It was really nice not working. Don't get it wrong, Ezra loved her job. But Reverie had insisted Ezra needed rest, and someone to look after her in case anything happened, and Dexter was all too happy to oblige. So they fell into a safe, happy routine, something both had been unfamiliar with for centuries. Reverie said another month, maybe two, until Ezra would be well enough to go back. And at first Ezra hated the idea, but now, a month in, and Ezra was happy. They trained and exercised, practiced magic, went on a some crazy protein diet so they both could gain the weight that they had lost and everything was well and truly looking up. The past two weeks they had even went to the sanctuary for a few hours a day to help Erskine and Ghastly with this Supreme Council business. All was well. That was until Dexter went for a shower and Ezra found a tattered, wire-bound notebook. It was on her side of the bed, under her nightstand table. Ezra frowned. She didn't remember ever having one. She flicked through it and recognized her hand writing. Her frown deepened but she opened at the front cover and started reading. As she read, she started crying. She hadn't realized she was. The last section and the writing changed to a scrawley font, one she didn't recognize. It described a fight scene, herself jumping. Ezra was shaking, no, trembling. Her breathing was quick and hitched, her vision blurry.

"Ezra?" Dexter asked, walking in, his hair wet.

"Ezra, what's wrong?" He asked, urgently this time, seeing her. He darted across the room and crouched in front of her. She shook her head in reply. Dexter eased the book from her hands and flicked through it. He gasped, realizing what it was. He threw it across the room and while it was in the air he shot a ball of energy at it, destroying it.

"I don't understand." He said to himself, knowing Saracen had destroyed the other. The remnant must have wrote everything again and continued it.

"Is it true?" Ezra asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Dexter didn't answer. So Ezra grabbed his arm and stared, the scar still on his forearm. She then lifted his shirt and he tried to object but she saw it, the scar on his chest.

"His straight razor leaves scars." Ezra said, numb. Dexter opened his mouth to speak but Ezra beat him to it.

"It's all true, I did those things, you and Saracen and all those poor, innocent people. I did it all." She was sobbing now, uncontrollably, hyperventilating.

"Ezra, Ezra! Listen! It wasn't you. None of it was you. It was a remnant, Ezra, a remnant!" Dexter said, trying to calm her down. But he didn't know how. She very suddenly looked at him and she traced her hand gently across his face, where the book said she had hit him with her arnis.

"I'm so sorry, Dexter." She whispered.

"You have nothing to apologize for." He whispered back, grabbing her hand and holding tight.

"It wasn't you." He whispered, staring at her for a trace of a change. She suddenly looked like she remembered something, and then she gazed down at Dexter, pulled her hand away and vanished. Dexter fell back, his head whipping around. He took note of her mobile phone sat on the nightstand and cursed.

"Ezra?!" He yelled, getting up, checking every room upstairs.

"Shit, EZRA!?" He yelled, sprinting downstairs. She wasn't there. Dexter forced himself to stop. He tugged his hair, his eyes closed. Where would she go? He opened his eyes. He couldn't think. He let out something of a growl, slamming the front door shut as he left. He got into his car, realized he wasn't even wearing socks, much less shoes. He didn't care though, he rammed the car into gear and sped out onto the street. He dialed a number, not looking, and held the phone to his ear.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, C'MON!" He repeated, taking sharp turns. The rational part of his brain told him to slow the fuck down, but the emotional part said speed the fuck up, and that side won.

"Hello?" Answered a voice on the phone. Dexter could have cried. The words came spilling out, tripping and tumbling over each other.

"She knows, Skulduggery, she fucking knows! That stupid book was in the house, I don't know where, I don't know where it came from or who put it there and she read everything, Skulduggery, everything! She knows, she fucking knows Skulduggery. She's gone, I don't know where, she just disappeared. I'm heading to you."

"Okay, I'll call Valkyrie. Be careful." Then Skulduggery hung up.

Saracen was ironing when Ezra appeared. Saracen looked up with a start and set the iron down when he realized it was her.

"God, you could have used the door." He said, then noticed the state she was in.

"What's wrong?" He asked, crossing the room towards her.

"Ezra what is it?" He repeated, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"I did terrible, terrible things to you." She whispered.

"Oh, hell." Saracen mumbled, guiding Ezra to the couch, where he gently sat her down.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered, her eyes staring at nothing.

"It wasn't you." He assured her.

"How have you done it?" She asked.

"Done what?"

"Pretend that the sight of me doesn't make you feel sick, that my face, my voice, doesn't give you chills."

"Because it doesn't, Ezra. You have blue eyes and pink lips, and your voice is light and airy and-"

"You never were a good liar."

"Ezra, please. It wasn't you and I know that."

"My face, my hands, my orders. I'll never know if you're okay. I did terrible things to you, to Dexter. All those people in that club... I almost killed Skulduggery."

"But you didn't. You took control, which is unheard of, and you saved him. That was you, Ezra. You did that."

But Ezra just shook her head, meeting his eyes for the first time.

"I'm so, so sorry." She whispered. Then, for the second time that night, she left.