"I told you to stay away from him." Peter shrank away from the words, as if he could melt into the white wall of the hospital ward. It was true, and he was guilty. He'd thought the Captain would be safe from them— he'd been wrong. Who would be the Chiru's next target? Would the assassin go after Kermit next? Or Lo Si? His breathing was heavy as Kermit ripped into him, accusing him of everything from reckless endangerment of the Captain to outright attempted murder.

It was true. It was all true. The words blurred together and he couldn't breathe.

It was all right there in his head— no, not in his head, in his eyes, the smoke and fire from the explosion of the car, from the explosion of the Temple, from the Ancient's apartment, worse than it had been in such a long time— all of it happening again in front of his eyes, and all of it was his own fault. He could smell the smoke and the gasoline, feel the heat and the gravel digging into his cheek. It had been luck that sent the Captain's gun in his direction, luck that kept Blaisdell from dying, not Peter's skill, no, Peter had nearly killed the old man. He respected him, respected them both. They'd taken a chance on him, and he'd nearly killed the Captain, because, because, because he had needed reassurance, because he'd been afraid, because—

He was having a heart attack. He clutched his chest, trying to catch his breath, but it would not come. He was dying, he was— "Peter." A hand on his shoulder. "Peter." He looked up. Pop's eyes were on his own, the deep brown of his iris merging with the black of his pupil. Pop, who hadn't been there for months, who'd left because Peter was a killer and a liar and a disappointment and there was another hand at his neck, pressing on something that seemed to connect deeply to the rest of him, blanketing his mind with a sudden cover of snow, deep and cold and quiet.

The fire could not penetrate it.

"You must breathe."

In and out and in and out and in and out. In and out. In... and out...

He slumped forward onto Pop's shoulder, exhaustion catching up with him once more.

He heard someone sitting down beside him. "Listen, Kid... I didn't mean it. What happened isn't your fault. I'm sorry."

His father's hand in his hair. The quiet, stable breathing as a model for his own. The strap from his father's bag digging into his cheek. Peter pulled back from his father's awkward embrace and glanced at Kermit. "Don't worry about it," he said quietly.

"Peter—" Kermit had his head in his hands. "It's not like I've never seen— do you have meds?"

Peter pushed the concern away. "I said I'm fine."

"That's what everyone says, until they're not." Peter glared. "All right, kid. All right. Did you see who attacked you?"

He shook his head and laughed, brittle as the shattered glass they'd taken out of his arm. "Smoke and shadows," he replied, standing despite Kermit's disappointed look. "I need to get some air."

His father rose swiftly. "I will accompany you."

Peter pursed his lips, but made no comment as he got to his feet and walked to the stairs. He took them slowly, using them as tools to steady himself. He counted them as he walked down, trying for only a single breath for each half-flight of steps until they reached the ground floor.

The area outside was park-like, but there were notes of autumn in the cool air. Peter put his hands in his pockets and walked. He could hear water somewhere around— a fountain, maybe? That would be nice... "Will Captain Blaisdell be all right?" asked his father, breaking the silence.

Peter nodded. "He's a former mercenary, that's what Kermit said. Mercenaries don't die, they just regroup."

Pop slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. "And you, my son? Are you all right?"

"I'm having panic attacks, what do you think?" he snapped, moving out of range of Pop's touch, then shook his head in frustration. Was he trying to push his father out of his life again so quickly? "Sorry, I'm just..." He waved a hand. "Just a little stressed, I guess."

"Yes." His father was staring at him, an unnerving sort of stare, and Peter turned away. "I hope I am not responsible for any of your pain."

Peter's body tensed. How was he supposed to answer that? It seemed like a trick question. Even if it wasn't, he wasn't ready for the conversation. "Hey, look. A fountain."

His father nodded, apparently content to let the subject drop. "You have always found comfort in the water."

Peter looked at the man, then nodded cautiously. His father walked with him to the side of the fountain, where they both sat down on the stone edge. Peter trailed a finger in the water, watching as the ripples spread out for a minute or two, collecting his thoughts before he spoke. "So. Where have you been?"

"I have been... walking, meditating, learning..."

