It was late in the afternoon when Ethan decided to venture forth on his own again.

Bela was making herself scarce, as she usually was these days. The few times Ethan did see her, he nearly preferred that Bela had not shown up at all. Getting through to her was like trying to walk through quicksand. Any attempts at conversation fell flat, and left Ethan to sink into his thoughts.

Ethan had made it a habit to navigate to the library on his own accord in the early afternoons. Bela had used to walk with him to Daniela's abode, but that was a thing of the past now. It was up to Ethan to ensure he reached Daniela in time, and would spend the afternoon with her as he'd promised a week ago. Normally, his stay with Daniela lasted well into the early evening, until just before dinner. Today, Daniela was in a less sociable spirit, and not her usual happy, bubbly self.

Ethan had not been the cause of her sullen mood this time. Instead, it was due to her struggle to wrap up her mystery novella's ending. While Ethan had not delved into the craft of writing before, he could sympathize with her difficulty; there wasn't much he could do, other than to be present for Daniela, and to offer the occasional suggestion.

Not like it helped. Apparently, his ideas – even the good ones (in his humble opinion) – did not jive with whatever Daniela had in mind. The redhead did know what she wanted to achieve; it's just that she seemed to lack the means to voice it to Ethan, or to commit it onto the page. In the end, after one too many of Daniela's mood swings, they agreed it was safer for Ethan to back away for the day.

Dinner would not be for a few more hours, and Ethan dreaded the idea of ruminating in his cell until then – hyper-fixating on his deteriorating relationship with Bela.

It was good to be productive in times like this – times when the mind absolutely refused to settle down in the slightest. His journal was on the verge of growing tattered from use – from the sheer frequency Ethan thumbed through the pages, reading and rereading his thoughts, or penning more down. All the hypotheses as to what was going on in Bela's head were written down on the worn pages. If this went on for any longer, he would run out of pages, and need to switch over to the journal he'd gotten from the Duke weeks ago.

However, even Ethan in his anxious state of mind could tell he was going fucking crazy turning Bela's cold shoulder over and over in his head. No matter how many ideas and theories he would pen down, he wasn't getting any closer to solving this. So, Ethan sought to be productive in a different way.

This was how Ethan found himself at the Duke's Emporium.

Having navigated the dungeons so many times with Bela, it was a cakewalk to do it alone; he could do it with his eyes closed, if he really wanted to test his memory. At this hour, there was also minimal risk of running face first into Lady Dimitrescu. Ethan still exercised due caution whenever applicable – peeking around corners and surveying the scene before he continued. It was only prudent to do so. After all, Lady Dimitrescu was the only person left in this castle who may take issue with him waltzing about like he owned the place.

Bela didn't mind, even if she was as distant as she was. Daniela was thrilled to see him coming and going to the library as he pleased. Cassandra welcomed him into the armory with open arms – or at least, as close to open arms as a guarded and stoic person like Cassandra could manage.

The maids no longer gave him a second glance whenever he passed by them – unless it was to bow their heads in greeting along with a polite, "Mr. Winters."

It was as if he was an honored guest in the castle (as Bela had once said) and not the prisoner he was supposed to be.

The only other person Ethan suspected may give him trouble was Tatyana. Like Bela had said, the head chambermaid answered directly to Lady Dimitrescu, and that made her unpredictable compared to the rest of the castle's denizens.

But honestly, what was the worst that would happen? Tatyana would tell on him? All for walking around to make a purchase, before returning to his cell like a good prisoner?

Maybe if he showed the gruff head maid his license and registration, she would let it slide.

In any case, if Tatyana ever accosted him, it would be a simple matter of talking himself out of it. This relative peace in the castle, and the freedom afforded to him were all fragile. It was so, very easy to lose the privileges he'd gained in the three weeks of his imprisonment.

Shaking his head to himself, Ethan pushed his way into the Duke's Emporium. The modestly sized room was as Ethan had last seen it. The red carpet ran along the length of the room, cushioning his footsteps. The well-stocked shelves lined the walls, ready for perusal. A single padded armchair sat by the Duke's central table.

The big man himself sat in his usual nook in the recessed center of the wall. An impossibly small set of reading glasses hung loosely by the tip of the Duke's nose. The glasses were secured by a shining golden chain looped around the Duke's neck. In one meaty hand, he carried a book, which was too small to be his usual ledger. In the other, he rolled a cigar between his fingertips. The embers of the cigar burned dimly, and the ash had smoldered long to a dull grey – as if it was long overdue to be tapped over the glass ashtray on the table.

