Nino's was unbearably loud, most especially on the night shifts, which was the only shift Blue could take. Her other jobs took up the mornings and afternoons, a dedication towards travelling that Blue had apparently inherited from her father.

Her murdered father.

Maura and Mr. Gray had spared her the dirty details - although she's not entirely sure why, she has no attachment to the man she's never known - but the message was clear: finding his cluster had triggered a chain event that started the murders of sensates.

She had asked why it was only when they found their clusters, but neither had an answer, and neither thought it was very important compared to telling Blue to not make any contact with them. Not that Blue knew how to, so it was a promise she made with no real substance to it.

"Blue!" Cialina called out to her colleague, looking tired as she handed Blue four greasy menus. "Mind taking that back table for me? I'll owe you one."

Blue nodded soundlessly, grabbing the menus and heading over. She had five more hours of her shift to go.

"Hello, welcome to Nino's Pizza, can I start you off with some drinks?"

Four smirks met her face as she finally looked up from handing out the menus.

"Sure," the one closest to her gave a look that made Blue want to take a shower.

After getting their drink orders, she went to the back, grabbing the glasses. She bumped into Cialina. "I will be collecting that favor."

Later, squared away tightly in the dirty bathroom with a faded label stating "EMPLOYEES ONLY", Blue took a breather. She had not expected these boys to tick her off so much, and she couldn't risk getting fired. Despite the grunginess of Nino's and its relatively seedy inhabitants, it also paid the best. Staying here longer meant going away faster.

"Ugh!" She just wished the patrons were easier to like, or at least serve. Running her hands under cold water, she quickly splashed her face and looked up into the mirror-

Only to be startled back when it wasn't her face reflected in it.

It was a man - no, a boy - wearing a fancy suit with a crooked tie that looks like it's about to choke him, eyes staring right at hers. Could he see her too? Was this a trick? Was she so caught up in her conversation with Maura earlier that she was imagining her cluster already?

No, she thought decidedly as he reached out and touched the mirror, like it was a window and not something in their heads. It was not a trick; he was part of her cluster.

She matched his hand, unsurprised to feel the cold surface of the mirror instead of his fingers. "Who are you?" She asked softly, calmly. No use in freaking him out on something he probably had no idea about.

He, however, looked pleasantly amused to see her there, as though he knew there was so much more she wanted to say, to ask.

"Gansey." He said it just as quietly, as though speaking any harsher would change the image.

Her eyebrow quirked. "Is that all?"

He paused, only slightly, but long enough for her to tell. "That's all there is."

Perhaps Gansey should have considered scheduling his flight to England in advance. He'd much rather be half-listening to Malory's pigeon rants than smiling and talking to all these politicians, trying to act the prodigal son he was constantly advertised as.

"Dick," Helen Gansey sauntered over, capturing the wandering eyes of the few young men attending the black tie event. "Mother wants to talk to you."

Gansey sighed, feeling much more tired than usual. He didn't know what it was about his obscenely loving and rich family that made him so… drained. "What is it this time?"

"More bragging about your accomplishments, I'm sure. I think she's still hung up over the fact that I didn't get her a 'real' birthday present," Helen adds this last part bitterly.

"I told you she wouldn't like it."

"It's tupperware, it's all the same."

"Glassware, Helen." Gansey corrected her seamlessly, as though he were the older one. She flicked her hair over her straightened shoulders, and all the sudden he was no longer the elder; he was what he was supposed to be, a charming, enigmatic boy with a bright future once he graduated high school. His last year before he followed in Helen's footsteps.

"She's by the fountain."

Gansey rested his champagne flute on the nearest server's tray and pinched his red tie closer to his collar, like getting ready to face the beast. "Tell her I'll meet her in five minutes."

Helen raised an eyebrow. "Whatever you say, Dick."

He nods at her in thanks, looking very politician-like in his manners as he exits swiftly, ignoring the bodies and doing his best to not make eye contact as he climbs higher and higher up the carpeted staircase with no hint of shoes traveling them.

The sounds of dull conversation never go away, but it's much better now, muted as it is.

What's wrong with him?

Normally he could handle parties like these in his sleep. Just a little bit of sweet talking, asking about their lives as if he were interested, only mentioning his obsessions when they brought them up first… But suddenly he's quite annoyed, and he needs air. He could go outside to his mother, yet somehow that seems just as suffocating.

He stops in the middle of the hallway, realizing he has nowhere to go. The bedrooms are on this floor, but for some reason he's not in the mood to sit in his room. Sighing, he turns to the wall where a large, decorative mirror hangs at the perfect height for him.

His red tie is knotted perfectly, but something about the way he fiddled with it earlier makes it look like it's choking him, and Gansey isn't sure he wants to change it. Seems about accurate.

Again, the feeling of wanting to leave hits him so hard he doesn't realize he's blinked and he's no longer staring at himself.

