Fuck him, he was one lucky bastard. Dismas grinned as he pulled Reynauld along, through the automatic doors of the hotel and towards the elevators. Stairs were too much of a hassle at this point and besides, he wasn't sure if they would make it up the four stories. The way things were headed, he wanted nothing more than a soft bed and a door to lock out the rest of the world.

He had not expected tonight to go as it had. Dismas had entered Jubie's with the intent of drinking until he wouldn't be able to see or think straight, until all the shit in his life would go away on its own. Until he could no longer stew on how the pigs couldn't just storm somebody's room like that; not without a warrant or being invited. But then, of course they could. What were his options anyway? Going to court to file a complaint?

He couldn't even blame the night clerk for doing jack shit. They probably had a stash of drugs somewhere and were really glad the police was distracted looking another way. The raid had still cost Dismas a roof over his head and most of his possessions, which were few to begin with. The former was replaceable, and he had enough money stashed away in other safe places, but that didn't mean the close call had not rattled him. For a while he had felt the tightening of the noose around his neck as he watched the shreds of his life being confiscated and carried away, unable to do anything but hide in the shadows.

Louet's arrest, the raid, the anger, frustration and fear of the past days; all would be forgotten in the haze of booze. He'd pick a fight, get his ass tossed out of the bar, and then pass out while being patched up by Audrey.

It had been a sound plan, which now it lay in shatters at the feet of Mr. Perfect, and his heart-stopping smile. Reynauld didn't just look like he had stepped out of the front page of a magazine, he also kissed like the real deal.

Dismas briefly thought of asking for Reynauld's phone number – maybe they could hook up again sometime. Shit, they hadn't even done anything yet. He shouldn't jump the gun. Perhaps Reynauld was terrible in bed. Or he had some weird kinks that not even Dismas, although he had always considered himself to be fairly adventurous and relaxed about those things, could live with. Or he just wouldn't want to meet again with a guy who was that obviously desperate – desperate not just for a quick lay but for being with another human being. One who wasn't the same four people he considered his friends, somebody who could make him feel a little bit less like the bag of trash left by the door and a lot more like someone who deserved this kind of affection.

The 'up' button began to glow orange when Dismas jabbed it a couple of times, as if that would make the elevator descend quicker. Reynauld chuckled, and damn if that low rumble wasn't more of a punch to the gut than anything a thug could throw at him.

He wasn't ashamed to admit he was a sucker for those warm brown eyes, and the tiny creases that appeared at their corners whenever Reynauld smiled. He was generous with those, and he had a laugh Dismas could die for. The kind that came from deep within, genuine and impossible not to join in.

Dismas knew he was one idiot in love. He'd always crashed hard and fast, and he could contemplate this terrible mistake as he the elevator doors opened, and they stepped in. Reynauld moved closer, his arms on each side of Dismas so that he could trap him between the rail and himself.

"Hey."

"Hm?" Dismas hummed, lifting his gaze from between his feet.

Reynauld must've caught on to something. His brows furrowed, one hand rubbing circles over Dismas' stomach and side. "What's wrong?"

"I feel good," Dismas said with a small, self-disparaging laugh. "Something bad will surely happen in a moment. For instance, we could get stuck in this elevator."

Disaster did have a tendency to strike when things were going well. Life seemed to get its kicks out of kicking him in the teeth. Dismas had gotten used to rolling with the blows of fate, but he hated how now every moment of happiness also carried a hint of urgency, of trepidation.

The corner of Reynauld's mouth twitched, and then he took full advantage of his position, leaning in and tracing the shape of Dismas' lips with his own, the touch feather light and almost tickling.

Dismas couldn't tell if the dizzy weightless feeling was from kissing Reynauld, or the elevator taking off. He did jump a bit when they stopped too early and the doors opened to a surprised-looking man and woman. The couple looked at them, then at each other, and didn't get on.

"Sorry, this one's taken," Reynauld said and reached over Dismas to push the button for the doors to close.

The girl laughed, and then they both disappeared from view and were forgotten just as quickly.

Dismas ran the palm of his hand over Reynauld's bearded cheek, turning his head around to steal one more kiss before a soft ding announced they had arrived on the right floor. The corridor was brightly lit, almost too much so after the outdoors and the muted elevator lights, and Dismas blinked owlishly as his eyes stung and watered.

