A/N: Hey all, I have an announcement to make. If there are any Harry Potter fans in the audience, I'm writing a second-gen Harry Potter fic called Albus Potter and the Broom Closet Society, which you can find on my profile. If you aren't a Harry Potter fan, don't worry. I plan on putting this story first, and maintaining my weekly update schedule, so it shouldn't affect you too much. Enjoy, and hope to see some of you there!

Review Responses:

AnimeOtaku9000, glad you do! She's tons of fun to write. Thanks for the review!

Diana Raven, thanks~ Glad you liked it.

pokelover01, thanks so much! Glad you enjoyed the chapter! Rei definitely has a lot of things to work through, as will be made evident in this chapter. I sort of know how he's going to solve it, but haven't thought through who he might ask for help quite yet (you'll see). I totally agree about the TRC music. So sad they didn't finish the story, but I've written to the sound of the music more than once.

fanficlove2014, yep, let's just say this won't be the last we'll see of the Morrigan, or of the twins. Glad you enjoyed the chapter/omake and thanks for the review!

Guest, your wish is my command. I update on a weekly schedule, with updates on or before Mondays (most of the time. Can't promise to be regular every week).

Arcane Student, thanks so much for your review! I try very hard to make the new generation different from their parents, while still similar enough that you can see the influences of their parents nature vs nurture on their personalities (Rei's tendency to be lazy, Ayame's 'violence solves all' attitude…etc.). Glad you're enjoying it.

God of Crossover, Clark just can't catch a break when it comes to women, lol.

Guest, not all of them~ But yes. Thanks for the review!

Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater.


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Divided We Fall


Classes resumed two days after the battle, the DWMA's engineering team having grudgingly considered the building "safe for now". It was still slightly tilted. The blast had taken out several critical supporting walls in the basement, and those would have to be repaired before the school could be made perfectly level, but it was level enough to allow the building to be occupied again. Aside from the slight tendency for things that were placed on a flat surface to roll in the direction of the tilt—Professor Stein's chair went sliding out of his classroom door and all the way down the hall towards the other side of the building on the first day of class, with Stein sitting in the chair looking mildly confused but mostly bored for the entirety of the journey—and the occasional sight of Shinigami pacing the school's halls trying in vain to straighten out portraits and pressing a level up against every conceivable surface, muttering to himself, things seemed to be returning to some sort of normalcy.

Angela completed her circuit of the Death Room, her hands spread out in front of her as she inspected her handiwork. Glowing threads of magic crisscrossed the walls of the room, so faint that they only became apparent when she laid her hand on them. She could feel the power coursing through them, rippling beneath her fingertips, and she frowned, searching through the network of lines for any tears or possible problem areas. She couldn't find any, but that didn't mean that there weren't any problems. This was a surprisingly intricate piece of magic—she wasn't even sure if she would have been capable of it had it not been for Shelley's ability to enhance mental capacity—and unfortunately, her talents didn't exactly edge her towards these sorts of delicate workings.

Still, the web was as tight as she could make it, so she nodded to herself, taking a step back. As she did, the gold lines that represented the magic threads faded from her vision, and she reached down, tapping the scalpel that she had slipped carefully through the fasteners of the sling bag she was wearing. "You can transform back now, Shell. Thanks."

There was a flash of light, and Shelley Stein appeared beside her, adjusting her glasses. It took her a moment to meet Angela's eyes, a fact that didn't particularly make Angela feel better. She had heard from the grapevine what had happened between Shelley and Micah, but Shelley herself didn't seem particularly keen on talking about it.

"All done?" Shelley asked, looking at the Death Room's walls, although of course the magic was invisible now.

"I think so," said Angela, looking back over her shoulder at the assembled group. A select collection of DWMA's staff (the ones that didn't presently have classes to teach) had been assembled there, standing around Shinigami. They were all watching her. "This should stop the Morrigan from being alerted to conversations about her, or about conflict in general," Angela said. "I've never done a spell like this before, so I can't promise that it's perfect, but it should keep her off of our backs for a little while."

Shinigami nodded, motioning for her to rejoin the circle. She did, grateful for the fact that the DWMA agents standing there made room for her. After what had happened with the Morrigan, she wasn't entirely sure how the DWMA would treat her when she returned, but the fact that she had grown up here seemed to carry more weight with them than the fact that she was a witch, and of course, Mifune's security team treated her with all the respect and protectiveness that gang members might have for a mafia princess.

