It was my name on his lips, the name he gave me, which urged me to clutch him. His hair smelled of blood and the lingering traces of fear, the wealthy plenitude that could only be defined as Ciel, and I drew in the scent of him with gulping breaths, for I had been so deprived. Those days without his full presence might as well have been a dredging epoch, as though the clocks had slowed to deliberately tally the innumerable seconds he was away from the manor, away from me. As I embraced his body, limp but awake, how I wished that my pocket watch would tick slowly once more, so I could make up for the lost time I had not savoured him.

Never mind the impudence of it. The events of the evening had sharpened my focus on the goal of removing the threat, assuring my charge was free of all danger. This goal had been realized, and I could allow myself to examine my full range of emotion. Filled with such elation was I, for the killings of that evening had me fixated on a propitious fact. I was one step closer. As a result, his heart sounded as a lilting rhythm, each drop of sweat a precious morsel, each breath a scented balm.

"Water," his voice cracked against my chest. He pushed against my shoulders and I rose to fulfil his request. He did not look at me when I offered the glass, just gulped it and requested another. When he was sated, he held his forehead in his hands as though it were a trial to hold up his head. "Where am I? What happened?"

"We are in Lady Elizabeth's hotel. She is asleep in the sitting room, and Paula is with her." My voice was tender. "We do not have much time, young master. Are you well enough to stand?"

"I feel bloody awful."

"You had a concussion."

He wrenched the bed sheets from him and looked out the window. "Is there some place we need to go? What is so important that we must see to at night? Can it not wait until morning, when I don't feel like my head is in a vice?"

Even if he had been unconscious for a few hours, and perhaps still sluggish, this was not the attitude I was expecting from the Earl who was quick to see to the matters at hand, regardless of what condition ailed him. Was he not aware that Martel's people could still be in the city? That the factory was beyond control? I wondered if he was concerned with the human trafficking that had been taking place right under his jurisdiction, how this could reflect abysmally on him, that this was another case best left to the authorities of that realm. Was he to act on this?

In the dark he could not see how I eyed him with concern. He was still in the clothes from earlier in the day, soiled and wrinkled, and how I hated that I had nothing fresh for him. I slipped his shoes over dirty stockings. There was the possibility that he could not know the situation in full. "I have to inquire, what is the last thing you remember?"

He stared at me, eyes unfocused in the dark. "I remember... Martel showed up. I told him how dare he hide such a sordid operation in one of my factories... all right, I picked some choice words... he hit me, and Hameldon pinned me to the floor, that's when you showed up... and I told you to take Lizzie."

He was lifted from the bed, and while the trace of sweat on his skin smelled of stale panic and rage, it was beauteous all the same. He had no coat, and I knew not where it had gone, but I was more than willing to provide him heat against the night chill, my arms cradling him against me. I whispered against his ear, "You remember nothing after that?" My practical judgments told me I should be worried, but I could not give much attention to that when my senses prickled from being immersed in his company.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. "No, I really don't, and why are you... being like this?" That was a rather sobering answer. He pushed against my chest and I stared at the bandage wrapped around his head. What sort of wound was present that I could not tend to? Was there some damage I could not foresee? He peered at me with a surety of mind, but delving deeper possessed a small confusion as to what motivated my urgency.

"It is best to not explain here. Let us be off."

"And are you going to insist on carrying me?"

"I hate that I should ask you to be up at this hour, and after you have suffered a concussion, so I cannot tolerate you standing, much less walking, on your own." I smiled, for it was his condescending tone, his slender chest and that violet eye shining in the dark.

His agreement came by lack of protest, and we took to a stair well leading to a side exit. When we were among the pitch sky, the humming of street lamps and the distant sound of the sloshing tide, I spoke, "Our first order of business is to know where you have been staying. You mentioned you were with Mr. Hameldon? Can you tell me where he used to reside?"

Ciel blinked in surprise, that blue eye contracting with the admission of light. It was in the street lamp's illumination above that he surely noticed the remnants of that blow to my head, the blood on my collar. "Used to?" His heart thudded faster and the hair bristled on the back of his neck. "He's dead...?"

"Yes."

"You killed all the men in that room. Including Martel."

"Indeed."

His breathing sped and the panic was rising. "Sebastian... I don't remember." His hand reached for the bandage wrapped around his head. "I know I received a hit... but why can't...?"

"Do you remember Mr. Hameldon slamming you against the floor?"

