Spool dreamed about being stung by a bee. A small pinch right in the fold of his elbow. He woke not long after that. Oddly enough the pressure in his arm from the sting remained. He leaned over to his nightstand, switching on the light and snatching up his spectacles. Old bones grinded in protest as he fumbled in the dark. The lamplight cast a warm glow over his bedroom, illuminating the vast display of items lying about. Costumes, props, guitar picks, and many more nostalgic items that made his bedroom a hording nightmare.

An unfamiliar item sat at the foot of his bed. A life-sized doll. Beautiful like most were with their pale perfect skin and dead eyes. This one was different though. There was a sadness to it. Forlorn as if it were the last of its set. Spool blinked crusted sleep from his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position so that his decrepit spine could rest against the headboard.

"I didn't want any of this." confessed the doll.

Spool squinted, "Ah, Ms. Glass. Forgive me, but what is it you're doing here?"

"I came to kill you."

"Oh, I see." Spool rubbed at where the bee stung him, wondering if he was still dreaming. "May I ask why?"

"Clementine." Her voice shuddered in its utterance as if Clementine were some ancient mythological figure. Spool noticed the woman had been shedding tears recently. Enough to empty out her dark eyes, leaving them dry and lifeless. "Did he warn you about me?"

"He did." Said Spool, eying her wearily."If I may ask, what is it you hope to achieve with my death?"

Her hand, which was playing with the leather pouch around her neck clenched into a fist over her heart. "I want to hurt him." Her conflicted tone made Spool think otherwise, but he let her continue. "You're the only one close enough to do so. Your ill-fated demise would appear natural. My hope is that it would be enough to break his spirit."

"How will you do it then?"

"I already have." She pointed towards his arm where the bee had stung him. Ah, I see. The needle left no swelling or redness. Not a single sign it ever broke his skin. "It will be painless, I promise. Like falling asleep."

"Well that's good." Spool swallowed a lump in his throat, "Thank you." His kind words shocked her to the point of disbelief.

"What?" she croaked.

"I said thank you. You and I both know there are others you could've harmed besides me. I'm grateful you chose the old man."

Her mouth gaped open, "Why? Here I sit, your murderer and you calmly ask me questions? You thank me for my service? Are you not angry? You can attack me if you like. I will accept that, but I will defend myself."

Spool shrugged, an effort which creaked his stiff bones. "I'm an old man. I don't have the strength to act upon anger anymore. Besides you look as if you punished yourself enough already. How long do I have?"

Ira Glass struggled to find her voice again, "Five minutes before it reaches your heart."

"Right then." Spool threw off his covers and kicked his feet into the fuzzy mismatched slippers at the side of his bed. "If you don't mind. There is a song in my head. Has been for a while. Never found the incentive to write it down until now. Nothing motivates like your imminent death."

She gestured to his desk slightly dumbfounded, "By all means."

Spool shuffled the short distance and fell into the seat. Already he could feel whatever she injected him with working its way through his body. His legs were less responsive than normal. Or maybe he really was just getting older. He rummaged the desk top, clearing some space and finding a blank music sheet. Plucking the dip pen from its ink bowl he began to write. Slow and deliberate. About halfway through the notes blurred to inky blobs in his fading vision. Only muscle memory guided his strokes but even that was dwindling. Numbness settled into his fingers, weighing them down like a wet towel.

Upon reaching the last line the pen slipped from his trembling grasp. It rolled across the desk and would've fallen if Ira Glass didn't catch it. She dipped the metal nib into the ink before placing the pen back into his feeble hold. Her gentle touch steadied his quivering hands. With her help, he finished the piece. Just in time too. He couldn't move any longer. His eyelids had grown heavy. Spool spared the picture on his desk one final glance before leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. Ira smiled down at him with tears in her eyes, filling them once again with life. A sorrowful life, but life nonetheless. She spoke to ease his passing. Spool didn't care to listen. He stared up at the torn kite that hung from his ceiling. The motley thing was attached to a spool by a piece of string.

Oh, how we used to soar. We'll fly together once again my love, Kite.

His eyelids fell like the closing of a curtain. One final performance at an end. He only hoped it was enough.

Ira Glass stumbled out of Spool's bedroom, addled. No light guided her path. She walked with hands outstretched to feel her way out. No amount of darkness though could hide away Spool's face, which remained in Ira's vision like an afterimage. The ease in which he accepted his death startled her. He had looked at her without anger or hate. That expression of his eluded her in those moments. She only now realized what it was. Pity. Spool pitied her to the very end until his gaze slid past to the ceiling and he at last willingly embraced death as if greeting an old friend. Ira hoped that one day she would face death with such calm.