They went left and then took the first right, stopping in front of a wooden door with the number 41. There, Dismas found out just how difficult finding and fitting the right key inside the keyhole was when you had a hunk pressing up against you from the back, peppering your neck with kisses that promised so much more to come.

"Easy there, darlin'," he muttered, because at this rate they might as well have a roll on the carpeted floor. But after several unsuccessful the lock finally clicked, and Reynauld marched them both into the semi-dark room. There was just enough light to see by from the neon letters and the street lamps outside, and that was well because Dismas never got to flip the switch.

He fell against the door the moment it closed behind them, his back to the wood, his front pressed against Reynauld. They were close enough that he could feel the strength in the other man's arms, the way his muscles shifted under his clothes. Too many clothes. But they would surely resolve that problem in a short while.

For now it was enough for Dismas let his head fall back, to better allow Reynauld to kiss along his jaw line, then down his throat and up the side of his neck. He caught Dismas' earlobe between his teeth, and pulled until Dismas turned his head and kissed him, deep and messy.

The way the soldier's arms tightened around him, the air was pressed out of him with an involuntary grunt, but Dismas wasn't a china doll. He wouldn't want it any other way as long as he was still able to breathe. Warm saliva on his neck and lips quickly cooled in the crisp night air, but the rest of Dismas' body was hot, and Reynauld was a furnace.

And fuck, did he smell good.

When Reynauld's hands found their way under Dismas' shirt, it was a bit too late to worry whether he would like what he found there. Dismas had always thought he was in pretty decent shape, but he knew that he couldn't hide how hunger and violence had been stellar companions throughout his life.

Reynauld didn't seem to mind at all. He ran his palms up Dismas' ribs and over his chest, and when he withdrew it was only to help him lose the coat. The shirt followed a couple of seconds after, and Reynauld turned his attention to undoing Dismas' belt buckle.

"Somebody's eager," Dismas chuckled, grasping Reynauld's hands with his own.

"I want to see you naked," Reynauld said, no longer ripping clothes off Dismas, but rather looking at him for direction.

"Then let's take this somewhere more comfortable, huh?" Dismas suggested, and walked in the direction of the bed, not taking his eyes off Reynauld's face. He sat down when his knees hit the mattress and toed off his boots. Reynauld helped him pull off his pants and then crawled over him on all fours while Dismas scooted back on his elbows.

The soldier's tags fell out of his shirt, and they were warm from resting on his own skin, the chain allowing Dismas to tug Reynauld low enough he could whisper into his ear,

"Come on, baby, take off that shirt."

Dismas had to let go again when Reynauld sat up abruptly, and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion.

And for the first time Dismas regretted the low light, because from what he could tell, Reynauld was a wet dream. For a second he stared dumbly, undecided as to what he wanted to do. First on his list was kiss those perfect abs – and then he would find himself at a crossroads. Go up that sculpted chest, or down, following the trail of dark hair that disappeared under the rim of Reynauld's pants?

Why was he still wearing those anyway?

Dismas ran appreciative hands over Reynauld's abdomen. Reynaud's skin was slightly tacky from sweat, and when Dismas circled one nipple with his thumb, he sucked in air through his teeth.

Dismas grinned up at him, and with some effort, sat up. He wrapped his arms around Reynauld to keep him from falling back again, and placed wet sloppy kisses all over Reynauld's chest. With Reynauld sitting on Dismas' thighs, Dismas could tell that the other man was just as hard as he was.

Dismas' own briefs were uncomfortably tight, the tip of his cock peeking out. It was time to do away with them, and just as he thought that, Reynauld seemed to read his mind and responded by pushing Dismas into the mattress, his fingers intertwining with Dismas' above the smaller man's head.

In a moment of clarity, and because there was no way he was getting up later, Dismas breathed,

"You got rubbers?"

Reynauld paused for a second to think. "Yeah. Here, somewhere." He reached into his pocket and there was a metallic clang.

"Nope, that's keys. Hang on."

Dismas chuckled, then 'oofed' when, without one hand to support himself, Reynauld's full weight pressed him into the mattress. Reynauld could go a bit easier on his wrist, but then he fully settled between Dismas' legs and hell, Dismas wasn't going to complain ever again.