Not that Mifune would ever appreciate the comparison.

"How does the Witch Assembly feel about what happened?" Shinigami asked, officially opening the meeting.

"They aren't pleased," Angela said. "They don't like the fact that the Morrigan broke treaty, or that she hasn't been responding to any of their summons."

"Are they going to help us fight her?"

Angela glanced down at the ground, embarrassed. She clasped her hands behind her back, scuffing the floor with one foot. "…They aren't going to stop us," she said, finally. "Some elements of the Witch Assembly want to go up against the Morrigan personally, but most of the council is…hesitant, given the Morrigan's history with the DWMA."

"Her daughter," said Shinigami with a nod, already familiar with the issue.

Angela nodded back. For the benefit of those in the room who didn't know, she raised her head, turning to look at them. "The Morrigan claims that her daughter, Morgana, was killed by a DWMA agent roughly thirteen years ago and that her soul was taken from her. The issue was investigated by the DWMA and the Witch Assembly separately at the time, and results remain inconclusive."

Sid nodded. "There was evidence of a battle," he said. "But we couldn't tell exactly what happened. The agent that the Morrigan blames was dead by the time we got there."

"In any case," Angela said, "It looks like the Witch Assembly isn't going to be able to act on this until these internal issues get cleared up. Which…might take a while." Unlike the DWMA, the Witch Assembly didn't always have the strongest perception of time.

"Eh, who needs them?" asked Black Star, his arms folded from where he stood, across from Shinigami. "We can deal with the Morrigan ourselves."

"I'm inclined to agree," said Shinigami, although he frowned as he said it. He looked around the room. "The first thing we have to do is find her. How are we doing with that?"

Soul shrugged, glancing down at the papers he held in one hand. He squinted down at them, in a way that told Angela someone might have to respectfully broach the subject of reading glasses to him some time soon, but it wasn't going to be her. "The European branch sent a team out to Avalon, where the Morrigan was reported to be living, but she was gone by the time they got there. It didn't look like anyone had been living there for months."

"Sid?" Shinigami asked.

"Working on it, Shinigami-sama," Sid said, standing up a little straighter. He glanced at Hestia, Mifune's appointed representative from the security team, who was standing beside him. "There's a chance that the Morrigan might have left people in the city."

"We're doing a thorough search of Death City," Hestia said, frowning as if she resented the question. "So far, we haven't found anything, but we're increasing security in the meantime."

"What about the students?" Tsubaki asked. "Grayson-kun was recruited while he was still in school. How do we know she isn't recruiting more?"

"We don't," said Soul, scowling in frustration. "Not without doing random searches of the kids to see if they have any of those cards on them, and even then we might miss one. The teachers are giving the 'if you see something, say something' spiel in homeroom today, but even then, we might miss something."

"We can't watch every single student at this school," said Kid. "It would be impractical. The best we can do is make sure they know the consequences of defection, and keep all information about this matter on a need to know basis."

"There's one thing we haven't considered," said Angela, the thought striking her at just that moment. It made her go slightly cold for a reason she couldn't name, a gut feeling that was just on the edge of uncomfortable. "She has to be promising these kids something. Grayson, Micah—." Shelley flinched beside her, but otherwise said nothing. "There has to be a reason why these people decided that switching sides was the best option."

Hestia shrugged. "Power? Revenge? Knight was a bully who got expelled. It's not that difficult."

"That might work for Grayson, but Micah is an entirely different kind of person." She drew in a breath, aware from the way that Shelley tensed up beside her that she was hurting her partner. She felt guilty about that, but it had to be done. There were certain things that needed to be said. "He's sensible. Intelligent—almost too intelligent. It would have to be something more than just power."

There was silence. Beside her, Shelley spoke in a very soft voice, not looking up at anyone.

"He said he wanted to 'change the world'…"

No one spoke for a moment more, taking it in. As the silence dragged on, Shinigami looked up. "This goes back to the fundamental problem," he said. "We still don't know what she's after, what her plan is. The sooner we can understand that, the sooner we can deal with her." He looked over at Angela. "Did the Morrigan have any close friends among the witches?"

"Not…particularly," said Angela, frowning as she thought about it. "She had sisters—the Badb and the Macha—but they were killed centuries ago. The Morrigan never really got over it—she became known as a recluse after that." There was someone close to her that the DWMA had access too, though. Someone very close by: Morgan Fay. Angela kept that bit of information to herself for now, although it killed her to do it, clenching her fists so hard behind her back that her nails dug into her hand.