"Right. And now you're back." He couldn't meet the man's eyes, but he could see them reflected in the surface of the water. Were the emotions he could see shimmering in the fountain real, or just what he wanted to see? "Why?"

"I am back because the Chiru master has returned."

"Otherwise, you wouldn't be here?" He tried to keep the raw feeling of betrayal out of his voice, but he was pretty sure it came through. His father put a hand on his back, rubbing slightly.

"Perhaps... not so soon." The man sighed. "I have an obligation in this place. It might have been met by you, except..." Kwai Chang paused for a moment, then shook his head. "No. I think you could defeat one shadow assassin, but not two." Peter turned his head to look at the priest, the question on his face. "When a Chiru protege fails, his master always accompanies him on the next mission to ensure success."

"I see." But he did not see. Did promises his father made just pass down to Peter without his knowledge? He'd never even have known about the Shadow Assassins if his father had had his way. "How are you going to find them? Protecting someone again?"

"Yes. The author, Everett Cooper."

Peter turned back to the water to hide his anger. "The author. Of course. He's the one they're after." The shadow assassins, whoever they were, weren't after Peter Caine or the people he knew. They were all just collateral damage to lure his father here so they could kill Pop and his charge in one fell swoop. "Well, lucky for you, I know where he is. Got a bad comedy routine going on over in Magnolia."

"Ah."

Peter closed his eyes, half wishing he could just collapse into the water and let it take him out. It would probably suit Pop just fine; he wouldn't have to worry about his failure of a son anymore. Not that he seemed particularly worried now, so maybe it was more along the lines of not pretending to worry about him— "You are... unwell."

He turned. The look on his father's face was concern. Real or not, he couldn't lie to the man. "I suppose. I haven't been able to sleep lately."

"The Ancient is a fine apothecary—"

"Yeah, and I visit every day. This is nightmares, pop. It's nightmares, not an imbalance of my chi or whatever."

The elder Caine nodded slightly, though Peter thought it looked far more like appeasement than agreement. "I hope I am not responsible for these dreams."

"Maybe you think too much of yourself." Peter shook his head as his father frowned at the disrespectful words. "Sorry. I'm sorry. You're not responsible for my dreams. You're just... in them. Some of them, anyways. I'm him, you're you." His father's brow furrowed in confusion. Peter wasn't sure he wanted to clarify, but he did it anyways. "Tan, I mean. I'm Tan, and you're pushing me off the karmic ledge." The priest's eyes widened in dismay and Peter looked away. He was disappointing his father again. He had to mitigate it, had to try to make his father feel welcome. Maybe if he felt welcome, he wouldn't leave after dealing with the Shadow Assassins. "You know, I haven't had vivid dreams like this since I was a kid. I think it's all the meditation," he said with a nervous smile, which fell quickly.

The elder Caine's hand cupped his cheek. "I would never seek to cause you harm, my son."

"Of course not." Peter dipped a hand into the water. "Not unless you judged me beyond all redemption. A ghost living in the world..."

"You are not Tan."

"No, I'm not. But tell me I don't remind you of the man who destroyed the Temple."

The priest looked at him with concern in his eyes and took a breath. "I am sorry that I left you with such an impression. You are not Master Dao. You are my son."

"Then why did you leave me alone?"

He shook his head. "You are not alone— you have never been alone, Peter, and you never will be alone. Even if I am not here... you will hear the sound of the flute. You will feel the wind of my hand stopping an attack."

He wished he believed that. He wished he could find an answer to that. "I missed you," he replied instead, arms wrapping around his father. "I love you." His father returned the embrace.

But not the sentiment.

Darkness had fallen.

Lu took a deep drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke swirl up and around in the dim lighting outside the door to the kitchen of the Green Dragon, a club owned and operated by the Shou. The place was used for money laundering, sure, but it was also not entirely an unprofitable business. Deep, heavy beats that shook you right down to the soles of your shoes blasted out the front doors and permeated the street on all four sides.

He rapped on the door three times, loud and clear, and the door opened. "Hey, Wong. What's bouncing?"

"Pretty quiet for a Saturday." Lu offered the man a cigarette, but it was declined quickly. "Sorry, no gossip for you tonight. It's all kids from the university."

