on dust, after all. From the military and down to the huntsmen, in their never-ending war against the Grimm.

But still, the SDC was probably not the cause. It was just a symptom of the disease. A cancer. The SDC was necessary. A necessary evil in a world filled with heroes and monsters—as sad as the actuality was.

And to fix the system was to tear it all down.

Nex breathed a sigh, running his thumb over the edge of his partner's scroll. "There's no winning, is there?"

Jacques chuckled, water splashing over metal. "My boy, there's no such thing as winning. Slit some throats if you want to survive in this world."

The glass slid open, a familiar set of footsteps padding over the damp tiles.

"Nex?" Weiss said, a yawn slipping through her lips. "Have you seen my scroll?"

Well, crap.

"At last. My daughter graces us with her presence," Jacques said, breathing a long, drawn-out sigh. "Hand over the scroll, will you?"

"Is that my scroll?" Weiss said, marching towards him. She frowned, a little bit of red on the corner of her eyes. Her buttoned nightgown was askew, its white, frilly strap hanging off her shoulder. "Who are you talking to?"

Nex shrugged, managing a smile. "Your father called. Wants to talk, apparently."

Weiss scowled, glaring at her scroll, her waves splashed all over her face. "Give it to me."

"Well?" Jacques said, chuckling. "What are you waiting for?"

Nex shrugged, handing the scroll to his girlfriend. "Try not to bite his head off."

Weiss nodded, shoving the scroll to her ear. "Father. What do you want?"

Jacques said something on the other end of the line—too faint for even his extra pair of ears.

Nex leaned against the railing, the bar of metal pressing into the small of his back. He yawned and pushed back his hair—enough that the thing covered his extra pair of ears, tickling his spine.

"We had an agreement," Weiss said, her eyes narrowing. "Or did you already forget?"

His scroll buzzed against his thigh.

Nex quirked an eyebrow. What was it about people and calling at such an ungodly hour?

He shrugged, pulling out his scroll as he padded into their room and plopped down the edge of their bed. The thing bounced back—the softest thing ever, screaming something in between yes, this is a five-star hotel and no, you can't bring it home.

A flying shame that one.

"Alright," Nex said, putting his own scroll to his ear. A little rough around the edges, but still serviceable. "Who is it?"

"Mr Shade," General fucking Ironwood said. "I trust everything is going well?"

Alright. There was something definitely fishy about the morning. The only question was what.

"You know, you're not the first to call and ask me that," Nex said, falling on the sheets. Strawberry and vanilla wafted up his nose. He smiled. "This isn't about the Atlesian mechs, is it?"

Ironwood hummed. "In fact it is. Have you been notified of your new position?"

Notified?

What the hell?

"Notified?" Nex said, yawning. "What do you mean?"

"The tech division," Ironwood said, fingers tapping wood. He was probably calling from his office. "Just a few days ago."

There really was no such thing. Or—

Fuck.

"Nope," Nex said, forcing a world-weary sigh. "Maybe the thing got lost in transition."

There was no way he was going to admit it. No way he was going to admit he missed the damned thing. It was totally Mekel's fault. Flooding his mail with enough spam that Ironwood's probably got lost in the rubbish.

"Mr—Technician-Developer Shade. It's physically impossible for an encrypted, priority-class email to get lost in transition," Ironwood said, coughing. "But nevermind that. I trust you have no objections?"

Objections?

Of course he fucking had them. He was a criminal for dying's sake. A thief whose only virtue was his anonymity. The one saving grace stopping him from landing in a high-security prison cell somewhere.

What would happen if Ironwood found out he employed an underage thief—the Artificer—accomplice to Roman fucking Torchwick himself? Stuck the guy in a high-paying position somewhere. The same guy who practically stole a fucking Atlesian Paladin from right under their noses.

But the thick, crapsaccharine irony was that there was no way to tell anyone. Certainly not when it would sink his ship—the one already full of holes. After all, what kind of innocent, normal, and inconspicuous guy would refuse a prestigious and high-paying post in the Atlesian Military?

Fuck.

Screw it.

Only one thing to do then. Keep moving forward. Even if the world was shackled to his feet.

Nex cleared his throat, the heat squeezing his neck. "What happened to my involvement being anonymous?"

It was the point of keeping things discrete, right?

"Your involvement is still anonymous," Ironwood said. "Except for the council. They had to know."

Judging from the fact that the big man himself sounded a little bit terse, the council had to pry it from his throat as well. And it was definitely understandable. It was for the safety and security of the Kingdom of Atlas, after all. Maybe even the whole of Remnant.

"Uh... Is it really alright for me to be a developer?" Nex said, wrapping a blanket around his legs. "What happened to actual technicians?"