What struck Ethan the most was the absence of the Duke's trademark jolly smile. His bushy grey eyebrows scrunched into a frown as his restless eyes scanned the book in his hands. The man gave no indication that he had even noticed Ethan's arrival.

As odd and mysterious as the Duke was, the man had been nothing but helpful to Ethan since they had met. Ethan felt that was part of what made his stomach rumble in unease to see the Duke's downcast face.

Seeking to remedy that, Ethan cleared his throat and chimed, "Hey, I heard there was a buy one, get one sale on lockpicks – is that right?"

The Duke's head snapped in Ethan's direction. For a solid second, the surprise flashed through his face, and he let out a soft chuckle. "Ah, Mr. Winters – it is good to see you." He closed the book. "Forgive me, I did not hear you come in."

"It's all good, Duke." Ethan offered the man a smile as he approached the center of the Emporium. He nodded towards the book in the Duke's hands, "Whatcha got there? If it's got you that hooked, maybe I should get Dani a copy."

The Duke's lips quirked in a smile that did not reach his eyes. "I'm afraid it is not a novel, Mr. Winters. He tucked the book into a vest pocket. "More of a journal."

If that was the case, Ethan had to wonder if he looked that lost in thought when going through his own journal. "Oh… you doin' okay?"

The merchant's eyes went to his cigar – almost like he'd forgotten it – and took a drag. He puffed the smoke out and tapped the cigar over his ash tray, then rested his arm over his midsection. In an uncharacteristic, highly un-Duke-like manner, he let out a weighty sigh.

"Can I offer you a smoke, Mr. Winters?" The Duke placed a hand on a small red leather box on the table. He popped it open, revealing a neat selection of cigars lining the interior of the box. When Ethan shook his head in reply, the Duke then tried, "How about a drink?"

Ethan didn't outright shoot the offer down. Taking that as his cue, the Duke lowered his reading glasses, allowing them to hang loosely by the chain. He bent over with a grunt, pulling open a small mini-fridge tucked underneath the table. A tall, narrow bottle was pulled out first. He set it down on the table with a thunk, the clear liquid within sloshing around; the frosty air around it swirled into the considerably warmer room – seemingly beckoning to Ethan like an invitation.

"What's that?" Ethan asked, "Vodka?"

"Palincă," The Duke explained, one hand on the bottle, and the other on the minifridge's door. "The country's traditional fruit spirit."

Hard liquor didn't seem like the best idea when Ethan still had a training session with Cassandra lined up. Ethan tried his luck, "Got any beer in there?"

The Duke's lips quirked in a small smile. "Only the local brands, I'm afraid."

Ethan pursed his lips and shrugged. "I'll take it."

A green bottle was pulled from the fridge and summarily placed on the table. "Please, have a seat, Mr. Winters."

"Don't mind if I do."

Ethan made himself comfortable on the cushioned armchair positioned across the Duke, who swiftly removed the beer's bottle cap. He slid the beer across the table and into Ethan's waiting hands. Ethan inspected the bottle's white label with its black text and red highlights.

Ethan butchered the pronunciation of the brand name, "Csíki Sör." He shrugged to himself. Even when cracking drinks open with Mia after a long day, once Rose was tucked in and asleep – they'd managed to stick to imported beer from back home. They'd talked a few times about trying out local beer from the pubs in the nearby towns, but the plan had never gotten the chance to materialize. Ethan ran a thumb over the bottle's label as a pang of longing ached in his heart. "Don't think I've tried this before."

The Duke poured himself a shot of palincă; from all the way across the table, Ethan could smell the potency of the alcohol. There was an absence of merriment in the Duke's voice when he raised the glass towards Ethan. "Cheers, my friend."

"Cheers, man."

Their glasses clinked together, and the Duke tipped his head back to down the shot. Ethan stared at the bottle for a moment longer. This wasn't supposed to be how his first sip of local Romanian beer was supposed to go. It should've been down at the local pub, the sports news blaring from the TV over the bar in an unintelligible language, and drowned out by the din of chatter from the bargoers. The smell of frying food permeating the air. Mia's gorgeous, teasing smile from across the booth, right before she challenged him – asking if he was sure he could hold his liquor.