He shrugged. "Well, you win some, you lose some. You got the cash?"

"You running deliveries tonight, Wong?"

"Yeah." Lu shrugged, then nodded at his bag. "Lai's sick, so it's me and Li. He's got the car out in the front."

Chen poked his head out a bit farther, then took a step back. "I'll grab it. You want to wait inside?"

"What, and listen to whatever DJ you've got in there butchering the dance floor? No!" Lu covered his ears dramatically. "You know I like the classics, Chen. That EDM shit'll never last."

"Suit yourself." Chen shrugged. "Be back in a minute."

Lu watched as the door closed, taking another big breath from his cigarette and closing his eyes as the nicotine coursed through his lungs and into his veins. "You know, I've heard smoke can kill you."

Shit. At least he didn't have the cash yet. If some asshole thought he was going to make bank by robbing a Shou Tong courier, he was in for a real rude awakening. Lu put his game face on and turned. "Who the fuck are you?"

The man smiled— smiled— and the blond haired, blue eyed prick flashed a badge.

Fuck.

"I'm a Federal Agent. You're Tommy Lu Wong, right?"

Fuck. Did he need to run? Was this cop here to get him for something? Lu's mind raced through all the things he'd been involved in recently, trying to figure out if there was anything major he could be tied to— nothing came to mind, but then, he didn't always know how he fit in to the things Jimmy Ma had him doing. "Yeah, I'm Wong," he confirmed warily.

The cop's smile just widened. "No need to worry, Mr Wong. I'm just here to ask you a few questions about Peter Caine."

Oh. This was probably the fed Peter had mentioned. "He's not a Dragon," said Lu dismissively.

The smile fell from his face. "A what?"

"You know: head of a Triad." What kind of cop was this guy? Accused Peter of being some kind of crime lord but he didn't even know the basic nomenclature? Lu's eyes narrowed. "You don't think that's what he is at all."

"No, no. The Triad's already picked a new leader, and it's not Peter Caine." The cop shook his head and took a step forward. "Did you know he's the son of a Shaolin priest? A man like that could be a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands."

Yeah. Yeah, he was. But the Ancient had his hooks in Peter, and no one in the community was going to dispute that seriously, not after the group of Shaolin'd taken down Tan. "Priest's gone wandering, and Peter spends his time delivering groceries." Lu shrugged, keeping it as indifferent as possible. "He's just another do-gooder cop wannabe."

The actual cop chuckled for a moment. "That may well be." Blue eyes took another step closer. "He was afraid for you. A wise young man."

The corner of Lu's mouth twitched involuntarily. What the fuck? Was Peter under surveillance? Even if he was, what was the fed playing at? There was something about the way those eyes were looking at him, moving back and forth like a pair of piranha searching for a weakness. "What exactly are you looking for, officer?"

"Someone he cares about. He doesn't have a girlfriend. I checked." A hand touched his, grazing it with a nail. Lu looked down to see a thin line of blood. The Shou member backed away instantly, but his vision was already blurring. What had the damned cop done? What had he... what had... he...? "I think you'll do."

Kwai Chang Caine entered the comedy club to hear Cooper making jokes. The crowd seemed to enjoy them, though Kwai Chang did not himself see the point of them. Perhaps there was something lost when his mind translated the English to Chinese.

Regardless, the author came off the stage quickly enough when he recognized the priest.

"Caine! Kwai Chang Caine, my friend! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. You are now doing... stand up?"

"Well, you know, writing about Shadow Assassins who kill you with their thoughts was getting me a little... I dunno, edgy." He shook his head and laughed almost self-deprecatingly, which Kwai Chang thought was a change. "Wow, Caine. You look great! Lots of meditation, huh? You're here to see how I am, right?" There was a pause, and the author's face was falling. "Right? Am I right?"

"Your life may be in danger."

"Why do you always say that every time you see me? Whatever happened to, yo, Everett, you're looking good, funny routine! The only danger I'm in is if this crowd turns ugly. Your kid, though— Peter. I saw his name in the news. Everyone in his house was killed except for him."