Reynauld rocked and Dismas bucked up, eager for more contact. They both gasped, and Reynauld dipped his head to kiss Dismas, his tongue slipping between Dismas' lips, who moaned his approval –

Something wasn't right. Reynauld's grip, firm before, turned bruising and suddenly there was cold metal tightening around Dismas' wrist, followed by a ring and click, and before he knew what was going on, Reynauld rolled off.

The soldier was out of the bed and on his feet with the grace of a mountain cat, and when Dismas tried to sit up, he was tugged back down.

He looked at his hand, the gleam of metal encircling his wrist. It took his brain second to process that.

He was handcuffed. To the bed.

"The fuck?" Dismas asked, confused and outraged, and with rising fear. "THE FUCK, REYNAULD!?"

"I'm sorry." Reynauld ran a hand over his face, and backed away from the bed until he could let himself fall into the cushioned seat next to the small desk that was overflowing with hotel pamphlets and tourist attraction coupons.

With his heart in his throat, no clue as to what to do now, and not daring to draw attention to himself, Dismas flinched when a moment later Reynauld announced in a measured flat voice that made Dismas' stomach turn,

"Riverside Police Department. You are under arrest."

Well, at least Reynauld was not some lunatic murderer. But that also meant...

"You're a plant," Dismas blurted out.

"I'm sorry," Reynauld repeated. Dismas observed as Reynauld's thumb traced the shape of his lips, probably unconsciously, and wondered if he could still feel them kiss, if that was a memory he wanted to keep or wipe away.

Reynauld seemed to become aware of his gaze, and his hand dropped. He got up and picked his shirt off the floor, beating it out briefly before putting it back on again. Seconds later the lights went on and Dismas hissed, shielding his eyes with his free arm. By the time his eyes had adjusted, Reynauld had pulled out his phone, but he looked up from it when Dismas cleared his throat.

"If ya'd reach in the right front pocket of my jacket. Could ya – " He didn't finish, not wanting to plead for one tiny favour with the man who had just slapped handcuffs on him in the middle of a make-out session.

Thankfully, he didn't have to.

Reynauld found his jacket, picked it up and patted it down. He quickly found the cigs and lighter, and looked back to him. Dismas nodded. It might be his last opportunity for who knew how long, and Reynauld apparently thought so too, because after contemplating it for a moment, he came to the conclusion that it couldn't hurt to let a defeated man enjoy one last smoke.

Dismas watched Reynauld open the lid with a flick of his thumb and pull one of the cigarettes out with a fluid motion that spoke of practice. He tapped the package against the table twice to knock the rest of the cigs back, and closed it again. And then he put the one he had just taken between his own lips and lit up, and Dismas was stuck speechless, because he had not had the impression that the soldier was that much of an asshole to torment him like this.

Reynauld took a drag, and just as Dismas was getting ready to introduce the other man to some of his choicest curses, Reynauld exhaled and held out the cigarette. He didn't come close, but had Dismas reach out instead, proper safety etiquette and all that.

Dismas snorted and took the smoke which now held a faint taste of Reynauld. Or perhaps it was just his imagination torturing him. Disinclined to contemplate that particular brand of masochism any further, Dismas let himself fall back onto the mattress.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Watch it curl while everything around him flickered and blurred. 'The smoke,' he thought as Reynauld finally called made his call. His words ran together just like the water stains on the ceiling. Dismas chose not to listen. He probably should, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Reynauld's voice tuned in and out like a radio when a child was fiddling with the volume button, and he let it all pass him by.

Dismas had known. He'd called it out. Something bad was going to happen, because that was the story of his sorry fuckarse life. He tried not to feel anything, to not let himself be affected and he certainly wasn't showing it – but it was the deepest cuts that hurt the least.

He would have preferred to be taken down the old fashioned way. A kick in the guts, a twisted arm and then at least all the pain would have been purely physical. Dismas knew pain. It was as familiar as the bottle and glass he used as a cure.

A moment later there was a knock on the door and when Reynauld opened, in came the couple from two floors below. The gal left after exchanging a few words with Reynauld and her colleague, but the guy came in. He had a camera he aimed at the man who was still in his briefs, cuffed to the bed.