The ones who actually had a degree from the University of Atlas or even graduated from Atlas Academy or something.

Fuck.

There had to be some way out.

Some loophole to squeeze through.

"With your stellar records and what you've managed to accomplish," Ironwood said. "There is no questioning your qualifications."

Shit. People mistaking him for being talented. Again.

He killed the sigh in his chest, crushing a pillow between his calves.

"Really?" Nex said. There was that other thing. A trump card, even. "What about my, you know, my extra pair of ears?"

Ironwood breathed a sigh of his own—barely audible, but it was there. "There is that other matter. The council demands proof you're not working with the White Fang—"

"Ha! I'm an officer of the White Fang," Nex said, smirking. He nodded, even if the good general probably could not see it. "So I can't be a developer. Done. Over. Quod erat demonstrandum."

"Truly?"

"Do I need a mask?"

The good general sighed and muttered something under his breath.

Something about feathers.

Whatever that one meant.

Ironwood coughed yet again. "Nexus Br—" Static crackled, the man pausing on the other end. "Shade. This is no joking matter."

Great.

It worked on Cinder Fall.

Why not on Ironwood as well?

Probably because that mask was gone. Missing since he got stuck in a bed. Lost during the fight, most likely.

Ugh.

"Fine. I'm a technician-developer," Nex said, rolling his eyes. He could only adapt then. But maybe it could be good for something. "What do I develop? How much lien do I get? Do I get health insurance?"

Ironwood took a sip of something. Maybe coffee. "The details are in your scroll, Developer Shade. As for your current task..."

Well, that did not sound ominous at all.

"Your first mission, should you choose to accept it," Ironwood said as if he was reciting a well-rehearsed speech. "Is to investigate the White Fang cell operating in the Kingdom of Vale, as part of the joint inter-kingdom preparations for the upcoming Vytal Festival."

Huh. Investigating the White Fang. Fedora. Trench coat. A goddamn set of aviators.

Ho Lee Fucking Sheet.

"Alright. I'm in. How do we get this thing rolling?" Nex said. A grin stretched his cheeks. What could he possibly say? Maybe being a technician in Atlas' military was even better than being a team leader. "Do I get spy glasses?"

Ironwood took a long sip, another sigh booming over static. "You're given carte blanche on this mission. After you're well-situated, you'll report on the White Fang's activities. Raids, operations, hideouts, and the like. Of particular interest is the collaboration between Roman Torchwick and the White Fang. The recent string of aggressive dust robberies in Vale has left certain parties, shall we say, concerned."

Crap.

Why did it always have to be Roman Torchwick?

His fellow thief was fermenting into bad cheese.

"Find out why. Find out where the dust is going. Find out exactly why the White Fang needs the dust."

Great. The answers were obvious. Cinder Fall. Roman's hideouts. A cloak and dagger conspiracy. But there was no way he could know without some concrete and more than legal evidence. Evidence that would not implicate him as well. Maybe he could cough it up after he actually did some fieldwork. But not now. It would be pretty strange and suspicious if he already knew what Ironwood wanted, after all.

"One last thing. Don't be a hero. Technicians don't risk their necks on the field. Leave that one for the specialists."

Nex yawned. It suited him just fine—leave the heroism to those who actually wanted to be heroes. "The specialists?"

"I'll be blunt, Developer Shade. Think of this as an initiation of sorts. Proof you're not with the White Fang," Ironwood said, steel settling over wood. Maybe his thermos. "You'll be joined by one of our senior specialists as soon as our main fleet arrives in Vale."

Nex shrugged. Probably just a glorified supervisor or something. "So, that's all?"

"I believe that's all," Ironwood said, sounding a little too pleased. "Happy hunting."

With that, Ironwood nodded off.

Nex sighed, springing to his feet. He shoved the scroll in his pocket and padded out of their room.

Weiss stood there, grasping the railing as she faced the city. Her hair shone silver, falling down to her hips.

"Hey, Weiss," Nex said, looping his arms around her waist. He propped his chin on her shoulder. Vanilla wafted up his nose, her warmth seeping into his chest. "What did your father say?"

Weiss smiled, shifting as she rested her head on his. "Nothing."

Nex quirked an eyebrow, even as she shivered, pink creeping up her neck. "Nothing?"

"I'll tell you in the far, distant future," Weiss said, notes flying through her voice. Almost like she was singing the words instead of just saying them.

Well, if she was happy after talking to her father, then there really was no point in prying.

Even if it was a little strange.

"Who called?" Weiss whispered.

"Ironwood," Nex said, nuzzling her neck.

Baby blue flitted through his nose, along with a hint of night-old sweat.

Weiss sighed, her skin flushed against his cheek. "What did he say?"

Nex grinned, the people bustling like ants on the streets. "Nothing."