Kwai Chang blinked. Peter had not told him this. Was his son also in danger? He cursed himself for not taking the time to learn what had brought his son and the police Captain to the hospital... But even if that were the case, his duty was to this man. He had no choice in this, though now he needed more urgently to convince the former author to return with him to Peter's side. "The Chiru master may have returned," he said. "I have sworn to protect you—"

"Well, the only one sworn to protect Everett Cooper is Everett Cooper. I absolve you."

As if summoned, the air filled with the sense of evil. Kwai Chang looked around, startled.

"My set— Listen, I've got to go. Uh... keep out of the shadows. Thanks. Thanks, Caine."

He did not know where the danger was from. It was present, regardless of what the author thought, and his duty, also regardless of what the author thought, was to protect the man from death. He stood and walked slowly to the stage, the entirety of his self on alert. If he could stop them here, they would surely not go after his son.

By the time he got to the side of the stage, Everett Cooper looked spooked. He dragged Kwai Chang up onto the stage with him, asking for his help. Kwai Chang looked around the room. Where was the man who had frightened Cooper? He could see no one of any special interest— or perhaps, he did? There was someone in the shadows at the back of the club, seemingly unilluminated by any of the lights.

"As long as I am between you and him, you will be safe." He frowned, trying to see out into the crowd. The light was blinding. "Comedy... I do remember something funny that happened to me many years ago. Ah... we, all of us, live in the womb of the earth, and we are continually giving birth." Perhaps that joke didn't translate well from Chinese to English? No one even chuckled. Ah, well. He needed to speak to the shadow assassin, not the people in the comedy club. "And the weary traveller must always be given shelter... but if that traveller stays in the shadows too long, they may engulf him."

Cooper ducked out the back and the evil withdrew with him. The announcer, seeing that the priest could not keep the interest of the crowd, quickly came up to move Kwai Chang off the stage. He bowed to the people, and quickly followed the author. This was, after all, his obligation.

It was barely a task of seconds to rejoin Cooper outside of the club, but the shadow assassin had already injured the author. Kwai Chang could see them man collapsed on the floor, the shadows moving around him without evidence of any man.

"Stop," he said, thrusting out a hand. "I am his protector." Simple words, but they had the desired effect.

"Then you must die first," came the voice in the shadows. What Caine could see of the man was encased in black, from shoes to the top of his head. Even his voice was muffled by the black scarf that hid both him and his identity. "You defeated my student, Caine, but the Master has more skills than the student. You will not defeat me." The shadows seemed to move suddenly, rotating as if they were wind. "But you will not die here. Not yet. I will choose the time and the place."

The man made a quick movement, and the area was covered with a thick smoke.

Kwai Chang moved to assist the author.

Peter didn't feel particularly guilty as he took another sip of the triple espresso he'd purchased. The Ancient would certainly scold him for it if he found out, but if Peter didn't drink this, he'd definitely end up asleep.

The caffeine didn't really deal with the exhaustion, though. He wondered, briefly, if he shouldn't have gone to the comedy club with Pop. The man had potions for everything, it seemed, although Peter wasn't entirely sure he wanted to ask for something so soon after his father had returned. The Ancient had those kinds of medicines, too, and if he went to the old man, he might even give Peter a place to rest for the night and... damn.

Damn, damn, damn.

This was the problem with being so tired. He wasn't thinking straight, and it was like he was rambling even in the confines of his own head. He wasn't drinking coffee just to stay awake, he was drinking it to try to track down the Chiru killers. No one had a bead on them, not the hotel owners, not the cops, not even the guys sleeping down under the bridge at the edge of Chinatown.

Maybe he just needed to pause, take a moment. With a sigh, he leaned against a building, barely keeping his eyes open. He took another sip.

Peter...

In an instant, he was awake again.

The street was empty, or at least as empty as it ever was on the main strip of Chinatown at one in the morning. There was no one looking at him, no shadowy figures preparing to kill some other poor sucker who'd served Peter a drink.

He looked down at his coffee with a momentary sense of pain. Imagination, or a fleeting dream? He wasn't sure he'd ever been quite this tired.

He looked around the street again and pushed himself off of the wall. Exercise and coffee together would keep him awake, he just had to push through this.

He hadn't taken more than three steps when it happened again.

Peter...

"What the hell?" He'd had his eyes open that time. There was definitely something calling him. Someone. "Who's there?"