The backstage of the World Theatre was a mess. An organized mess perhaps, but still difficult to traverse. Ira's foot hit a protruding nail and she tripped forward. Ward caught her in his arms, taking her weight with ease.

"Ira, are you alright?" Even in the pitch black she could make out his craggy face. She's known it all her life.

"Yes," she sniffled, "I'm fine."

Ward dabbed her wet cheeks with a handkerchief. "You should've let me do this."

"No. This was my responsibility."

"It's done then?"

She pushed herself off him, grateful for his supporting presence. "It's done."

"Good." Said Ward, "Alvaro is waiting outside with the car. Come, let's get you home."

They had built a wall that spanned the entire way across the border, connecting street after street. Mud weighted barrels, fences, planks, anything that could obstruct was stacked on top of each other to create the Mud District's only line of defense. It wasn't much. A step above kindling. But it was all they had. The defenders peered over their ramshackle cover, locked in a staring contest with the City Guard stationed behind their own sturdier defenses little more than a hundred feet away.

The buildings closest to the Buffer were renovated into barracks where people from the Mud District stored their weapons and often slept. Streets were harvested for their parts. New nail studded clubs were crafted from the scavenge. All metal anyone had was brought forth and sharpened, including spoons and forks. The remainder of Sned's guns were distributed to any who could carry them. The whole district had turned into a crude militia.

Runt sat on a porch overlooking no man's land. Rain drummed the slanted porch roof and trickled to the side. The lukewarm water served as a cool release from the summer's heat. Of the five streets running through the Buffer Runt was located in the middle one so that he'd be in a prime spot to help out any of the other lanes if they got in trouble. Fellow Mudslingers were positioned as still as gargoyles across the soaked wood wall. There was little movement from them or the City Guard. Both sides were conserving their energy and waiting. Runt carefully tied off his bandage wrappings at his wrist. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his elbow and wrist to get a feel for how loosely he could move.

The middle lane's primary lookout, Alfie, shouted down to them from his hovel of a crow's nest on top of the closest building. "I see movement out there!"

At once everyone jolted to the ready. Runt stood to his feet, the weight of his arms dragging them behind some. The veil of rain made it difficult to make out what was going on at the City Guard's line but there was something disturbing their ranks.

Using a pair of binoculars from Sned's old gear, Jules looked out towards the Buffer. "What the fuck?"

"What is it?" asked Runt.

"I got no fucking idea, but someone's coming."

Immediately Alfie looked towards Runt who nodded. The boy blew three quick toots on his whistle. On both the left and right came the resulting whistles of the other lane lookouts. Only one high pitched reply from each, which meant their lane was the only one with a disturbance.

"Jules."

The Mudslinger tossed Runt the binoculars. Peering through them Runt glimpsed a figure in the rain. A woman judging by her gait and clothing. However, her umbrella hid her face.

"At the ready." Ordered Runt Braun, "But nobody shoot. Whoever it is, they're alone."

Runt moved to the wall. Its five-foot uneven stacking was easy for him to see over even when crouched down. He waited for the mystery guess to get within fifteen feet before shouting out to her.

"That's far enough! Who are you?"

The woman angled her umbrella back revealing her face. She had turquoise eyes and short cropped blonde hair. Her blue velvet suit and heels made it look like she had just come from a fashion show. Runt recognized the style. He had seen it before the night of Clementine's concert. She arrived at the World Theatre by the concert's end, sparing a few terse words with Monnie and Merri before slipping inside. Runt never learnt her name. She glared up at him, staring down several gun barrels with a solid expression stronger than their own defenses.

"Runt Braun." The name left her lips as more of a statement than a question.

"So, you know my name. What's yours?"

"Adriane." She replied.

"Adriane who?"

"That hardly matters right now."

"You a friend of Clementine's?"

"No." the blunt admission puzzled Runt, "That being I wouldn't use the term friend. More of an acquaintance. I'm the stage manager at the World Theatre."

"You here to see him?"

"I am."

"You came all this way in the rain just to see an acquaintance? Why?"

"My reasons are my own." Her tone brooked no argument.

"Look where you are lady," said Jules, "You're in a middle of a warzone with ten guns pointed at your head."

"And?" her inquiry stumped Jules who after thinking and failing of coming up with any other comeback, clamped his mouth shut.

Runt eyed Adriane suspiciously, "How'd you get past the City Guard?"

"Same way I'm gonna get past here. Because I have to. If you want to stop me you will have to shoot me."

"Fine by me." Sneered Jules. His buddy Leff clapped his friend on the ear and motioned him to be silent with a steady finger over his lips.

Adriane's eyes never left Runt's direction. Her unwavering stare could not be matched by anyone. Not even Clementine. Runt heard the iron in her voice and reckoned that her boast was no joke to her. She'd pick apart this barricade piece by piece if she had to.