"We'll keep looking," Shinigami said. "Look through the records for past encounters with her—she might have said or done something in the past that could point to her plans now. And the witches could still be a valuable resource. It's hard to believe that she wouldn't have spoken to any of them." He looked around the room, eyeing each of them in turn. "Our first priority is to find her, our second, to find out what her plans are, and our third is to keep the school and the city safe from any further attacks. The intelligence agency is already working on the first issue and security's working on the third, so I'd like everyone who doesn't already have a task to work on the second. The sooner we find out what she's up to, the better. Any questions?"

No one spoke. After a moment of silence, the meeting was dismissed.


Shelley stood on the DWMA's balcony and watched the sun as it made its steady path towards the western horizon, quietly wishing that she had something to drink. The thought of heading home for the rest of the day appealed to her, but she knew it made her parents worry less that she was here, visible, standing in the center of the DWMA's relentless stream of activity and not off hiding in some dark corner. If she was being honest with herself, it made her feel more in control to be standing here where everyone could see her. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of the incident at the bar a few months ago.

She drummed her fingers against the railing and considered the very real, frightening fact that she was falling apart.

It wasn't like Shelley to break down. All throughout her childhood, she had felt people's eyes on her, watching her, looking for any sign of the madness that seemed to lurk in her bloodline. And the whole time, she had been steady almost to a fault. Calm. Sane. Almost boring. At some point, everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief and decided that whatever it was that drove her father to dissect creatures and catalog their insides had skipped a generation.

Before Micah, she wouldn't have said that anything could get under her skin. But then he had somehow, and now she couldn't get him out. Couldn't free herself from him.

She couldn't kill him, but neither could she let him live.

Shelley tightened her grip on the balcony railing, her mind going back through those last few moments in vivid detail, playing the moment when she decided to pull back over and over again. If she had just stayed on course, if she hadn't showed weakness—but no. She'd known, she still knew, that if she had managed to kill Micah then, it would have destroyed her.

It would have taken away whatever claim to sanity she had left.

She drew in a rattling breath, hating him. And not.

"Thinking of jumping?" The voice, almost casual and intensely familiar, made her straighten up, made her exhale and force her fingers to uncurl from their vise grip on the balcony railing. "Please don't do that. Your mother would never forgive me."

"You don't already have a clone ready to go?" Shelley asked, looking at her companion out of the corner of her vision.

Franken Stein walked up to the balcony beside her, inhaling deeply like he was taking a drag on a cigarette that wasn't there. "She's at least three years from operational," he said, the sunlight reflecting off his glasses. "And your mother will know. Somehow."

In spite of herself, Shelley felt the faintest brushes of relief. Sarcasm seemed to be her and her father's natural mode of communication with each other. If they could joke around like this, it meant that things weren't entirely as bad as she had thought. It meant that he, at least, had pulled back from the edge of madness. For the first time in a long time, she wasn't sure the same thing could be said about herself.

"It's the nose," Shelley said, gesturing vaguely at her face. "You just can't get my nose right."

"True," Stein said, peering down at her from over the tops of his glasses. "I maintain that that doesn't come from my side of the family."

Shelley sniffed in reply, looking back out at the expanse of Death City. There. Opening pleasantries exchanged. Her fingers curled and uncurled from around the railing as she stood there, waiting. Stein stood beside her for a long moment, not speaking, and she knew, understood without words that he was building up to something. Her father rarely came to talk with her about life issues, preferring to leave that task to Marie. The flip side of that meant that when he did talk, she tended to listen.

Eventually, he drummed his fingers against the railing, looking back at her. "I shouldn't have made you do that."

Shelley didn't respond, keeping her eyes fixed on the distance. She kept her hands on the railing, recognizing that if they weren't firmly clasped onto something, she would be tangling them in her skirt, making her look further distressed. Her mind was still cycling through its parade of memories, ending in the moment when she pulled away. "You had to," she finally settled on. "I thought I could."

Stein 'hmm'ed in response, still not looking at her, and Shelley half-wished that her mother would pop her head out onto the balcony and ask them if everything was alright, if only to spare the two of them a couple more moments of awkwardness. It didn't look like Marie was willing to intervene this time, though.

"I was considering…" Stein finally said, glancing at her, "…maybe it's time you took a break."