"Smile for your mugshot," the policeman said as Dismas blinked at him from under heavy eyelids and released another plume of smoke.

The flash blinded him and made green spots dance in front of his eyes. Whatever. Wasn't like anything fucking mattered anymore.

Dismas watched camera guy take several shots of the hotel room, but it wasn't long before the two men turned to him and he spotted a set of keys in Reynauld's hand.

"Are you going to resist?" Reynauld asked.

Dismas thought it was a fairly stupid question. He surely wasn't going to say so if the answer was yes. But it was one against two with more police stationed outside the room, and even if he somehow managed to overpower Reynauld and his friend both, something that experience told him was a slim chance at best, what would he do then? There was no other way for him to escape.

"What's the point?" Dismas said with unconcealed bitterness, but he knew that his voice also carried a hint of resignation. He stubbed the cigarette out against the wall. It might be petty of him to vent his anger like that, but at this point, having nothing to lose, he didn't give a damn.

"I'm going to need you to turn over on your stomach," Reynauld said, but it sounded all wrong. It should have been a warm murmur in his ear after a round of foreplay, and Dismas hated how his brain still conjured those images up. Of Reynauld kneeling above him, shirtless, breathless, aroused.

"Kinky," Dismas replied. "Want me to pretend to enjoy it, officer?" he asked, deliberately avoiding Reynauld's name. This way he could at least act as if there was – had been – nothing going on between them. A lie, but not the only one being told tonight. For what he knew, Reynauld might not even be the guy's real name. "Couple 'o minutes ago I might've."

"Just don't give us a reason to fuck up your face any more than it already is," Reynauld's friend drawled in a cheerful tone, which, interestingly enough, earned him a glower from Reynauld.

Dismas did not bother with an answer, and just did as he had been told. At least they cuffed him quick and without causing any pain. But it was anything but comfortable as his joints were twisted just enough to make struggle impossible. Dismas pressed his face into the bedding, closed his eyes and did his best to relax. He could tell that Reynauld knew what he was doing just by how he didn't cut him any slack. If Dismas had wanted to put up any kind of fight, he would have regretted it very quickly.

Once they had him restrained, Reynauld was considerate enough to wrap Dismas' jacket around his shoulders, and to zip it up, which left Dismas naked only from his briefs down.

All done, they led him out.

If asked, Dismas wouldn't be able to recall the whole trip to the police department. He heard Reynauld's friend tell some other officers that they were to 'wrap matters up', which probably meant to take the rest of his things. And then, no matter how hard he tried, he could not recall walking through the hotel, or whether they had taken the stairs or the elevator.

Getting into the police van stood out, mostly because Dismas had wondered whether the hand on his head was there so he wouldn't bang it against the doorframe, as getting in with handcuffs was somewhat awkward, or to do the very thing if he put up a fight.

Reynauld fastened the seatbelt for him, while Dismas stared over his shoulder and off to the side. The proximity allowed him to catch a whiff of whatever perfume Reynauld had used, and he swallowed. The fucker had just arrested him, he shouldn't be wanting to kiss him as much as he did.

And then Reynauld was gone, and a moment later the doors slammed shut. From outside, Dismas could hear the muffled voice of Officer Number Two.

"Everythin' alright?"

"Y're asking him?" Dismas muttered. "Seriously?"

Then the noise of the engine drowned out any answer that Reynauld might have given his friend, and shortly after, they were moving. Dismas wondered how rough of a ride he was going to get, but as it turned out, it wasn't that bad. He could see the inside of the van flood with cold light whenever they passed a street lamp and the sharp edges of the shadows stretched and moved, before everything was plunged back into darkness.

Dismas closed his eyes and let the lights flash over his eyelids before he could be overcome with nausea.

He hated that he had a thing for powerful men in uniforms, enough to make him go completely stupid. Reynauld had been watching him from the moment he had entered Jubert's. Of course had. But out of all the possible reasons, Dismas' lizard brain had not thought of the simplest of them all.

They stopped an indefinite amount of time later, and the sudden silence made Dismas aware of the rush of blood in his ears. A lump was forming in his stomach, and it was a good thing he was already sitting down, because his knees felt very weak all of a sudden.