Ethan released a sigh. He tipped the bottle back, taking a deep sip of the beer as if to prove to Mia that yes, he could hold his liquor just fine. Ethan set the bottle down, smacking his lips and trying to wrap his head around the flavor; it was an odd coalescence of sweetness with the usual bitter tang of beer. A bit of an acquired taste, but by no means bad. Mia would have surely loved it.

"Not bad," Ethan remarked. "I could get used to this."

Ethan wrapped both his hands around the bottle as he looked up at the massive man before him. The Duke's expression had not shifted much – still looking decidedly unhappy compared to his usual self.

"Why the long face, Duke? You doing okay?" Ethan asked.

The Duke's eyes lifted up from his glass to focus on Ethan. The dour expression brought out the hard lines on the Duke's usually soft face – making him look nearly like a completely different person. A sigh rumbled out, and his shoulders sagged as he poured himself another shot of liquor. The Duke answered Ethan's question with a question of his own.

"Do you believe in fate, Mr. Winters?"

Ethan raised his brows, more than a little taken off guard – as this was not the sort of conversation he expected to be walking into. "Uh, well – I think it… it depends?"

Not his most intellectual response, but the only one Ethan could come up with when knocked off balance like this.

The Duke took another long drag of his cigar, puffing the smoke out; his eyes carried a faraway look as he began to speak, "Nearly eight billion people on this planet, and it is you," he motioned to Ethan with his cigar, "who I am talking to right here, right now, in this castle." The Duke traded in his cigar for the shot glass, swirling around the clear liquid within. "What are the odds of that?"

"Other circumstances aside…" The whole moldy background with the Bakers, and his very possibly moldy daughter aside, "Astronomical, I guess."

The Duke downed his next shot in one go and set the glass back down on the table. He wiped his lips and mused, "And how long has it been now since you became a guest in this castle? Three weeks? A month?" A small quirk in the corner of his lips, and he asked, "You're still keeping track, are you not?"

Without missing a beat, Ethan answered, "Three weeks…" His familiarity with his journal the past few days granted him a renewed sense of time. "Twenty-three days, to be exact." He shrugged a shoulder. "That's if my initial count when this all started was correct. Hard to tell between all the blackouts."

"Tell me, Ethan," The Duke was already pouring his next shot as he spoke, "What do you think the odds are that your stay in this castle have proceeded as they have?"

Ethan narrowed his eyes. "And how would you say my stay has been?"

"Overall? Decidedly peaceful."

Faster than Ethan could blink, all those moments flashed through his eyes – Cassandra's knife carving his flesh and making a jigsaw puzzle out of his arm. Teeth ripping into his skin, fangs sinking into his neck. His ears, ringing and deafening out all sound as the muzzle flash of his LEMI lit up the cellar. The split seconds, impossibly long when he'd held the lives of the Dimitrescu sisters in his hands. Bela by the dining room window, and the hammer he'd been ready to smash into her skull. Daniela with the skylight's lever in the library, and the cutter he could've used to slit her throat. Cassandra in the armory with its crumbling wall, and how painfully easy it could've been to throw her through the wall and out into the freezing winter night.

Each time, he'd been given the perfect opportunity to snuff their lives out, and for one reason or another, he had chosen peace – even when every white-hot instinct in his body screamed for blood.

Anyone else would've given in. Hell, it was certainly one of the most sensible reactions to all the horrific depravities the Dimitrescu House was responsible for. The cellar alone was a testimony to the sort of fate they had earned.

But it was different now, and Ethan was not anyone else. He'd spared the Dimitrescu sisters from his wrath and he wasn't turning his back on that decision.

All out of the hope for humanity prevailing over the monstrous nature the sisters had been embroiled in for so long.

Ethan scoffed.

Decidedly peaceful, my ass.

Ethan took another big sip of beer, smacked his lips, and answered, "Odds are very fucking astronomical I haven't iced any of the sisters."

Another smile nudged the Duke's lips upward – but they failed to reach his eyes. A lingering sadness appeared to lurk beneath the big man's usually warm expression. "I'm sure this isn't how you originally imagined things would go, yes?" The Duke gestured to the castle around them with a large hand, the rings on his fingers jingling together. "You entered this castle with fire in your veins – ready to get Rosemary back no matter the cost. Ready to destroy anything that stood in between yourself and little Rosemary… and then what happened?"