His eyes were wide. "... He did?"

"…Oh dear."

Memory loss was a classic consequence to a concussion, and I was sure that if he was conscious enough to raise his head to look at me, that surely he would have been able to remember that moment he gave the order. Humans, try as they might to be resilient, are rather fragile things, and there is no telling what long term effects can arise from injury.

If he claimed that the last thing he could remember was his order to save Lizzie, and was surprised to discover that I had killed his captors, then he could not have known what Mr. Martel had divulged prior to his brutal demise.

"Young master, everything is under control—"

"Bloody hell it's not—"

"Just tell me where you have been staying these last days and I will explain."

He looked around the empty streets, perhaps to get a sense of where he was. "We're on Francois... to get to Mr. Hameldon's flat, we would have to... head east... to Lambardie, on the south side of the Basin du Commerce. His flat was on Chevalier."

It was exhilarating to be bolting across this city with no regard to hiding this stunt. My charge was indifferent to this preternatural speed. As I dashed down the avenues, Ciel clung with one hand to the front of my jacket, the other about my shoulders.

"Sebastian, my head is killing me."

"You have been through a lot. Martel was planning to kill you this night. By the looks of it, Hameldon did not seem inclined to prevent it. I suspect he knocked you harder than he realized, just to keep you quiet."

"I would not blame the man, if he wanted me done for."

"I had to neutralize the situation, and I did not know what Hameldon's intentions against you were. He seemed to not be on the best terms with Martel by the time I had arrived, but that is neither here nor there. Also, I am willing to take only one bullet to the head, and that is enough of an irritation. I took the simplest course of action, so as not to endure anymore."

"So... Killing them all was the simplest course."

"Well… killing Martel was on your order."

"Ha, I don't remember that either. How can I give an order but not remember it?"

"I cannot explain how the human mind will fail to hold to certain events while retaining others. My understanding is that you don't seem to remember much of anything that happened after Hameldon struck you. There were points afterwards where you did appear lucid, even if you were dazed, which is why at the time I gave no consideration…"

But... even if I can't remember giving the order… it's something I would do… right? The bastard, thinking he could get away with..." He hissed, lowering his head into the crook of my neck. "Sebastian, I need a bath, and a pill for this headache. All my things are at the flat, and I really just need a moment to put myself right."

His hair brushed against my chin. "Very well. While we are there, we need to investigate for any information regarding what relation Hameldon had with Martel. Also, there is the issue of these missing factory funds. Have you made any headway on that front?"

"Well, I can tell you right now... Hameldon had no intention of betraying me, until he stepped foot into the factory and was exhorted by Martel." I turned the corner onto Lambardie, overlooking the Basin that sparkled from lights reflecting on its black surface. "He told me... this was before you arrived, he confessed that he never wanted to see any harm come to me. Martel had given him incentive to act in capacity as manager, to play cover-up and lead me here under false pretence. I don't think he realized that Martel was using him as well. Or maybe he did and he was acting out of self-preservation." We took a right onto Chevalier. "His flat is number 97, just on the left."

Opening the blue door from the stoop we entered into a modest abode, something suitable for a young bachelor who was to stay in the city for a temporary spell. He had made efforts to make the place a little homier, with photographs on the mantel, bric-a-brac on the side tables in the drawing room and by the telephone. Up the stairs were two bedrooms, and on the immediate right I peered into one and saw Ciel's travelling case.

"What motivation do you suppose Martel gave Hameldon to work against you?" I set him on the bed and busied myself with procuring him a fresh set of clothes. He slipped off his shoes.

"Oh, I know there was a money exchange. Hameldon admitted that what Martel offered him was quite a bit more than what I could pay him for honest work. Also, there was the consideration that if he went to the authorities with information on Martel, Martel would make sure his lackeys would put a price on Hameldon."

"So Martel had eyes in this city." While he was not looking at me, I buried my nose in his shirt.

"I wouldn't put it past him. With the sort of business he was operating... ugh, makes me sick thinking about it." He fell to the bed. "I haven't had a good night's sleep in days." His legs dangled over the edge of the bed, arms splayed as he stared at the ceiling.

"If we were in a position to rest, I can assure you, I would cater to your every want. As it stands, we do not know if Martel's death has been noticed. I sensed no souls in that factory, other than you, Elizabeth, and your captors, so whoever was being kept in that basement was cleared out after Lady Elizabeth discovered them."