When Reynauld returned to take him in, he found Dismas with his head between his knees, trying to keep his breathing even.

"M'coming," Dismas muttered, and convulsively tried to swallow past the cottony feeling of his tongue. "Just seasick."

He did not see Reynauld's reaction, but he didn't instantly force Dismas to get up and move, but let him get a few steadying lungfuls of fresh night air first.

When Dismas got off the van he found himself in a stone courtyard, surrounded by arched entryways on one side and Dismas' as of right now least favourite building on the other. It was mostly unlit, but even so it could not be mistaken for anything but the Riverside PD.

Reynauld took Dismas past a guardhouse, through a barrier and into a corridor that had all the allure of a hospital waiting room. From the outside the police station had looked abandoned, but inside there were plenty of people going about their business. Some greeted Reynauld, some cast curious looks at Dismas, but most of them appeared to be too engrossed in their own tasks to really care about one more guy in handcuffs.

"So what happens now?" Dismas asked, as they walked past a set of doors that looked much too solid and high-security for his liking.

Reynauld answered, but his reply was more professional than friendly. "We need to book you in, and then you will be in holding until my superior arrives to question you."

"Sounds like fun," Dismas muttered. "Where do I check in?"

As it turned out, it was in the second room right around the corner. He was photographed, fingerprinted and then a wild-eyed doctor who had a subtle air of crazy about her drew his blood before sending him on his way to have his chest x-rayed.

When everything was done, Dismas received some pocketless, drab grey prison clothes and was finally allowed to dress.

Out of all the things Reynauld could have said to him in parting, it had to be,

"Whatever you do, don't accept any kind of drink."

He didn't explain. He just left Dismas in a cell that was already occupied by three other men. One of them was lying stretched out on one of the two benches, a little pool of drool collecting under his chin. The second one was sitting on the floor. He had a staple of blank papers and was drawing simple, childlike pictures with crayons while the third man was having a very animated conversation with one of the corners. Neither of them noticed the new arrival, which was probably for the best.

Dismas' sole consolation was that Reynauld had taken off the handcuffs, and that within the cell he could move around freely. Not that there was much space to do so. In the end, he made himself as comfortable as possible on the unoccupied bench.

It was chilly in here, and he wished for his coat to wrap around himself, but that had been confiscated, alongside his earring. The adrenaline high of his arrest was beginning to wear off, and the subsequent crash combined with the waiting and the uncertainly, were slowly but surely beginning to take their toll.. In addition to that, Dismas tried not to think about the walls surrounding him, the iron bars and how this might be the only view he was going to get for the rest of his days.

He distracted himself by trying to remember the way back to the exit, but the truth was that he did not even know in which block the prison was located. His only clue was on the far wall in the form of a tiny green plaque with a white arrow underneath, the former of which read forensics.

There was no clock for him to keep track of the passing of time, and little else to do but shift in discomfort and to keep a wary eye on the other prisoners and the occasional police officer walking by.

He never heard or saw the doc who had been present during his examination arrive. When he turned to look out past the bars, she was right there, watching him like he was a curiosity in an expo, or maybe an animal in the zoo. Dismas was so startled by her sudden appearance, that he jerked violently enough to rattle the bench underneath him.

"Did you know that before syringes the medicus would use leeches?" the blonde woman asked him out of the blue. "Their practices were most curious."

"W- what?" Dismas stammered, completely taken off-guard and with his heart still wildly palpitating in his chest.

"Nothing," the doc replied and lifted a silver can. "Coffee?"

Dismas looked from the sleeping man to the other one who now rocked back and forth while the last one raved on about doom, lost eyes and knives in his back, and swallowed.

"Thanks, 'm good," he said, scooting a little bit further back.

The doc made a small disappointed noise in the back of her throat, and abruptly turned and left.

Dismas pulled his knees up against his chest, so he could rest his chin on them.

If the holding cells were meant to intimidate him, it was working. He might have expected to be tied to a chair and have the truth beaten out of him with a crowbar, but not to get drugged, be put in a diaper, and spilling the beans willingly.

He was up in an instant when Reynauld returned. Dismas did not care what was going to happen next, he only knew that if he stayed in here much longer, he would lose his sanity as well.