Weiss smirked. "Nothing, Mr Shade?"

"Oh, you know. I got a job," Nex said, fingering the buttons on her navel. "A mission. My thing while you do your thing."

"A job?" Weiss said, grabbing his hands. The heat wrapped around his palms, silk sliding through the folds of her blouse. Just over her flat stomach. "What kind, Mr Shade?"

"Technician-Developer Shade, actually," Nex said, her fingers guiding his hands her ribs. Stopping just below her breasts. "Of the ACD. Tasked with investigating the White Fang."

Weiss hummed, a frown tugging on her lips. "Is it dangerous?"

Huh.

He really was supposed to be the one asking that.

"Worried?" Nex said, tracing her slender digits. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I don't want you to go," Weiss mumbled, her eyes half-opened. She leaned into him. Her back pressed into his front, the heat smothering his crotch. Like mounds of pillow wrapping around his brain. "Can we stay like this, Mr Shade?"

Nex forced an exaggerated sigh, even she turned her head, flashing him a coy smile. "We might need to get breakfast."

Weiss chuckled, tugging on his arms. She spun and pulled him close—close enough that their foreheads touched. Her back pressed into the railing as she placed his hands on her hips. Like the slopes of Mt. Weiss, even.

"I've been thinking," Weiss whispered, her eyes peering into his. "I want to make it with you."

It?

"You still play, right?" Weiss said, smirking as her fingers trailed down his chest. "It's not whatever it was you were thinking."

Nex shrugged. Right. Because that one totally made sense. "What I was thinking?"

"Something irresponsible, Mr Shade," Weiss said, poking his nose. Her other hand rubbed circles around his crotch, her fingers sliding into his onesie. His stomach tingled. The heat rushed to his groin. "We're going to need protection for that."

Nex smiled. Despite the fact that there really was no such thing as protection against irresponsible stuff. But maybe it was just another arbitrary phrase or something. And this time, there was no Yang Xiao Long to help figure it out.

Ugh.

Whatever.

"Like Vigilance, you mean?" Nex said, licking his suddenly dry lips. "It's protection, right?"

She shook her head, flushing as she smiled at her navel. Her fingers laced around the piece of wood in his pants, like she never wanted to let go. And it was hers. Wisps of fire licked his stomach. His eyes traced the creamy nape of her neck.

"Oh nevermind, sleepyhead," Weiss mumbled. "Shall we get some coffee?"

Nex grinned, tilting his head. "I'd like a quick taste."

He latched on to her neck, nibbling and sucking at the thin skin. Baby blue and flowers filled his nose, her soft moans bouncing around his ears. He grabbed the sides of her abdomen, reaching under her blouse and stopping right around her breasts.

The perky pillowettes pushed back against his palms, stiffening at his touch. Her fingers slid up and down the piece of wood in his pants. It tickled, at least more than when he did it himself, the heat coiling around his spine and marching all over his stomach.

"We're not going to—" Weiss gave another cute little moan as he looked up, her face tomato-red. She smirked, her calloused thumb rubbing the tip of his manhood. The piece of wood in his pants twitched. "We're not going to make it to breakfast..."

"Should we stop?" Nex said, caressing her shy little mounds. The strap almost slid off her shoulder, just like the bead of sweat glistening on her chin. He kneaded their undersides, even as her free hand groped at the buttons of her dress. "Say the word, Miss Schnee, and I'll obey..."

Weiss gave a throaty giggle. She leaned in, her lips grazing his. "I think you're becoming too proficient at this, Mr Shade."

Nex laughed, his cheeks burning. "What can I say, Miss Schnee? Practice makes perfect, right?"

The last button popped open.

He closed his eyes, bridging the distance. His lips claimed hers—kissing and kissing and kissing—and never leaving for a dozen more minutes or so.

Oh well, oh well.

Breakfast could wait.

By the time they arrived at the Coffee Table—as the cafe was apparently a cross-kingdom franchise—it was to the sight of a near-empty establishment. The familiar scent of coffee beans hung in his nose. Bitter. Even as they took a table against the glass wall. Like that one time in Atlas, the brown wood covering every inch of the place, along with rows upon rows of empty tables.

"Huh," Nex said, leaning into the back of his hardwood chair. "Not as fancy as that other one."

The wood smelled different. Like it was made of something cheaper.

Weiss hummed, already seated across him—back straight and shoulders squared as she placed her handbag on the table. "Vale's culture is more relaxed."

Flats clacked over the wooden floor.

"Welcome to the Coffee Table," the waitress said, stopping beside him. Her soft, I'm hiding something voice seemed familiar. Not the stiff rehearsed greeting though. "May I take your order?"

"Blake?" Weiss said as she tapped the wood. "Is that you?"