"And I have no idea where they could have been taken… those children." He laid his arms across his eyes. "This is a damn mess. My factory is a mess. I've been played for a fool. Lizzie got caught up in all this. And no, I really don't know what Martel has been doing with my money. Now he's dead, so it's not like I can bloody ask him." He lifted his head to glare at me.

The embezzlement had been the last thing on my mind upon discovering that Martel was the one responsible for capturing Ciel all those years ago. When hearing that, my only concern was fulfilling my primary goal: his revenge. If only that pathetic sod had more information. An additional lead would have meant a potential end to this contract. I could take that boy out of his misery. I would no longer have to concern myself with not meeting his expectations, and perhaps devouring him would grant me some solace. Perhaps he would have been ripe enough… perhaps such a feast would not diminish me so.

"There is a possibility that we can find some information at the factory."

"Well, draw me a bath first."

I set down the fresh outfit and knelt before him, head bowed. "Young master, I implore that you allow me to assist you."

"I don't need you to bathe me."

My voice was soft. "Please give me the opportunity to provide you with some relaxation—"

He lifted himself on his elbows. "What is going on with you? If you are not staring at me, you can't keep your damn hands off me, or you insist on being in my personal space. As if it's not awkward enough..."

I considered that he did not know quite how to place his feelings with my abrupt arrival, and saving him. I wanted to be as close as a shadow. More than that, I wanted to blanket myself with his presence, soak myself in him. There was something different in the way he looked at me, and I recalled how before he had left for this trip it would have been impossible for him to stare me down as he was in that moment.

"Considering the events of the evening, I am not letting you out of my sight."

"You were afraid for me, weren't you?"

Rising from my kneeling position, I pulled him upright before me. He still had blood caked in his hair. There were dark circles under his eyes. My hands smoothed down his shoulders and he shuddered. "For a moment... when I first heard your cry for me, but as I continued to be pulled to your rescue, I knew you were doing everything to keep yourself alive. I wish you had not insisted on doing this alone, because I could have made all of this so much easier for you. Lady Elizabeth would not have had to involve herself. Do you realize that she desired to help you because even she knew you could not accomplish this on your own?"

His attempt to push my hands away was pathetic, and he covered his face. "I just wanted to do something for myself... I think… Why did I come to this place without you? There was some reason…"

Of course there was some reason why he left for France without me, even if I considered it a poor one, and I stared at him questioning just what and how much of our recent history had gone opaque in his mind. If he could not remember this reason, would that also imply he could not feel the same resentment towards me? What was he feeling towards me? For the first time in weeks he was willing to not only be in my presence, share his thoughts with me, but was treating this sudden close proximity as a matter of course… much like it had been in the recent past.

Pulling his hands from his face, I held them between us, trying to fuel some reassurance. "It matters little, for I am here now. Yes, I think you did need to prove something to yourself, but frankly I think you mucked it up. So, until we are back in London, I am going to carry you through this, and you can hate me all you want for it."

He murmured, "I don't hate you."

There were not so many words for me to say upon hearing that, and I thought back to when he had said such a thing to me the last time, and how all so much of "this" would be easier if he did have the capacity to hate me. I kissed his hands before me, lips finding every knuckle. "My young lord extends to me more grace than I probably deserve." There was a small plea I made in silence as I kneeled before him, that "this" had become something easy for him to grasp, that if he had no capacity to despise me he would also have no capacity to turn away from me as he had that wretched night.

"Probably." He pulled his hands from my grasp. "Draw me a bath. You are permitted to stand by, but I'd rather do things myself. Do not argue with me."

"Very well, my young lord."

There was a gas boiler in the wash room that heated the water quickly, so filling the small tub took no time. I found wash cloths and towels in a cabinet. Soaps and washes had been laid out as if Hameldon believed to be bestowing some manner of luxury on the Earl. Ciel entered the room in a bath robe and eyed me when I reached to disrobe him. "I can do it myself. Stand over there." He gestured to a corner.

He sank into the water and sighed. "I so wish this tub was larger." He could not recline without his knees peaking above the water's surface.

"You should take off that bandage, if you intend to wash your hair properly."

"Must you always coddle me? Hand me a wash rag." He set to work scrubbing himself. It was a relief that I had taken efforts to clean his wound previously, because he was not inclined to address it. It appeared that his head still caused him a bit of pain.