Leaning over the wall ledge, Runt reached out to her. "Give me your hand."

Adriane studied Runt's face as if measuring his veracity before clasping her hand in his. Runt pulled her up and over the wooden barricade. What should've been an easy task for him pained his shoulder. A cautious reminder that he was still nowhere close to being one hundred percent again.

"What are you here to tell him?" asked Runt.

"Those are for his ears only."

"You don't make it easy, do you?" Runt leaned in closer and whispered, "You should know, he may not act like it but he is in pain right now. Both physically and mentally."

"I've seen all his acts." Said Adriane, "He cannot hide himself from me."

Runt wasn't sure if he should be comforted or distressed by that knowledge. Of all the people in the World Theatre Clementine never made any mention of Adriane. At least not to him. The reason why seemed obvious enough. The two of them were vastly different and probably didn't get along judging by her whole acquaintance association. Adriane halted her descent at the base of the wall, staring at the damp mud. Without a second's hesitation, she kicked off her heels and stepped in barefooted. Perhaps not so different after all.

"Jules. Leff. Escort her to Clementine's."

Both the senior Mudslingers hopped off the wall. "Come on, then." Grumbled Jules, "Follow us."

Water leaked from the ceiling. Drip-drip-drip into the bowl. The rain restricted Clementine indoors. It vexed him not being at the border with everyone else, but he knew in his current condition he'd just be a liability. Old Gran kept the ones too old or too young to fight working at her garden. Currently, it was the Mud District's only source of food and it was running low. The rain helped a little. Clementine couldn't remember the last time it poured like this.

Kiera had yet to return from wherever she went. They couldn't spare anyone to look for her either. Her loss was a blow to their moral and fighting ability. It was only Runt's presence on the front line that retained their resolve. If he was being honest with himself, Clementine knew where Kiera had gone. She either went to attack the Quarry by herself or simply left Refuge entirely. He hoped for the latter. At least then she would still be alive.

Every crack of thunder in the distance was a keen reminder of the Quarry. Clementine imagined the slaves working in the pit, the volatile sky crackling above them. Whenever he thought about that place his mind would always drift to the same thing. The Foreman's 'sticky puddies'. Little globs of Dust infused adhesive. It was that train of thought that brought him to reading the book he currently held in his hands. The Properties of Dust, by Geralyn Fountain. A scientist from Atlas. Clementine swiped the book from a Vulcan Industries workshop a few years back. He never paid much interest in it, only giving it a brief skim through. But on this rainy-day, Clementine dove into its many pages. It contained information about the history of Dust, the diverse types, and most importantly how each are utilized.

It was midday when he heard the voices. Just loud enough to be audible over the rain. They were coming closer. Clementine put the book down and grabbed the stick cane next to his bed. He limped his way to a window and peered out. Someone with an umbrella was approaching his home flanked by a mumbling Jules and Leff. The two Mudslingers both carried their guns, fingers on the trigger.

Clementine grabbed his cane and hurried to the door. The new splint created for him made it easier to keep his leg off the ground, yet it did nothing to help with the struggle. His leg had turned to lead. Heavy and numb. It was like dragging a chunk of marble. The effort it took to reach his door caused him to sweat in his already sodden clothes. He turned the wobbly knob and opened the door to find Adriane standing on his porch. Despite the umbrella she was soaked from head to toe and her naked feet were filthy with mud but she didn't seem to care.

Behind her Jules stopped his complaining and asked, "You know her?"

"Yeah…" answered Clementine, "Adriane, what are you doing here?"

Adriane folded the umbrella shut and stepped past him inside, "We need to talk."

Clementine hobbled to make way for her, "How'd you get here?"

"She simply walked on through." Answered Leff, "The City Guard tried to stop her, but she just shrugged them off."

"She's lucky we didn't shoot her." Said Jules, "It was Runt who let her pass."

"Alright." Said Clementine, struggling to process all that they were saying. "You two head back to the line. I'll handle whatever this is."

"Right." Eager to return, both Mudslingers shouldered their weapons and headed back out into the rain.

Before he could turn around Adriane pushed the door closed with the tip of her umbrella. In that moment of closeness, it occurred to Clementine that he'd never seen her outside the World Theatre before. Her colorful velvet attire while normal in the Flower District couldn't be more conspicuous in the Mud District. For the first time Clementine saw how the others viewed him and his fancy purple vest. No wonder they gawked.

Adriane didn't wait for him to finish staring at her before continuing her way into his living room. Clementine followed her, the click of his cane sharp against the rickety floorboards. He was well aware of the destitute state he was in. Spool's gifted suit had been nearly ruined in his encounter with Oren so he remained in his old threadbare clothes. Every step he took prompted a grimace on his clammy face. None of these things bothered him. Not with Adriane.