"C'mon, Duke," Ethan used his beer bottle to motion to his current drinking companion, "you know what happened. Bela happened."

"Did she, Mr. Winters?" The Duke tilted his head towards Ethan. "Or did you let her happen to you?"

"I…" Ethan blinked. "Am not sure what you're getting at."

The Duke picked his shot glass up, eyes studying the liquid as if pondering the liquor. "What I am saying is that the choice was always in your hands, my friend. Lady Bela's presence and her actions may have had influence on you – but your actions," The Duke's eyes lifted to lock onto Ethan's, "Your decisions are yours, and yours alone."

Ethan watched the Duke in silence. He ran the sentiment over in his head while thumbing the condensation forming on the side of his beer bottle.

The man had a point. These were all Ethan's decisions at the end. It had been his choice to play the part of the good prisoner, and wait for the perfect opportunity to escape. It had been his choice to allow the plan to shift – to willingly get closer and closer to Bela, which led to where they were now.

"Your conscious effort to maintain the peace in this castle, despite the sometimes overwhelming odds, is not a constant, brought about by Lady Bela's kindness to you." The Duke paused only to knock back his next shot of alcohol. He cleared his throat and set the glass down. "It is merely a variable – your response to her behavior. Kindness begets kindness, after all. But… you said it yourself."

"Said what?"

"The odds that this happened are astronomical. In a hundred billion different instances, you could have just as easily taken advantage of Lady Bela's kindness." The Duke's expression hardened. He retrieved his cigar and leaned back on his chair, propping his elbow up on his massive belly. "You could have capitalized on it. Strike her when her guard was down, do the same to her sisters, the Lady of the castle herself, and then escape with your daughter." He pointed the cigar at Ethan. "But you didn't. Even now, you could do so, but you do not."

The Duke tilted his head at Ethan, rolling the cigar between his fingers. "It would be so easy, would it not? The freedom is yours for the taking. You could walk up to the master bedroom, take Rosemary, and walk out. Yet you've decided to stay and visit me instead."

"You know it's not that simple, Duke."

"Is it not? So what if a few Lycans and Samce guard the castle grounds? So what if it is cold outside? If anyone could come up with a solution, it would be you."

Ethan remained silent as the Duke's piercing eyes bore down on him. Once more, the man, perhaps, had a point. With the freedom of movement granted to Ethan, escape was a stone's throw away. Escape was difficult – that went without saying. But it wasn't the insurmountable feat it had once seemed to be. It was an option now. It was an open path he could take, if he really wanted to.

"The point I am making, Mr. Winters, is that Lady Bela's kindness did not cement the path before you." The Duke took a deep puff of his cigar, blowing the smoke out slowly. "The path you carve through this castle, whether through peace or through blood, is variable."

Ethan mimicked the Duke, leaning back into the armchair. He took a long swig from his bottle before pressing his head into the backrest; he did his best to wrap his mind around the Duke's flow of logic. The philosophizing of constants and variables was, once again, not something he expected to participate in.

"When you think about it, isn't everything a variable, in that sense? I mean…" Ethan gestured vaguely with his hand, while the other held the beer bottle securely. "If you're talking about decisions and what could come of it – doesn't that automatically make it a variable?" When the Duke didn't promptly respond, Ethan continued, "Like – this conversation, at the tiniest level, this is decision-making too, right? These are variables at work, because I'm choosing what to say next, whether it's something logical or if I just end a sentence, like," Ethan drew in a breath, "Penis!"

It startled a laugh out of the Duke, and he shook his head. "Perhaps, Mr. Winters. Perhaps." He took a quick drag of his cigar, blowing it out away from Ethan. "But the utter prevalence of variables in the world does not mean there are no constants."

"What's a constant, then?" Ethan asked, "Gimme an example."

"You being here in this castle, my friend." The Duke gave another sad smile. "Drawn to Lady Dimitrescu's abode, in search for your missing daughter – I would say that is a constant."

Ethan snorted, a small grimace on his features. "First off, I'd say that citing something that already happened, doesn't count." Ethan took a sip from the chilly beer, which was steadily growing on him. He followed up with, "Secondly, how can you say that for sure, though? What if it was someone else's daughter who got kidnapped and taken to this castle? After all, any proper parent would do the same thing for their kid. You'd be talkin' to them, not me."

The Duke shook his head. "It's always you, Mr. Winters. It's always you."