And there it was, the reason for the conversation. Shelley allowed herself to draw her arms back and fold them across her chest, aware that on some level, it might make her look petulant. She exhaled, adjusting her glasses and glancing at her father. "A vacation?" she said, flatly. "Really?"

Stein shrugged in reply, looking almost guilty. She had a sudden vision of her parents meeting with Shinigami, of whispered conversations going on behind her back. There had been a lot of those over the past two—almost three years. Ever since her long-time boyfriend decided to go on a murder spree. Important conversations that had once valued her input as the calm, steady alternative to her father suddenly went on without her, as if she was someone too fragile, too damaged in some way to contribute to them.

The worst part was that given the way she had been acting lately, she couldn't really blame them.

She let out a frustrated sigh, pushing the hair up and out of her face and hoping that it didn't make her look like a child. "I don't need a vacation," she said. "And I'm not going to take one. There's too much to do here." Stein shrugged his shoulders in resignation, a gesture that seemed to say 'I tried' without saying it at all. Shelley had a feeling that he wouldn't belabor the point. Her own mental state aside, she wasn't wrong. There was a lot to do, and she was needed. As a witch, Angela was powerful in her own right, but her magic didn't exactly have destructive potential. Without her, Angela didn't have a weapon. There was only one other currently unattached weapon with the skill required to do the sort of jobs she and Angela often did, and it was just wrong to make a sweet girl like Angela be forced to partner up with Spirit Albarn.

But it didn't look like her father was willing to concede everything.

"At least take yourself out of the Micah Cole investigation," he said, and that wasn't phrased as either a suggestion or a question. Shelley debated the pros and cons of arguing the point.

"Micah, the Morrigan, it's all the same investigation," she said, shrugging her shoulders in frustration. She drew in a deep breath, letting her hands fall slack at her side. "But…I see your point. I'll sort records in the library. Maybe that will give us some clue about what the Morrigan is planning."

And would be just enough work to keep her mind off of Micah, and to keep her busy enough that she was no longer at risk of making a fool of herself in public. As far as she was concerned, that was a win-win.

Apparently, her father seemed to agree too, because he nodded, looking back out over the city. Shelley watched him for a moment, standing there in the afternoon light. She felt like a child for a moment, coming to spend the day with him at the DWMA, and it was a disconcerting feeling, considering that she was nearly twenty-three. "…Was there anything else, Dad?" she asked, trying to sound a little more in control of herself.

"One more thing," said Stein, still not looking at her.

"Yes?"

Stein turned his head slightly towards her, but not fully, so that he was still looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "Angela's probably going to get sent back to the Witch Assembly at some point. Shinigami will need her to negotiate with Maba."

"I realize that," said Shelley.

"There's a chance you might not be able to accompany her," said Stein.

Shelley frowned, watching her father. Slowly, he turned towards her, facing her fully. He didn't speak, just looked down at her with his head slightly tilted to one side, not moving to bridge the gap between them. She thought about what he had said. It wouldn't be the first time that Angela had gone to the Witch Assembly without taking her, in fact, it happened often enough that it was almost depressingly routine. She had never had a problem with staying in their apartment by herself.

Until now.

"…And?" she prompted, watching her father closely.

He reached out stiffly, grabbing onto her shoulder and turning her until she faced him. Shelley blinked in surprise, meeting his eyes from over the tops of her glasses.

"Come home."

Her mouth opened to protest, more out of long-standing habit than anything, but as she searched for them, she realized that she didn't actually have the words.


The wind whipped its way through the trees, but today at least, it didn't seem to bring any relief from the oppressive heat. Rei wiped the sweat off of his face with an arm, scowling in frustration as he blinked grit out of his eyes. It was hot, and he was tired, his muscles ached, his head hurt and he found himself hating everything, from the way his clothes clung to his skin to the impatient look in Ayame's eye as she frowned down at him, hands resting on her hips, to the way the sun leered down at them from above, laughing as if it was laughing specifically at him.

He hated it. The sun, the heat, his weakness, all of it. He was just sick of it all.

"What's the point?" he muttered under his breath, pushing himself up to his feet. Ayame arched her eyebrows at him, a spark of anger appearing in her eyes. She stared up at him as he stood back up, rubbing at the spot on his ribs where her fist had struck before knocking him down.

"What did you say?" Ayame asked.