Her presence left him uneasy. To show up out of the blue wasn't like Adriane. No, she was the type who'd need to schedule appointments just for idle conversation a whole twenty-four hours beforehand. Her strict adherence to deadlines and schedules was notorious in the World Theatre. Something was off here. What he feared this visit meant he kept caged in the back of his mind, not even entertaining the possibility.

Adriane had removed her velvet jacket by the time Clementine rounded the corner, draping it over one arm. Her white shirt was damp and somewhat transparent so Clementine tossed her his spare towel that he had drying on a clothes line near the window. She threw the towel over her shoulders and with one hand, slicked back the hair that usually obstructed her face. Clementine studied that face as if he'd never truly seen it before. He'd always known she was beautiful in a regal sort of way, yet he rarely acknowledged it. With both those dark greenish-blue eyes upon him there was no denying it. She paced around his living room, studying everything she saw with a passive interest. Her purposeful neglect for his gaze left Clementine even more worried. She was if anything, never one to shy away.

"Adriane," said Clementine, his voice thick with nervous tension. "What are you doing here?"

She regarded him a moment. Before answering she took his desk chair and placed it in front of him. "Sit."

Clementine slowly lowered himself into the chair, careful not to bump his bad leg. He tried to mask his anguish, but for some reason he knew it didn't work. Adriane saw through him as clear as the sky after a storm. Deep down, he knew that to be true ever since they were children. All this time…Always watching, but seldom interfering. He appreciated that.

"What happened to you?" she asked at last.

"You saw on your way here. We're at war. In war people fight. People die."

"Are you dead?"

"No."

"Then how did that answer my question? I asked what happened to you."

Clementine hesitated, "I fought…I lost. Got my leg broken for it."

"How bad?"

"Bad."

"Mmmhhh." Still Adriane paced around the room as if no spot was comfortable to stand. "Have you lost people?"

Clementine took some time to respond, "We have."

"I am sorry…You should know that I wouldn't trouble you with this if I didn't feel I needed too."

"What? What's going on, Adriane? Just tell me."

Her stern features softened and for a split second she appeared a child again in his eyes. Innocent and doleful. "Spool is dead." She said, "He passed away last night."

Clementine shook his head, "No. That's not-No. This is wrong." His cane clattered on the floor. He wasn't even aware he dropped it.

"Breathe." Said Adriane, "Breathe."

Clementine's fear slipped through the bars of its cage and became reality. A reality he sought to deny with everything he had. But he couldn't. It was free. Something cold clenched his heart. It had been waiting for this opportunity to creep in. Despair. Its touch was a draining thing that left him asphyxiated. Every breath stifled by an unquiet mind. His vision strobed black. He tumbled off the chair and into Adriane's arms. She held him steady as he cried into her shoulder.

"Breathe." She repeated, "Just breathe."

Adriane hoisted him back into his chair. His labored breathing racked his whole body.

"How?" he rasped.

"His heart gave out. That's what the doctor said." Adriane straightened, "I'm the one who found his body. Before he died he wrote a draft for a song. At first I didn't pay it much mind until I realized the oddity of the music resembled something I've seen before. Something you once gave to Spool." She took out the folded sheet of music in question. It had been safely sealed from the rain in a plastic bag. Adriane handed it to Clementine. "Tell me this is nothing and I'll leave it at that. I won't push you to answer me or compel you to tell me the truth. I'll accept what I hear and that will be the end of it. But know this, I loved Spool just as much as you did."

Clementine slipped the music sheet out and unfolded the paper. His sobbing left his fingers clumsy. Fresh tears glistened in his eyes so he wiped them away to see. What he saw didn't make sense. Clementine slowly read the music and his tears stopped. At its finish, he looked up to meet Adriane's gaze.

"Do Monnie and Merri know about this?"

"No. I didn't want to bother them with something I wasn't sure about. They're busy as it is making the necessary arrangements." She paused, "That isn't a simple piece of music, now is it?"

"It was just a game." explained Clementine, "I would try and spell things out using the position of musical notes. A, B, C, D, E, F, G. There is only so much you can say with just those seven letters, but there is more to music than just that. There are naturals, sharps, and flats. Whole note, half note, quarter note. Slurs and tuplets. Rests…So much can be said when you combined them all together. All I needed to do was create an alphabet."

"A cipher…" Adriane's eyes widened, "Spool wrote this in code. What does it say?"

The shivering beat of Clementine's heart faded until it was lost to his ears. That wilted pit in his gut pulsed in its place sending tremors throughout his body. Thunder boomed overhead. The storm blotted out the sun causing darkness to envelope his home. Dark thoughts for dark places…

"It says, anger trumps despair."