A furrow formed on Ethan's brow. "What do you mean, Duke? How is it always me?"

"There is nobody else in the world whose life remotely follows your path." The Duke fiddled with the cigar between his fingers. Sorrow washed over the large man's hard features. "Only Ethan Winters could have a daughter worth Miranda's interest. Only Ethan Winters could survive everything thrown his way." The cigar was pointed Ethan's way once more. "Only Ethan Winters has sat, sits, and will sit where you are sitting right now, my friend. This fate is a constant."

Ethan was silent for a moment. While the finality and conclusion in the Duke's voice was egging him on for a rebuttal, Ethan was drawing blanks. Because, at least to a degree, Ethan knew the Duke was right. Who else could have gone through the very specific, very horrific events that he had, and arrive here, halfway across the world, only to get his daughter kidnapped? The sort of shit Ethan endured was once in a lifetime, yet all the loss, pain, grief, and trauma were now a twice in a lifetime experience. If the odds of all this happening weren't low enough to make Ethan believe in the Duke's notion of constants, he wasn't sure what would.

A sigh, and the Duke added, "Unfortunately, it is not up to us to change the course of fate."

"Says who?" Ethan challenged. "If fate told me the only way through this castle was to kill everyone in my way, I'd tell fate to go fuck itself and kick it in the goddamn teeth." He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, "Look, man – I won't lie to you. I've thought about it a lot, y'know – all those chances I had to just fight my way outta this place. I know that doing it – it's feasible, right? But…" Ethan's lips parted, hanging open for a long couple of seconds, "But I know I wouldn't do that. I know I'm making the right choices in here." He licked his dry lips, and cleared his throat. "Despite everything, these girls are people enough to me, and it's not in me to hurt people."

The Duke eyed the smoldering tip of his cigar before looking Ethan's way. He hummed – a curious, inquisitive sound. "What if they deserve it?"

It was a thought Ethan had grappled with in his private moments, of which he had plenty now that Bela distanced herself from him. There were certainly many out there – many who lost countless loved ones to the Dimitrescu House – who would agree with the Duke's hypothetical what if – hell, it was hardly a hypothetical at all. This castle had seen a staggering number of lives snuffed out before their time, and the blood was on each of the daughters' hands – even Bela. It was the easiest thing in the world to simply say that the Dimitrescu House deserved a whirlwind of death to come knocking their castle down. Ethan was supposed to have been that whirlwind. He knew it.

But the world just wasn't black and white anymore. Not after the Bakers. Not after hearing Jack's pleading voice, and seeing the tears beading up behind his crooked reading glasses. Not after forming connections with each of the Dimitrescu sisters. He couldn't pass judgment off without second thought like that. Not anymore.

"Maybe they would deserve it, but…" Ethan shrugged, eyes glued to the dripping condensation along his beer bottle. "It's not up to us to say who deserves to get hurt because of things they've done. That's probably up to the higher powers."

"You do not strike me as a very religious man, Mr. Winters." The Duke mused.

A soft laugh, and Ethan pointed upward with his bottle, "Yeah, I don't have much of a relationship with the big guy upstairs these days. I'd probably burst into flames if I hauled my ass into a church. But still," Ethan pursed his lips for a beat and reiterated, "I'm just tired of the violence, y'know? I'm fucking tired of this idea that we gotta answer hurt with more hurt, pain with more pain." Ethan paused only to take a sip of his beer, gesturing with his bottle as he spoke, "I think I'm past that point with these three. Hurting them won't bring me to Rose and get me out of this valley safely. Hurting them won't regrow my fingers and," he motioned to his arm, "get rid of all these scars."

Ethan could only think of that bright smile on Cassandra's face, and the little dimple in the corner of her cheek. The way Daniela's entire being lit up like a flower in bloom as she held onto her copy of Fifty Shades. Bela's sleepy voice and tired smile when she took his hand and asked him to stay the night.

"If there's a bit of humanity in them, even if it's just a scrap of good, then they're worth taking a chance on. They deserve another chance. They can't be all bad, Duke." Ethan looked the Duke in the eyes. "They're not all bad. I know it, I've seen it."

"That is admirable, Mr. Winters, it is." The Duke continued to roll the cigar between his fingers. "The fact you are able to say this after everything is remarkable to me, but…" The merchant glanced at Ethan, his expression appearing nearly apologetic. "There still exists an infinite number of worlds where you could have easily given in to the anger, the rage – the need to find Rosemary."