"Did someone offer you something?" was the first thing out Reynauld's mouth, and he cast a glance full of suspicion in the direction of the door through which the strange woman had disappeared what must have been hours ago. He did not seem fazed by the condition of Dismas' cell mates at all.

"Yeah – ," Dismas said, hurrying to add, "I didn't take it."

"Oh. Good." The relief in Reynauld's voice made Dismas' brows shoot up in alarm. "Ya know, I don't think that's legal." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Reynauld replied flatly.

Of course not. Dismas did not argue as he was put back in handcuffs. Reynauld kept a firm hold on his arm, and led them through another maze of corridors. Dismas wondered if this place was specifically designed so as to make any attempts of escape nigh impossible. It was highly probable.

"Is Mallory here yet?" Reynauld asked when they arrived at a door that was being guarded by one bored police officer.

"Yep," came the answer. "She's just finished talking to the other guy. You can go right in once they come out."

Dismas wasn't paying attention, until the doors opened and he came face to face with –

"Louet – " Dismas stared, that one word caught in his throat like a cough, threatening to suffocate him.

Louet's eyes caught Dismas', and immediately flittered away again, and Dismas knew in that moment who had sold him out. He wouldn't have believed it before. What had happened to the promises, to it being them against the rest of the world? Thick as thieves was apparently just a saying, after all.

And now there was nothing; no cocky grin, no nod – the back-stabbing piece of shit didn't even have the gall to look him straight in the eye.

Dismas was still reeling from the encounter when he was led into the room and made to sit down. The table and chairs were bolted to the floor, and Dismas quickly got handcuffed to the former. It wasn't Reynauld who took his place on the other side, but a stern looking woman who introduced herself as Mallory Dumont, deputy director of the RPD. She had to be the Reynauld's superior then.

"I'd rise fer a lady, Dismas said, "but," he shrugged and rattled the metal links.

Mallory did not crack a smile, nor did her lips so much as twitch. Reynauld himself had a chair in the corner of the room, and he was balancing a clipboard on his knees. He appeared to be busy with some paperwork, but if that was the case, there's be no reason for him to do it right here, right now.

Mallory was paid him no heed, and Dismas tried not to let the other man's presence distract him too much. It was easier said than done, especially when Reynauld made a face as if the form had insulted his entire ancestral line, or when tapped the end of his pen against his cheek, lost in thought.

Mallory in contrast, could have been carved out of marble. She was the kind of person who used all the big words in conversation. Not to impress, but because she knew exactly what they meant and when to use them.

Dismas by contrast, could barely string together enough syllables to turn them into something that resembled language. He was cold and hungry, with a headache building behind his eyes and a throat that was sore from thirst. All in all, perfect conditions for the cops to question him.

"Do I get an attorney?" Dismas wanted to know, fully aware that he was grasping at straws.

"Technically, you have the right," Reynauld's boss replied without a hint of concern. She held all the cards, and she knew it. "If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you."

And Dismas knew just how unbiased and committed said person would be. The police knew he could not afford legal counselling. After all, they had been the ones who had taken his possessions.

"Practically," Mallory continued, "You are not a citizen, which means we do not have to prosecute you at all. There are others who would be happy to do so in our stead. For instance, several of the Northern city-states where, I believe, you are better known under the name Valance Paixdecoeur."

Dismas stared ahead blankly. If they knew his name, there was nothing he could do to stop them from unrolling his past.

He could not go to prison in the North. Too many broken ties, too much history. He was sure he would not live long enough to serve his full term. Not that he would want to, in that scenario. Banditry and murder would get him a lifelong sentence, even without the more recent addition of burglary and car theft.

"So as you can see," Mallory resumed, "There is no point in withholding information."

"If I do know something," Dismas said, licking dry lips. His head was spinning too much for him to be clever, so he outright asked, "What do I get out of it?"

"You misunderstand the nature of this relationship," Mallory retorted with glacial composure. "The PD does not need your cooperation. We would merely prefer it."

Dismas had to give it to her; she had more balls than most gang leaders he had known.

"What do you want?" he rasped.

Mallory did not give an indication that she was pleased with how everything had turned out. She was too professional for that. What she wanted, boiled down to Dismas giving them names, dates, any and every kind of dirt he had that would be of help to their investigation. His little side-venue of robbing graves seemed barely a concern to them. No, they had fatter fish to catch. They were going for El Abuelo, and they were doing it via the Wolf.