Standing in the corner had the effect of making me feel entirely useless, so to pass this uncomfortable moment, I chose to inquire on a matter of curiosity. "Lady Elizabeth mentioned that you distracted Mr. Hameldon while she went searching in the basement of the factory. She did not go into great detail, so I am curious, what means did you take?"

"Hm... yes, about that." He drew the cloth across an arm, up around his neck. "She doesn't know this, but the first night I was here, Elliot, he insisted I call him by his given name, came to my room. He thought he could try at something, but he didn't know I sleep with my revolver under my pillow."

"You threatened him."

"I kept my doors locked after that encounter. But it alerted me to the fact that he was expecting to engage me in..."

"You knew he thought you desirable. If he offered to allow you to stay at his flat and you took it, could you expect him to not act on those desires?"

"It's unprofessional."

"It's human nature. You missed behind your ears. Please, could you allow—"

"No." He scrubbed behind them with irritation. "Better?"

"It will suffice."

He lathered more soap on the cloth and sitting up, worked it over his chest. "I knew that if I went to him with the suggestion he wouldn't turn me away. I told him there was a matter I needed to discuss with him in private, so he didn't give a thought to Lizzie when I led him upstairs to the office."

I blinked and perhaps I looked appalled by this statement, for Ciel sat up straight with an expression of confusion, how I could react to such a statement. I stalked to where he bathed. "And how far were you willing to take that charade?" I leaned with my hands on the rim of the tub. "What were you to do if Elizabeth was not discovered? What if Mr. Hameldon was expecting things to escalate? What if you had to continue this charade past this evening, while knowing there were children being held in the basement, their lives at stake?"

My gaze was piercing, and he looked away, a blush on his face. "I was only going to let it go so far..."

"And how far is too far, young master? A kiss on the mouth? Would you have been able to keep up the charade if his mouth was somewhere else on you?" He slipped deeper among the suds drifting over the top of the water. I leaned in closer. "Would you have taken to his bed? Would you have the fortitude?"

Frustrated, he splashed water in my face. "Shite, Sebastian, I don't know! Does it really matter now? Why should it concern you?"

I snapped, "Because it was a foolish move. You did not think it through. You put yourself in a vulnerable position with no firm sense of control, no means to maintain a boundary, and no thought in regard to consequence. Look at me." I held his jaw and he looked ready to spit at me. "You could have been taken advantage of. You could have been raped, or worse. You were lucky, that such did not happen-"

"Hameldon would not have done such a thing—"

"Men say things opposite to their actions all the time. You also claim that he really had no intention of seeing you harmed, and yet it was him who gave you a concussion."

He grabbed at my wrist, trying to pull away, and water sloshed onto the floor. "You're just upset that someone else could have touched me."

I flashed him a toothy grin. "Do you think I harbour such human sentiments when it comes to sex? You know me better than that. You arrogant child, believing I would be possessive over you for that." I pushed him away, turning my back to him. "I think what irritates me more, young master... is that you condemned me for... what were your words? Ah, 'using sex as a tool to gain leverage over others,' but you would turn around and do the exact same thing to someone else." I glanced over my shoulder. "Never mind the hypocrisy of it. In the very least, you could have implemented such a tactic with some thought. I do not think you would have laid end up for him for the sake of your mission, not without some deep regrets. Am I wrong?"

I heard the water dripping as he rose from the bath. "Hand me a towel, Sebastian," he said in a hollow voice. "You claim I said such a thing… and I have no reason not to believe it true… but I can't understand why I would say such a thing to you…" I did not watch him toe gingerly out of the tub for I did not want him to catch any glimmer of alarm in my features, no sign that I could not believe what I was hearing from him. Perhaps eventually the memories would return, and with it the hurt I had caused him would be exposed anew, but until such a time I would refuse any distance between us.

He patted himself dry, my back still turned. "When Elizabeth was brought to the office, and he realized that it had all been a ruse, he looked hurt. I should have felt bad about it, because I think he was hoping for something genuine. After that, he had no intention of keeping me safe from Martel, regardless of what could have happened. I betrayed his trust."

"The man was an idiot to trust you. Even Martel had the sense to know that." I handed Ciel his clothing, and one by one he dressed himself.

He buttoned the waistcoat. "How can you be sure of that?"

"Because he said it."

He checked his tie in the mirror. "Did he say anything else? Hand me my eye patch."