The bottle to his lips, Ethan grumbled, "There better be a million fucking worlds where I'm more drunk for this conversation."

It got a soft chuckle from the Duke, while Ethan racked his brain. He needed something far stronger than Romanian craft beer to deal with fucking multiverse theory. After taking a second to pinch his nose bridge, Ethan waved his hand as he spoke, "Okay, so you're saying there are variables, and they create this… exponential, never-ending number of outcomes, with different probabilities."

"Correct."

"And there are… constants." Ethan tapped the bottle once against his armrest. "Stuff that remains the same no matter what, yeah? Stuff that'll always happen?"

Ethan stared at his beer bottle for a while longer, took a swig, and then voiced his thoughts as they came, "I don't know how you know what a constant really is, and I'm still not sure if I believe that's a thing." Simply because, what if it was someone else's wife aboard the Annabelle? What if that Jane Doe washed up on the Baker Ranch, and Mr. John Doe came looking for her, instead of one Ethan Winters searching for his lost wife, Mia Winters? And there was no way Ethan was the only person searching for lost loved ones from that doomed ship. That possibility surely was enough to deflate this theory of constants, right?

"But, let's say you're right – there's constants out there that'll happen whether we like it or not, and it'll happen across an infinite number of worlds…" Ethan squinted, more at himself and his struggle to arrange his thoughts, than anything else. "What does it matter?"

The Duke frowned softly. "Pardon?"

"What does it matter that it's a constant across the multiverse? The fuck's another universe gonna do to impact this one?" Ethan's gestures, both with his hands and his bottle, grew more animated as he spoke, "Me – I am not the Ethan Winters who got trigger happy and shot this castle to shit. I'm not the Ethan Winters who betrays the daughters' trust and uses it to escape. We live in this world, and the only shit we gotta worry about is our own, don't you think?"

"I wish that were the case, Mr. Winters. But every world matters." The Duke took a long drag of his cigar before tapping the ash off. "Every world, every outcome, every possibility informs us of what is to come."

"How?" Ethan asked, "How do they matter, Duke?"

"In the same way that we must learn from history, so as to not repeat it," The Duke explained. "If we know what cannot be changed, then at least we may focus our efforts on what may still be salvageable." The merchant's eyes grew distant, seemingly going right through Ethan as he concluded in a mutter, "Even if we wish we could change that which cannot be changed."

Yup. Definitely need something stronger than beer. The palincă was looking like a viable candidate, but Ethan was bent on being sober for his next appointment with Cassandra.

But maybe one shot wouldn't hurt.

"Okay, I'll be real with you," Ethan leaned in, grabbing the Duke's glass from the table. He unscrewed the palincă's cap and poured himself a shot. "You completely lost me."

Nine-foot-something vampires, bug-girls, werewolves, freaky doll-things, ugly-ass toads, magnetic assholes with hammers – these were all fairly easy for Ethan to wrap his head around. Shit, even his apparently regrowing fingers could be comprehended. They weren't that weird compared to the human-shaped monsters of mold in the Baker House.

But this talk with the Duke – deeper than the deepest stoned conversations Ethan ever had while crossfading on tequila and pot – this was a bit much. Seeing between multiverses was a little too batshit even for Ethan. But maybe it was all hypothetical anyway. Maybe this was just the Duke's way of laying his thoughts out – how meticulously he looked at possibilities and their associated probabilities.

Who knows?

Ethan tilted his head back and downed the shot. The powerful liquor trailed fire down his throat, and he was left with a vaguely sweet aftertaste. Ethan smacked his lips as he slid the glass across the table to the Duke.

"For the sake of my dumb man-brain, can we just, like – dial this back to why you asked me if I believe in fate in the first place?" Ethan nodded to the Duke. "What's bugging you, bud? What's it got to do with all this talk of variables and constants?"

"I suppose…" The Duke's eyes were downcast as he placed his cigar back down on the ashtray. His hand settled on the bottle of palincă, and stayed there. "I suppose I am simply tired of it all, Mr. Winters. Tired of fighting to change that which may never be changed."

The Duke secured the bottle in his large hand, unscrewing the cap. "I bring in these new players, new pieces. I make my plans, and I put my players through all the tests to ensure they are prepared to make the choices I need them to make." He poured the palincă into the shot glass, a frown on his features. "All for what? Nothing."