Dismas had been part of the outfit for a while, and while he actually knew little about the legendary bandit boss whose name was still only spoken in hushed whispers in parts of the North, he still had old contacts, and some of them owed him favours.

"If you cooperate to your fullest extent, and your contribution is found to significantly have helped the outcome of the investigation, we would be willing to advocate for a lighter sentence," Mallory added, as if in afterthought.

Ah. First the crop, then the carrot.

"And who's to decide that?" Dismas wanted to know, even though he had his suspicions.

"Us," Mallory replied and did not blink when Dismas huffed at the blatant unfairness of it all. "Or more specifically, the senior officer in charge of the operation."

The saddest part was that it was still the best deal he was going to get. Dismas was no rat, but what good was there for him in protecting people who would not return the favour? It seemed these days he only had false friends who either already had or who without a second thought would sell him out for a chance at their own freedom.

Dismas nodded, not trusting his voice, silently agreeing to cooperate.

"Excellent. Mallory reached into her bag and took out a folder, putting its contents in front of Dismas.

Dismas looked at the stack of papers that were undoubtedly full of legal bullshit, and with a sigh, he grabbed the pen and drew the first one closer.

"You should read this before you sign," Reynauld chimed in from the back. He had barely said anything during this entire time, and now his comment had Dismas grinding his teeth together.

This was the worst possible time to make this confession, but, "I can't – "

"You can't read," Mallory stated coolly.

"I can read," Dismas snarled, instantly furious they would assume he was just one more dumb criminal ne'er-do-well from the North – even though the parts about crime and the North were actually true. "I just can't – " He couldn't make out the mouse shit letters when they were so tiny that the words were running together in blurry lines.

Reynauld rose, carried his chair over to the side of the table and took the papers out of Dismas' hands before he could crumple them in his frustration.. Reynauld cleared his throat and began to read slowly, tracing the text with his index finger to indicate where he was.

The last thing Dismas wanted to feel was grateful. He wondered if he should ask him to print out the stupid forms in a larger font size. That would be the smart thing to do. Refuse to sign anything he could not verify reading for himself. But Dismas had never been the smartest. He wanted to believe the man who was so good at playing the good cop, who without being asked explained what most of the legal stuff actually meant, and who managed not to sound condescending to boot.

And above everything else, Dismas was tired.. Tired of hiding from the gangs, tired of running from cops and former friends alike. At least now he had certainty. As long as he stayed here, in Velstaad, he had a chance at life. At escape.

Audrey had not taken to hiring him to jiggle one security system or another for nothing. He wasn't possessed of a magic touch like she claimed, but repairing vehicles was not the only skill he had.

It would take time and a lot of planning, but for now, it would do.

Dismas scrawled his name wherever Reynauld pointed. When they were dine, he collected the stack of papers, and handed them to Mallory.

She rose without another glance at the prisoner, put the documents in a folder, and nodded. "Well done, Maurouard. He is all yours."

"E – excuse me?" Reynauld stammered.

Dismas nodded to show he agreed with the cop. The fuck?

"I was under the impression this was your case?" Mallory said with raised brows. "Assigned to you by the chief?"

Oh.

"Oh." Reynauld said sheepishly and Dismas just knew they had both thought the exactly same thing. "Yes."

"Is there a problem?" Mallory enquired, her bright eyes drilling a hole right through both men.

"None," Reynauld replied, not very convincingly.

But Mallory either did not notice, or did not care, because she left shortly after, leaving Reynauld to regain his composure and Dismas to ponder the meaning of that brief exchange. It looked like he would have to work for and with Reynauld. Their eyes met.

Dismas was the first to look away. He snorted. They'd both believed that Miss Mallory was implying –

"What?" Reynauld's question interrupted Dismas' train of thought.

"Just wonderin'," Dismas said, "What bein' a pig's like."

"It's diverse, and I'm not just referring to work hours," Reynauld replied, deadpan.

Dismas barked out a surprised laugh, but the amusement lasted only a moment. "Wish I could hate you," he muttered.

Dismas could hear Reynauld exclaim noisily.

"Same."