He said quite a lot of things, and I knew this was not something to be kept from him. I was concerned with how he was to take such information, but it would not be helped. I took a deep breath. "Young master, follow me."

"Huh?"

"I have something to say, and I want you to sit down for it." He was led back to the bedroom and I knelt before him as he sat on the bed, his hands in mine once more.

"What is this?" I do not know what expression he saw on my face, but he looked puzzled. My heart was fluttering, my fingers twitched, and I could have either looked nervous or elated.

"Can you tell me anything of what you remember of Martel before he died?"

"He hit me with the grip of his revolver, he pointed his gun at you when you came in, there was some yelling..." He shook his head. "Maybe... maybe I remember you holding a knife to his throat?"

"Do you remember anything that was said in the moment?" I gripped his hands tighter. "Please, please tell me you remember something."

He was beginning to shake. "No... Sebastian, I really... what is it? You look surprised. What... what did he say? Should I be concerned?"

There was a jittery excitement in my limbs and I am almost certain I failed to keep my tone even. "Young master... Martel had the intention of killing you, not just because you found out his operation in your factory. He had been scheming to end your life... because he knew that he had not done away with you five years ago."

"What do you mean?" he whimpered.

"I mean, Martel has been in the business of human trafficking for a number of years. And he was responsible for-"

"Oh my God." He wrenched his hands away to cover his ears, as if to not hear it would make it untrue. "Please this once tell me you're lying, I'll forgive you if you are—"

"No, listen." I pulled at his arms, but he attempted to push away, kick at my chest. I held both wrists in one hand, pulling him to me, face inches from mine and there was such panic in his eyes. "I am not lying. Martel knew who you were five years ago, and he knew what it meant that you, the last of the Phantomhives, should die. That was his reason for selling you to the cultists, because he thought your death would be certain."

"How do you know he wasn't lying to you?" Ciel screeched.

"Because I know the honest confessions of a man about to die." His breathing was manic, his lip trembled. "Shh... young master, please, take a deep breath."

He was beyond rage; he was approaching hysteria. "Son of a bitch... in my factory..." his breath rattled and I was sure he was going to work himself into a fit. "Why...? Sebastian why?"

"He wanted you done for so he and his cohorts would not have to concern themselves with your influence in the Underground. That's why they were operating in France, undetected by the Crown. He did so in your factory as a means to get close to you, and in spite of you." He teetered between a crazed laugh and sobbing, and my lips brushed against his cheek as I bent to whisper in his ear, "Please young master… understand that I only thought to fulfil your objective. I thought you gave the order knowing full well..."

No soft words could be detected in the boy's ears, and the fresh fury rolled off him in swells that stung the back of my hand.

"Take me to the factory! Now!"

In my rush to placate him, I had forgotten his coat, but he did not seem to care about the chill of the night by that point. Ciel stood silent for a long moment, staring at the frightful mess I had made in that office.

"Please tell me Lizzie saw none of this."

"She did not."

"Good. Neither will anyone else. Burn it to the ground."

"Pardon?"

"Did I stutter?"

There was hopelessness in his eyes, that same lovely despair that could arrest me. He pulled at my jacket, his eye shimmering and I cupped that sorrowful expression. "It's why when you carry me I feel your breath on my neck, how your voice sounds thick with want, because I am so close to my end..."

"You know me so well..." His pulse pounded in my ears, his smell this cloying essence, thick enough I could almost taste it in the air. Beneath the knocking of bones, and rustling of muscle flexing, there was the soft hum, like a string set in perpetual vibration, and such a brilliant song coursed through the whole of him, profound enough to make the angels weep.

When his eye beamed I felt such a chord through me being plucked and my hands burned of their own volition. "My money is lost to me. Those children are lost as well. Forget salvaging any part of this. Burn it to Hell and let it be known to my enemies who see this inferno," his voice escalated to a roar, "that this is the fate of any who should cross the house of Phantomhive!"

The city was awoken by the call of sirens and that was our cue to depart. From a block away on the roof of some warehouse we watched the blaze of the factory as it reflected in the harbour. Men scurried below to siphon its water to put out the fire, but by the time they had arrived with their hoses the Funtom factory was beyond the point of salvaging. It was a better option for the men to place their efforts on preventing the fire from spreading. Windows burst from the pyretic pressure built from the fire housed in brick. It would serve as a furnace to send all evidence of what transpired there to oblivion.