"I said, 'what's the point'?!" Rei repeated, raising his voice this time. He whirled onto her, fists clenched at his side, not caring that the two of them were standing in the middle of the training forest on school grounds, not caring who heard them. His mind was still full of images, sensations and memories—Grayson, sneering at him, Morgan's uncle, watching him, hands grasping him and dragging him down. "What's the point of all this training? I'm not getting any better. I'm not going to get any better. I'm—."

"—You are getting better!" Ayame said, taking a step forward to meet him. "You're getting better every—."

"No," Rei said, interrupting her. "I'm not."

Ayame's mouth snapped shut as he spoke, and she blinked at him, straightening up and lowering her hands back to her side. There was a question in her eye as she watched him, looking him over. "What's gotten into you?" she asked, after a moment of silence. "You're not usually like this."

"Yeah, well, maybe I just got tired of doing something pointless," said Rei, running a hand through his sweat-slicked hair. A year, he thought, resisting the urge to tangle his fingers in it and pull. Training for a year, and nothing. He exhaled, not meeting her eyes as he forced himself to lower his hand back to his side. "You know what, I'm just going to go home. Sorry to waste your time."

One whole year, and still a coward...

He moved to pass her, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Ayame didn't move until he was just about to pass her, and then her arm shot out, blocking his path. Her eyes were shadowed by her hair. "We aren't finished training," she said, her eyes on the ground.

Anger bubbled up inside of Rei, anger and rage and frustration. He was angry at himself, angry at his own failure, angry that he couldn't be the person he wanted to be. The pressure built up inside of him, pushing him to his breaking point. He clenched his fists tightly, letting his nails dig into his palm. One last effort to keep himself under control, to stop himself from blowing up in front of her. "I say I'm done training," he said. "And I'm going home."

"You know, you're unbelievable!" Ayame said, her eyes snapping up to meet his. She blinked her eyes rapidly, clenching her fists. "Whine, whine, whine. If you just trained a little harder—."

The pressure built and built inside of him, anger welling up until something cracked. He didn't realize he was shouting until he was, didn't realize that he was moving until he was standing right in front of her, until she was leaning back to look up at him. "It doesn't matter how hard I train, it doesn't matter how much practice we get, it doesn't matter what—you—do" He jabbed his finger at her, underscoring each word. "—None of it matters because I'm never going to be as strong as you!"

Silence fell over the training forest, the only sound that of the wind moving through the trees and the sound of ravens cawing softly into the distance. Ayame stared up at him, her eyes wide, and he realized belatedly that there were tears in them. She stared up at him, shock written all over her expression, and he felt the guilt almost as a physical thing, tying his stomach in knots. His hands were in the air, frozen in the middle of an expansive gesture. He lowered them slowly to his side, blinking at her.

"Ayame…" he began.

She drew in a breath that sounded more like a cross between a hiccup and a gasp, taking a step away from him. Ayame lowered her eyes to the ground, wringing out her fists. Her shoulders slumped, and Rei almost wished that she would yell back, almost wished she would hit him, or curse at him, or do anything but stand there and look so…so defeated.

"Ayame—," he tried again.

"—You've made your point, Rei," Ayame said, raising her eyes suddenly to meet his. She forced a grin onto her face and lowered her eyes just as suddenly, tugging her hair over her shoulder. She ran her fingers through it as she spoke, speaking to the ground instead of him. "You've made your point…" she said, softer this time. "…Maybe you're right. Maybe I am being too hard on you. So you stay here. I'll go home."

She took a step forward, brushing past him. Rei's eyes widened, and he reached for her arm. "Ayame—."

"Don't!" Ayame said sharply, dancing just out of his reach. He missed her by millimeters, his hand falling back to his side. She looked up at him, her eyes wide for an instant before she looked away again. "Just…don't, Rei. Okay? I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone."

"Don't do this…" Rei began, hating himself for the pleading note that crept into his tone. Ayame opened her mouth to respond, eyes flashing.

A shrill ring rang out through the quiet of the training forest, stopping her before she could speak. The two of them turned at once, their eyes moving towards the bags that they had left beneath one of the trees. The ringing sound continued, becoming more and more insistent, and after a moment's hesitation, Ayame moved forward, crouching in front of his backpack and drawing out his phone. She blinked at the screen for a moment before raising the phone to her ear, the phone breaking off mid-ring.

"Yeah?" she asked, speaking into it before Rei could even think to ask her why she was answering his phone for him. He stared at her, helpless, as she turned half-away from him, looking up at the sky or trees as he spoke, looking anywhere but at him. "Yeah—yeah, okay—yeah, I'll tell him."