The bottle was set down with a loud thud, and the Duke picked up the shot glass, glaring at the liquor. "Some variables may change, but the constants – they are fated to stay the same." The Duke's dark eyes went up to meet Ethan's. "People always die."

Ethan's brows pitched, and he kept his voice low as he asked, "What are you talking about Duke? What players? Who dies?" The man's vague wording stirred something from the recesses of Ethan's memory. It allowed his mind to dig up one of their earliest conversations, when Bela had stepped out, leaving them alone. "Does this have something to do with Miranda?" A brief pause as he recalled their old talk. "Does it have to do with Rose and me?"

The Duke gulped his shot down, setting the glass onto the table with a hefty thunk. His expression was a decidedly sad one, when he met Ethan's gaze. "I'm afraid I have already said too much, my friend. To speak more would be to tempt fate, and what a cruel mistress she already is."

Ethan sighed and shook his head, resigning himself to the Duke's enigmatic nature. It appeared that was one thing about the big man that wouldn't change, even if he was feeling as downtrodden as he was.

"Y'know, I'm really, really not set on this constant stuff," Ethan began, "and everything you're talking about sounds way above my paygrade. But do you wanna hear my two cents anyway?"

The Duke had recovered his cigar, and spoke between puffs, "By all means, Mr. Winters."

"There are no constants," The conviction in Ethan's voice cut through the thick cigar smoke hanging in the air, "Only variables you haven't figured out yet."

"Go on." The Duke tilted his head to one side, eyes gleaming with interest.

"It's okay to be bummed out – to be tired by how hard it is. But I don't think you should rule anything out on account of thinking you can't change it." Ethan motioned towards the door – towards the rest of the castle, and its inhabitants, "If I've learned anything from this place, and the sisters, it's that you gotta expect the unexpected. It's that anything is possible." Ethan's shoulders raised with a shrug. "That's why you gotta keep going anyway, even if it's tough, because if there's a chance, even if it's the tiniest fucking chance imaginable – then that chance is worth the fight."

Ethan had taken more leaps of faith with the Dimitrescu sisters than he had his entire life – and his life very much depended on those risks he took. Yet they had all paid off, even if the road to where he was now had been anything but linear or easy.

"You keep going against all the odds, until you prove that that constant you think is a constant – is actually a variable." Ethan held the Duke's gaze, which carried the slightest watery sheen. "You won't know what you can change until you do change it. So you just gotta keep at it, big guy."

For a long moment, the Duke was silent. The cigar in his hands continued to smolder away as he looked at Ethan with fascinated eyes. Then he released a weighty sigh, and a smile found its way to his lips – bright enough to hint that a load had been taken off his shoulders. "I suppose you are right, my friend. Perhaps some change may yet come, when we need it the most."

Ethan offered a grin. "We live in interesting times, man. You'd be surprised what might happen when you need it."

"Very true, Mr. Winters." The Duke returned Ethan's smile. "Very true, indeed. I appreciate the words of wisdom."

"Wisdom might be pushing it," Ethan chuckled, waving his bottle to the side to dismiss the praise. "But I'm happy to help. Maybe my words were worth a little discount, at least."

It earned a hearty laugh from the Duke. He set his cigar down, nudging the ashtray to the side so he could bring his ledger to the center of the table. "Let us get down to business then, my friend. Anything catch your eye?"

"Got some stuff on my shopping list, yeah." Ethan drained the last of his beer and put the bottle aside. "But first, I gotta mention I'm a bit light on cash." A pause, and light grimace later, he added, "I'm broke."

With all the wares the Duke offered, Ethan felt it wasn't unrealistic to assume the Duke had some sort of loaning service. He could pay the guy back some other time, after conferring with Bela – whenever it was Bela finally deemed him worthy of speaking to again. He could only hope it would be sooner, rather than later. Even if his gut told him otherwise.

"Not to worry." The Duke waved a hand. "Lady Cassandra told me to put your purchases on her tab."

Ethan had to consciously stop his jaw from dropping. Though his brows did still nearly meet his hairline, and he opened and closed his mouth before he could find the words. "Seriously? Cassandra is picking up the bill? When'd she say that?"

"Just this morning. She mentioned you may be visiting soon, and that she would generously cover your purchases."

It took a while for Ethan to find his voice again as the shock subsided. "I'll have to thank her for that later." The brunette was full of surprises, it seemed. Ethan would be sure to put her favor to good use. "You mind bringing out the clothes? I need some gym clothes, and some stuff to sleep in."