A shadow moved in an alley. A feral cat? He pursed his lips— no. He knew what it was. They were called Shadow Assassins; they lived and died in those shadows. But he had been raised Shaolin, by two fathers, and even if he was a bit out of practice, even if the Ancient said Tan's teachings hadn't been quite right, even if Tan himself would have told him to back off... confronting the people who wanted him dead head on was the only way he wanted to go.

He grit his teeth and walked into the alleyway. "Come out, come out, wherever you are..."

Peter Caine!

He struck out, but his hand met nothing but air— a foot met his back, and he rolled forward. "You can't hide in the shadows forever— Fight me like a real man!"

Laughter rose around him, and the shadows seemed to lengthen. He spun around— a hand wrenched him out of position.

The shadow was confident. Arrogant. Again and again, the shadow toyed with him, giving him imagined targets only to take them away, only to hit him from exactly the direction he didn't expect.

But even as bone tired as he was, Peter Caine was a quick study. He reached out to where the shadow didn't expect him to be, managing a substantial hit. He grinned. He had the man now, knew how to fight him. "You're going to pay for all those people you killed, Chiru!"

"We're done playing." The voice came from above him, and Peter grit his teeth as he spun around, blocking one blow easily enough, but he missed the second with a sluggish response, and a third slipped past his guard even more easily than the last. A furious flurry of fists came at him, and caffeine and willpower were not quite enough to mount a defense.

He fell in a heap with a blow to the back of his head.

Kwai Chang Caine was there physically when the author woke, but he would have been lying to say that his heart was with the man. He wanted to be with his son after learning of the tragedy his son had experienced. He was duty-bound to be with the author, and he knew that they had met for a reason; knew that they must have met in a previous life, and that he was repaying Everett Cooper for some boon that had been given to him.

And yet, his heart wished for his son's presence.

"Must have been that last joke about their mothers," said the comedian. The priest smiled gently and tried to bring his focus back to the injured man. "You really are my guardian angel. Where were you last Saturday night when my routine was dying?"

"Ah..." Considering his attempt at a joke had resulted in a large number of empty stares— perhaps Cooper was telling another joke. "I will leave the comedy to you."

Cooper nodded genially. "I told the police it was a street attack," he said quietly. "But it was him, right? Am I right?"

"It was another like him," Kwai Chang corrected.

Cooper shook his head and looked out the window. In the light of day, the shadows likely did not seem as threatening. It would be far more difficult for a man to meld into the shadows when the sun was high above his head, threatening each pretense with burning truth. "I was afraid to write a sequel to the Shadow Assassin," said Cooper. "Afraid that he might come back for me. But he'll keep coming back for me, won't he," he said. He seemed almost resigned to it, and Caine could not help but respond with hope.

"Not if I can stop them. They must come for me before they come for you."

"That's some responsibility you're taking on, isn't it? Protecting me with your life?"

Kwai Chang shrugged. "We have a bond." He reached out and hit the man gently with a closed fist, as he had done many times with his own son. The bonds created through the lifetimes— teacher and student, parent and child, lovers, or enemies— the forms might be changed, but the connections could never be. "It cannot be broken."

The hope seemed to do something for the author, who took a deep breath. "I'm gonna write the sequel."

Caine smiled. He had expected it. The souls he felt the closest connection to were invariably like this. "You are a brave man."

"Yeah? Yeah." Cooper nodded. "Look, you can't go on protecting me for the rest of your life. So protect yourself. Protect your kid."

"This is the second time you have told me to protect my son's life above your own." Kwai Chang bowed, but paused, shaking his head. "I appreciate your concern, but now that they have drawn me back, their fight will be with me."

Cooper looked at him and sighed. "Guess you didn't read my book," he said, his voice only slightly annoyed. Kwai Chang raised an eyebrow. "Look, I broke the secret, that marked me for death. But you, Mr Caine? You defeated them. You're the Shaolin, and that's dangerous to them. You're the one that they need to be scared of, and... well, they're the masters of fear. They refuse to be subjects of it. And they're going to make sure none of the people in this city can go after them— that means your son."

"You think they won't leave him alive."

"From their perspective? He has to be neutralized."