Nex shifted, glancing at their waitress.

Blake Belladonna stood there, clutching a notepad and a pen.

Huh.

Her ears twitched.

Ears.

As in her extra pair of ears.

When did she stop using her bow?

"You're not using your bow?" Nex said, resting his arm on the headrest. "Isn't it kinda your thing?"

Blake fidgeted with her notepad, her knees fused together under the hem of her brown skirt. "I've thought about what you said."

Weiss placed her hands on the wood. "What Nex said?"

Nex shrugged. Yep. That one. "Our extra pair of ears."

Blake nodded, the tip of her pen hovering over her notepad. "I really have to take your order. What are you having?"

Nex frowned. "You okay?"

The ghost-ninja's shoulders stiffened.

"I'm fine," Blake said, glancing at the counter. A tall woman stood behind it—a cashier or something. Probably. "So, you're on a date?"

Weiss chuckled, even as she shot him a look. "Aren't we always?"

Admittedly, that one was true. There was no need for fancy dates as long as they were together.

"That's true," Blake said as she glanced at her notepad. "We have..."

The ghost-ninja droned on, placing a menu on their table—one for each of them—as she listed off the day's special.

By the time they were served, the ghost-ninja was already off to another table, tending to the stream of customers dripping through the glass doors. They ate the meal in silence, watching the the world through the glass—an aquarium filled with toast, coffee, and mindless chatter.

"I'll pay," Weiss said, placing her card on the table. "It's my turn now, isn't it?"

Nex nodded as the ghost-ninja took the card and inserted it into one of those little boxes. "Your card's already fixed?"

It was still doing metaphorical backflips at the pizza place, after all. She had to pay with solid lien for that one.

The machine flashed, spitting out a receipt the length of his index.

"My father had it fixed," Weiss said, taking her card from the ghost-ninja and slipping it back into her purse. She pulled out some bits of lien, placing them in front of the ghost-ninja. "Here. A little tip for your excellent service."

Blake shook her head, fidgeting with her skirt. "I can't take it."

Weiss raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"I'm not allowed to accept tips," Blake said, frowning as she nudged the lien away.

"No one's going to tell," Nex said, pushing the lien back. "Right, Weiss?"

Weiss hummed. "If she's not allowed, then we shouldn't push it."

Nex shrugged. "C'mon. You could buy one of those little Ninjas of Love..."

Blake stammered, flushing as her eyes darted towards him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ninjas of Love?" Weiss said, shooting him a glance. "What's that?"

Nex smirked. Got her. "It's a book series about ninjas having hot, kinky se—"

"I'll take the tip," Blake said, snatching the lien and shoving it into her apron. "Thank you, team leader."

She stormed off, fading behind the counter.

"Nexus Shade," Weiss said, fixing him a look. "That wasn't very nice."

"She needs it," Nex said, waving at her. After all, the ghost-ninja did not exactly have his little inspirations. "Besides. No way she'll get caught."

Right?

Weiss frowned, reaching into her purse. "Do you skirt the law this often?"

Nex smiled, even as his legs stiffened. "Only when it doesn't get people killed."

She placed a pouch on the table, pushing it towards him.

"Care to explain?" Weiss said, arching an eyebrow.

A familiar mask sat in the plastic. Spiderweb-cracks ran over its slits.

Nex swallowed, the bagel-spittle lodging in his throat. Shit. "Explain how it's cracked or explain how it got in the zip lock?"

Weiss scowled. "It cracked when you slammed into the crate. And it got in the pouch when I took it from your pocket."

Nex rolled his eyes, flicking the plastic. "I don't need to explain then."

Weiss breathed a sigh, her shoulders sagging. "Where were you last Sunday?"

"Buying some dust," Nex said, his chest constricting. "Like I told you."

"I can't do this," Weiss said, uncrossing her arms. "I just can't."

"Can't do what?" Nex said, raising an eyebrow. "If you can't, then don't."

"I don't know what's worse," Weiss said, her eyes drooping. "That my boyfriend doesn't trust me enough to tell me, or that he's playing me like a fool."

Nex frowned, his lips tightening.

Fuck.

"Go, Developer Shade," Weiss said, blinking as she turned away. The corners of her eyes glittered. "Go do your job, or your thing, or whatever it is you really do for Ironwood."

His stomach curled up. Dead. Shit. "Weiss—"

"Go," Weiss mumbled, swiping the pouch. She chucked it into her purse, even as something moist hitched up her throat. "Don't come back."

Nex blinked. Ice creeped over his stomach, the cold scorching his lungs. "You don't mean that—"

"Just go..."

And he did, his fingers trembling as he dragged himself through the door, dry leaves crunching under his boots.

Nexus Shade heaved and retched, bitter-bile spewing from his lips.