A girl - short but pretty - has tiny little water droplets coming off her face as she stares back. He's surprised, but tries not to show it. However his hand has another idea as it slowly comes up to the mirror next to her face. Gansey feels nothing but the mirror.

Like a delayed reflection, her fingers come up to his, but the warmth her hands should be radiating isn't there.

"Who are you?"

Ronan Lynch has a complicated relationship with sleeping. Sometimes, he can't wait to hit the sack and dream up the most magical and mundane things. Sometimes, he dreads it. Nightmares plague his thoughts, and he never wakes up before the Bad Thing happens.

This night is not either one of those nights. This night, he can't go to sleep. It's not his usual insomnia either; there's buzzing and clanking, like he lives near some sort of auto shop that would be open at 11 at night. Maybe it's one of his neighbors.

Sticking his head out the window and not bothering to look around for the actual culprit, he yells, "Shut the fuck up!"

Chainsaw flutters to his side as he does so, mulling his beady little eyes over the street. There's nothing, but the machines won't stop.

"Goddamnit!" What is that sound? He storms around the apartment, no doubt waking up Opal but too amped looking for the source of his sleeplessness for the night.

Unfortunately, Ronan's place is a loft, so there isn't much he can't see from his bed.

The sound weakens.

Instead, it is a smell that permeates Ronan's senses, and the fighter growls as he plops back onto his mattress. Opal, on the couch that has been made into her bed since she moved in, yawns and turns over, glad Ronan is no longer making noise around the place.

She soothes herself back to sleep easily enough, her chest moving deeply as she rests. Ronan cannot do the same thing so carelessly - the sound has lessened but not ceased - but the familiar and strikingly pleasant smell of grease and gasoline lulls him into relaxing.

There's something stirring in the back of his mind; he knows for a fact that there's no way he should be smelling this, but it dissolves as Ronan finally drifts off.

There was something to be said about Adam Parrish's hostility for his hometown, Henrietta.

For one, he hadn't actually left it. Regardless that he had spent the better part of his teenage years juggling Aglionby Academy's schoolwork, four part-time jobs and some really stunning family issues just so he could attend college somewhere else, he found himself at 19 still working at the mechanic's garage and wearing the same grease-stained overalls.

For another, his mother. Lately, Henrietta and his mother had become synonymous in his head - the goal ultimately being to leave. However, unlike Henrietta, he felt a sort of… guilt, that couldn't be tamed. No matter how much it wasn't his fault and no matter how much she still didn't speak to him, it was, after all, enough to make him stay.

Stay in his tiny little apartment with sporadic heating and water that appeared everywhere except the shower. The apartment with the threadbare mattress, a lopsided bench as a desk-

That was not his desk.

Was he dreaming? Had he passed out after his shower? Adam certainly did not own anything mahogany with a smooth finish, let alone the sleek laptop that adorned its surface.

He looked around, awed - this could be his life. One day, he swore, it would be.

There's a dresser that matches the desk in richness, a large bed fluffed with pillows galore, and a boy with wire framed glasses sitting confidently in the corner of the room with a book, not looking a hair out of place.

Of course he hadn't imagined the boy in his future, but it would still do.

The room shifts.

Edges fade away, the boy not even looking up from his book as the world changes around Adam, and his grease stained hands reach out to grab the desk-he wants to stay here, let him stay.

It doesn't. Instead it brings him to a pretty girl sitting in a room filled with things and only one other person. They're much too focused on clothes to notice him, even with his heavy breathing as he wishes to go back to the regal house.

The girl, black hair cropped short and sticking out of the pins she'd clearly placed to keep it back, is bent over what used to be a long sleeved shirt. Now it's a shredded mess, courtesy of the scissors in her hands. Before he can question it she holds it up proudly in her hands, showing the other woman her work.

"Do you think this looks good enough, Persephone?"

"It depends on what you define as 'good enough'," the woman responds, barely looking up from the sweater she's currently sewing too large sleeves for. As Adam settles his gaze on her long, long, long platinum blonde hair, she looks up and stares at him.

Instinctively he looks behind him. He does not belong here; he is at home possibly out cold on the floor, but definitely there, not here.

A tiny quirk lifts the woman's mouth, and she cocks her head to the side.

"I think I'm going to- what is it?"

"The magician is here."

"Huh?" The girl turns around, also meeting his eyes, and reaches out for him. "Hey, who're you? I'm-"

And as soon as he was plopped into this dream world, Adam is gone.

"Well that's rude." Blue frowns, bringing her hand back down.

"Oh, not to worry. Coca Cola t-shirt will be back."

"What makes you think that?" It only takes a second to add, "Apart from the whole psychic thing. He looked…" Blue isn't sure what the right word is. Guarded. Yearning. Confused.

"Lost." Persephone contributes, her dainty voice interrupting Blue's thoughts. "All of your cluster is a little lost. But don't worry," she repeats, "He'll be back soon. He thinks you're pretty."

A warm feeling tingles over Blue's cheeks. "What? There's no way you can know that."

Persephone only smiles.