She hung up, looking over her shoulder at him. Her eyes met his with some reluctance, as though she didn't want to be talking to him at all, even though she was holding his phone. "That was Morgan," she said. "She wants us to come over. She has something to say."

A million things whirled through his mind at once, a thousand questions, ten thousand meaningless statements, a hundred thousand abortive apologies. He stared at Ayame as her eyes slid off of his again, still not looking at him for any longer than was necessary.

Morgan…he realized, the thoughts slowly beginning to work his way through the quagmire that had settled somewhere in his brain. Something to say…

There was really only one answer to that. He nodded mutely and turned, going to collect his things.


Vayne rang the doorbell, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he rocked back onto his heels and glanced at Clark beside him. Morgan and Cassie lived on a first floor apartment just a few blocks from Rei and Ayame's, in a building that primarily served as DWMA student housing. If he remembered correctly, a pair of upperclassmen lived on the third floor of the building, and the second floor was occupied by a single, lonely staff member.

Clark looked at him out of the corner of his eye, studying the building. "You've been here before?" his partner asked, as they waited for someone to get the door.

Vayne shrugged. "Once or twice," he said. "I came by to see Morgan, when she wasn't feeling well."

Clark gaped at him. Vayne decided to ignore that, fighting off a grin. He drummed his fingers against his pant leg as he waited, the grin fading as he thought through what brought them here, at the way Morgan's voice had sounded when she called them and asked them both to come over as soon as she could.

She hadn't sounded afraid, or worried. She only sounded resigned, which, while normal for Morgan, seemed to bother him more than if she had been actively distraught.

He told himself it was probably nothing, but he couldn't quite make himself believe that as she opened the door, peering out at the street through the crack before swinging it open wider. It was dark inside the house, the curtains drawn over the windows. Vayne had only been here twice before, but he liked to think that he knew Morgan, and he guessed that that was a bad sign. He offered her a tentative smile, one that her eyes flicked to before sliding away and looking off at the corner instead. She didn't return the smile or meet his eyes.

Alright, then. A very badsign.

"Hey, Morgan," he said, trying to make it sound like he hadn't noticed. "We came as soon as we could. Everything alright?"

Morgan didn't look up at him as she spoke, barely looking at him or Clark. "Follow me," she said, turning and walking back into the living room.

Vayne and Clark followed, the door swinging closed behind them. With the front door closed, the house was even darker than he had thought, oppressive shadows gathering and pooling in the corners. Morgan didn't speak, didn't look up at them as she led them into the living room, where Cassie and the others were waiting.

There, Vayne noticed another bad sign. Rei and Ayame weren't sitting together. They weren't even looking at each other. The two of them had taken seats on the floor at opposite sides of the room, and were both clearly looking at anything else but each other. He exchanged a glance with Cassie, who was perched on the edge of the couch looking nervous, and she shrugged her shoulders in reply, the universal gesture of 'I have no idea'.

Inwardly, Vayne sighed. Of course, he thought, Ayame and Rei had to be fighting now. He looked between the two of them before patting Clark on the shoulder and going to sit with Rei, dropping down onto the carpet beside him. He thought about asking Rei what was wrong, but decided against it. Morgan was the one who had invited them here. No point in turning this into the Rei and Ayame Hour. Whatever it was could wait.

Clark looked helplessly around the room for a moment before taking a seat on the couch next to Cassie, scooting away from her and leaning against the arm as if nervous that she would object to his presence.

Cassie didn't even seem to notice. Her eyes were on Morgan. A teapot and a tray of cups sat on the table in front of her, untouched.

Morgan remained standing in the hallway that led to the front door, looking at the five of them. She ran a hand through her hair and drew in a deep breath, seeming to struggle with something. Her fingers combed through her long black hair, curling and tugging slightly as she reached the end. Then, as if coming to a decision, she looked up at them.

"I'm a witch," she said, without preamble.

Vayne stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth dropping open. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Clark doing the same, blinking at her like a deer in the headlights. Cassie's shoulders slumped with released tension, and she leaned back in the couch, her hands clasped together in her lap, and Ayame was sitting up straighter, looking at Morgan. Tellingly, other than Cassie, Rei was the only one who didn't look too surprised.

He also wasn't looking at Morgan, still seeming lost in his own world, but four pairs of eyes on her still seemed too much. A flush crept up her cheeks, visible in the gloom, and her fingers curled into tight fists at her side before uncurling. She drew in another breath. "I didn't want to tell you. But it's probably going to come out anyway."