"Only the finest selection for you, Mr. Winters." The Duke went to work clearing the surface of the table, so he could lay down the clothes for sale.

As the clothes began to pile high onto the table, an idea struck Ethan. Since Cassandra was paying for this, then he may as well add on a few items on her behalf.

It was alien to consider doing something – anything – nice for Cassandra, of all people. They'd been at each other's throats for longer than they had been on peaceful terms. The headway he had made with Cassandra in the past few days went a long way, it appeared. It was only right that he repaid her kind gesture with one of his own.

"Hey, Duke – is there any chance you got some records that Cassandra doesn't have yet?" Ethan thought back to the albums neatly stacked next to Cassandra's gramophone. To the best of his memory, he tried to recall what she did and didn't have. With a shrug, Ethan added, "Maybe… I dunno, some Metallica?"

The Duke placed another pair of gym shorts onto the table and remarked, "Lady Cassandra's collection is extensive. Her older records are complete, as far as I know." He bent down to pull a shirt from the lower shelves, placing it on the table. "But she has yet to purchase some newer releases." The Duke's signature jovial smile returned as he placed a hand on a box off to the side. "I have Rammstein's self-titled album here, signed by all the members. Lady Cassandra has been waiting for this release, too. I just so happen to have recently acquired a copy."

Ethan quirked a lopsided smile at the Duke. "Just what the doctor ordered, eh? What are the odds you have exactly what I needed?"

"Not astronomical, if that is what you're thinking," The Duke laughed.

Ethan's smile settled down, and he had to ask, "Isn't that gonna cost a fortune, though? I don't wanna bankrupt Cassandra after she offered to pay the bill."

The Duke opened the box to his side. His large fingers filed over the records for a moment before he pulled out the one in question. The Duke set the record down on the clothing, where the signatures stood out on the cover in blue marker. He tapped it once, and smiled. "Consider it a gift, my friend."

Ethan's brows shot up once more. "Jesus – you sure, Duke? This couldn't have come cheap at all. I don't wanna impose on either you or Cassandra."

"Worry not, my friend." The Duke grinned. "You have given me the resolve to push forward, and that is invaluable. Please, accept it."

Ethan put a hand on the record, giving the Duke a last look. Seeing the man was wholly serious, Ethan took it into his hands, admiring the cover art, and the signatures scrawled on the surface. "Thank you, Duke."

"Is that all, Mr. Winters? Any of the clothes catch your interest?" The Duke asked.

There was another purchase Ethan had in mind. He'd been contemplating it on and off the past few days. He'd weighed the pros and cons ad infinitum already, and he couldn't bring himself to say that this would do more harm than good. Especially after the recent breakthroughs in getting to know Cassandra. He doubted it would backfire, as it possibly would have in the earlier days. His gut had steered him the right way thus far, and he wasn't about to stop listening to it. "The armory wall's seen better days. Any chance you got like… I dunno, bricks, mortar, whatever it'll take to fix it up? Maybe throw in a how-to guide, while you're at it? Got anything for that?"

The Duke's grin was enough of an answer for Ethan; it wouldn't be long now until he was playing handyman again.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Make sure to hit those fave and follow buttons so you don't miss an update!

Shorter chapter today, but that comes with the little plus of the update coming sooner rather than later. You can expect the next update to similarly be a little shorter, but won't drop very late. Maybe the weekend of the 14th.

A talk with the Duke is one of those things I've been wanting to write for a while now. The idea that the Duke is quite... omniscient is a very intriguing take on his character. Especially after one two many comments from rascals over at AO3, I've gotten really sold on this idea that the Duke, ehm, knows what's up, haha! Partner that with how much I love Bioshock Infinite, and you get this rendition of the Duke - nudging pieces around, and contemplating the variables and constants that affect the valley at large. And all for what? Who knows - only the Duke does.

As usual, check out the socials over at linktr . ee / sylvesterm . The Q&A for July just went up, where I tackled some fun questions like which chapters of BaW are my favorite, and some that hit a little too close to home, like how my personal relationships are reflected in BaW. Q&A submissions for August are open now, so be sure to check out the socials, if you wanna find out how to send questions in for the podcasts.

Thank you once again for all the support, and I'll catch you guys soon at the next chapter. Take care out there!