Even from our distance, the wind carried the heat of the fiery destruction, like a displaced desert gale, unnatural to be felt in that darkest hour before the dawn. Peering up at Ciel in my arms, the orange light reflected such bitterness in his eyes.

He had been cheated, and I was to blame for it.

Somewhere in the distance to the west was the gong of the bell tower of the cathedral. It marked the fourth hour.

He sat with a proud posture, not daring to turn to face me. "Sebastian, if you had a means to complete my revenge this night, would you have taken it?" Despite his fearless stance, his willingness to be held by me, he offered the question with such a thin, feeble resonance.

"I did inquire for more information, but Martel was truthful when he said he knew nothing further in regards to the identity of your parents' murderers. I confess, if given the slightest lead on the matter, I would have taken action this night, to pursue that culprit."

"I have a confession of my own." Those eyes darkened as he peered down at me, no longer reflecting the fire, instead violet reflecting against the curtain of hair. "I wish it were so. Then I would not have to face the morning. I would not have to face any of it."

He considered being consumed by me preferable. I frowned. "It does not seem fitting for you to shirk away from life's challenges, to not confront the consequences you made for yourself... to not play the hand you were dealt."

"It's not that. I'm not afraid. I'm just... fatigued." He did not have to explain that he was not referring to the lethargy in his limbs, the fog of his mind. "You know, I didn't want you here because... maybe I needed to prove to myself that there was something about me that I could still claim as my own. That maybe there was a shred of myself that I could say that I developed."

"I believe there is… but in this situation you came up against more than you anticipated."

"Yes, but I wanted to prove I could make it right, all on my own, by my own merits."

"Young master," my lips craved to caress his skin, "this was a situation that could not have been made right."

"Could it have been made right if I had just left it all up to you? Can I never follow through to achieve my own ends? Am I really not capable of being my own person?" His voice cracked. "Must everything I do and everything I am begin and end with you?"

Ciel was attempting to keep himself from unravelling in front of me, but my hand on the back of his neck stripped his defences in a second. I whispered, "Young master, if that is the truth of the matter, is it really so wretched?"

"Yes."

What he failed to realize that for all I had fostered within him, he had taken ownership of those traits. He did not sense that when his fury was at its peak, I did not set flame to those rafters of the factory's ceiling because I was responding to an order. My hands burned as a result of his fury, as though I was no longer acting on my own volition, but rather was a tool to enforce his own will.

One could argue that he was the one who burned down his own factory.

He seemed to be under the assumption that he was powerless, ineffectual, possessing no strength to affect a world set to wrong him. He had forgotten that it was the force of his will that brought me to him in the first place, and what continued to affect my every action. Never was there a contractor who had taken command of me while still retaining so much of his personal integrity.

My poor young master appeared more angry and frustrated with himself, resentful towards his own faults and frailties. If there were some manner in which I could reflect some image of how I saw him…

"May I make one more confession?" Nipping at his jaw, I sighed against his neck. He clutched my shoulder, conflicted over whether to lean in or pull away. I made the decision for him, holding him tighter against me. "I missed you." Could I even understand the simple words that conveyed such a grand emotion? I recalled the smell of his sheets, how the writings of his journal were imprinted with a heavy hand, the sound of that weeping violin, and how I hewn the rock from the earth. The truth was his absence affected me, that it had caused some space to open within me and it was only filled once more by his presence. Perhaps these are simple emotions for humans to engage with but to experience such a thing first hand…

A tear streamed to meet my lips. He pulled away to rub his face with a sleeve. "This is strange, ugh, why am I…?" He sniffed, trying to regain some semblance of poise. "Sebastian… I really don't understand why you saying that makes me feel…"

"Be quiet." I lowered his chin and pecked a kiss on his lips, and realized I had missed that too.

He was still, his eyes wide and after a moment of initial shock worked itself past him he mumbled, "That seems rather familiar. Too familiar."

I do believe I felt something inside myself drop, as if there was a lead weight that fell from my chest into the pit of my stomach. Perhaps my voice wavered when I responded, "Perhaps it will come back to you, young master."

There was a fuzzy understanding in his eyes, as if he could comprehend the whole without the knowledge of its individual parts. "When it does, I will regret it."

"Yes, probably."

His emotions were available to him, even if he could not place their origins. I was sure that such feelings would illuminate their corresponding memories soon enough. He sighed and flipped back his hair.

"Let's go. I want to leave this city."