He wanted to ask a million questions, but his brain and his mouth didn't seem to be communicating, because he thought he managed several broken-off 'how's, 'what's and 'why's before he came to his senses and clamped his lips together, looking over his shoulder at the others. Clark stared at Morgan for a long moment before shaking his head, like a swimmer who had just broken the surface of the water.

"Why hide that?" he asked, which was much more coherent than anything that Vayne had been about to ask.

Morgan lowered her eyes to the ground, one of her arms going up to clutch at the other. "I was scared," she said. "I didn't know how you would react. And…I wasn't sure you wouldn't tell Shinigami-sama about me."

"Well, why can't Shinigami know?" asked Ayame, her voice oddly loud in the quiet room. "It's not like you're the only witch at the DWMA!"

"It's not…it's not Shinigami I'm hiding from," said Morgan. "It's the Witch Assembly."

"But why?" Ayame asked. "You're like—fourteen. What does the Witch Assembly even want with you?" Morgan exchanged a helpless look with Cassie, not answering. She lowered her eyes to the ground as Ayame continued her line of questioning. "Does this have anything to do with that guy we ran into? What's going on, Morgan? What aren't you telling us? Why—?"

"Enough, Ayame."

The voice was Rei's, spoken softly into the quiet of the room. He still wasn't looking up at her. Ayame stared at him, eyes wide, but her mouth closed and she fell silent. She clenched her fists so tightly that they trembled, bowing her head and looking away again.

She didn't say anything more. Unfortunately, that meant nobody did.

Vayne drew in a slow breath. Morgan was still standing in the center of the room, looking down at the ground like she was on trial, like she wished that she could be anywhere else.

Somehow, he managed to find the words.

"You're not pulling our legs?" Vayne asked. "You're really a witch?"

Morgan nodded, looking miserable. "Really."

Vayne exhaled, forcing himself to relax. He forced himself to sit back down, forced his fingers to let go of their sudden tight grip around his knee. "Well, alright."

That made her look up. Morgan blinked at him, looking surprised. "Alright?" she repeated.

"Sure," said Vayne. "I mean, I can't speak for everyone, and I'm not happy you've been keeping this, but you probably had your reasons. You're still the same Morgan, right? So…alright."

Clark stared at him as Vayne fell silent, eyes wide. As the quiet descended over the room again, he blinked and seemed to recognize his cue, turning back towards Morgan. "I'm alright with it too," he said, hurriedly "It's not like the rest of us don't have any secrets."

Rei shrugged, as if to say that it didn't particularly matter to him. Vayne wanted to kick him, but he looked like he was struggling with something on his own, and Morgan didn't seem to mind. Ayame scowled, looking at nobody in particular. Cassie glanced at her.

"Ayame?" Cassie asked.

"I'm thinking," Ayame said, her voice surprisingly sharp. She looked at Morgan, her eyes narrowed. "You're still on our side, aren't you?"

"Yes," Morgan said, seeming taken aback by the turn things were taking. "…Of course."

"Then I don't care," Ayame said. "I'll keep your secret. But I'm not going to like it."

Morgan stared at them, wide-eyed, as if she hadn't been expecting things to turn out this way at all. Impossibly, tears started to form in her eyes—she blinked to keep them away. Vayne stared at her. He thought he was more surprised by the tears than by anything else that Morgan had said, and from the looks of the people around him, he wasn't the only one.

"I—." Morgan sucked in a breath, not looking at them. "—Thank you. Thank you. I want to tell you more, but—."

"It's connected to our enemy, isn't it?" Rei asked, looking up and turning towards Morgan for the first time. Maka-sensei had sat them down on their first day of class after the attack, warning them that the Morrigan could possibly listen in to conversations that involved her, and to be careful with what they said. Morgan nodded slowly, but didn't respond in any other way, her eyes widening. "Then that's alright," Rei continued. "You don't have to say anything."

He went back to looking at the ground. Morgan nodded, still looking stunned, one hand closed loosely over her chest.

She was on her way to a seat when something happened, surprising all of them.

Clark stood up. He didn't look at anyone in the group, keeping his eyes on the ground. His fists were clenched at his side, his face pale. His hands were shaking.

"Everyone," he said, his voice surprisingly steady in the quiet of the room. Vayne blinked at him. "I also have something to say…"