"Now, you hand over the flask and I hide it here in the factory. Miranda's expecting all her good little children to bring theirs to the ceremony site tomorrow night. This should buy us some time...at Alcina's expense that is."

"What do you mean?"

"Alcina will have to show up without one. Miranda can't do much without a head. My hands are clean, and I can figure out what she has planned for papa Winter's."

She followed him into the hallway, matching his stride as she tried to keep up through the twists and turns of the factory bowels. Walking through a set of large, double doors, Celia was in awe. The outside of the building was wildly deceptive; this place was massive. The entire structure wrapped around them from where they walked across the deck; towering over them as her eyes darted around wildly, trying to figure out what to focus on first. She saw huge skeletal structures of conveyers connecting different parts of the building. Were those carrying...people?! They didn't look like the "experiment" Karl had in the hallway with him. Sturm, was it? She scurried to catch up to him, still distracted by the parade of limp bodies moving together slowly in the distance.

"What did you say you manufacture here?"

"I don't recall ever telling you."

"Well, can you tell me now?

Arriving at the far side of the platform, Karl pushed open the red, rusted double doors. "Weapons." He answered finally. "Speaking of weapons, you got reinforcements running around here somewhere?"

"I'm here with..." She corrected herself "I was here with my team. We used to be part of a pretty big organization. If I could get in touch with my team, we could...contact them."

"Then do it." His voice still sounded steely and firm.

"Uh huh. I need..."

He cut in, "A phone?"

She smirked. "A shower."

His face softened. "Yeah, I think that can be arranged." Celia was relieved to see him crack a little.

"And a phone," she conceded. "...thanks."

They turned into a large room. It had a bed. A desk. A phone. Was this his bedroom? Not wanting to appear intrusive, she tossed her bag and the parcel the Duke gave her to the floor by the desk, keeping her eyes lowered as she sunk into the chair to make the call.

It was a rotary phone; she'd only ever used one once before. Pretty old school. Thankfully, her training required the memorization of the entire team's cell phone numbers. Pulling the large dial around to the first set of numbers, she waited. Right to voicemail. She tried another. Another. A fourth. All to voicemail. In minutes, she had burned through every number she had save one; her partner. But she knew there was no use. She dialed Chris's number again; this time, she left a message.

"Chris. It's me, Celia. I'm alive. I'm in Miranda's village. If you get this...please. Send in the big guns." She paused. "And...I hope you're ok."

Placing the receiver down, she shook her head. "No luck."

"Hm."

She shifted, half expecting him to throw her out. Instead, he turned away from her to a hook behind the door and slipped off his jacket.

"Shower's through here sweetheart." He pointed towards a small door next to the bed; the previous awkwardness melting away. "I'll get you something that's not crusted with blood. Maybe something that smells better."

She nearly sunk into the floor. Was he thinking that the whole time he was tending to her shoulder? She could feel the humiliation pooling into her cheeks.

Smirking, he handed her a towel and left her to enter the small bathroom. It was simple but had all the necessities. A toilet, a sink, and even a large claw foot bathtub. For a fleeting second she toyed with slipping into it. In the corner closest to her, there it was. The shower. Her mind hyper-focused on one thing. Hot. Water.

She approached and pulled back the black cloth shower curtain to inspect the situation. To her absolute surprise, on the stone ledge of the shower sat shampoo and soap. She turned back to the closed door; she was alone.

Stripping, she opened the faucet and stepped under the hot water, closing the curtain behind her. The water felt amazing, even through the stinging pain as it hit her wounds. Though her shoulder injury had closed considerably, it still wasn't completely healed. She took her time, scrubbing her body; her hair. Watching until the water finally ran clear. She tried not to think about the electric moment back in the room with the surgical equipment. Was it in her head?

When the hot water ran out, she lingered for a few moments longer, letting the cold shower give her the surge of energy she needed to face the end of the night in this factory.

Stepping out and grabbing her towel, she was surprised to find a large beige shirt folded on the ledge of the sink. He must have come in while she was showering. She wasn't offended. In fact, she was happy he spared her having to pull her dirty old clothing back on; or worse, walk out in only the small towel that barely covered her ass and chest at the same time. Slipping it on, she used the towel to wring out her hair. It was comfortable, cotton, and huge – sitting just to her mid-thigh. The neckline was cut in a deep V-shape, and was thick enough to conceal her breasts behind the material despite the fact that her hair had wet it.

Now, she had to face him...if he was even still in the room.

She pushed open the door. Light from the bathroom spilled into the bedroom only dimly lit by a single desk lamp. It was there she caught sight of him leaning back on the chair with his legs propped up against the desk, eyes closed. He was stripped back down to his shirt, sans hat and glasses. The tools that hung on his neck were gone. Strands of dark curls hung down from the hair he had pulled back earlier. She was struck by him; of course he was handsome, but beyond that he looked so vulnerable. So human.

Celia cleared her throat.

He didn't move. She started towards him but before she could do it again, he spoke, "Took you long enough."

Slowly, he opened one eye, then the other. "At least you smell better."

She threw the wet towel at him, and he caught it; chair slamming forward.

"I'm surprised you had shampoo and soap."

He laughed, "Shit, what do you think I'm a caveman?

"Wish you had conditioner though."

"Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart. Maybe you haven't noticed but I'm not running a bed and breakfast."

She opened her mouth to respond; but suddenly...painfully...realized she was standing in front of him, in his shirt, and nothing else. And it was freezing in there. Her joints were starting to feel like they were seizing up. He seemed to read her mind. "You take the bed, kid."

She looked over at it. It wasn't what she was expecting. The bed was massive, and out of place in the room – hell, in the building. Celia was surprised she hadn't noticed it before. It was solid wood, the color of mahogany, with gilded gold details lining the frame and headboard. The headboard itself was at least a few feet high, it's scalloped edges beautifully detailed with a scribed border. The bedding was a little more down to earth. Spread out over the mattress, the heavy down comforter seemed more his speed. Well-worn and colored with age. A few mismatched pillows scattered against the headboard.

"Are you sure you don't want the bed?"

"No, you're the one who got pretty busted up today. Besides, I don't do much sleeping these days. Perfectly comfortable here." He made a show of stretching out his body and reclining the chair back.

"We could share it. I mean, the bed is huge..."

He ignored her.

Though she felt awkward taking his bed, she felt worse just standing there. She climbed up into it and pulled the heavy covers up to her chest, slowly sinking into the mattress. It was unbelievably comfortable, and the blanket seemed to do a pretty good job shielding her from the frigid air of the room.

Silence hung in the air. Celia gnawed her lips, trying to find words, when he did it for her. "Sorry about the temperature. It's usually pretty hot in the factory but I keep this area cooler. It, it makes me more comfortable." Not wanting to ask why. She remembered how incredibly warm he felt the few times he had been close enough to touch her. When he grabbed her at the castle, she could feel it even through the gloves.

From his bed, she turned to him. He was back in the position she found him in, legs up and arms behind his head. By the light that spilled in from the small window, she could see that he was looking at the ceiling. He looked contemplative. Like he was thinking so hard it was painful. She suddenly wanted to know more about him. Not sure if it was overstepping her bounds, she started talking.

So, do you live here alone? I mean, is your family from here?

Her question irked him.

He didn't like to think about his family – not his real family or the bullshit one created by Miranda. He could barely remember his real mother, and of his father he wished he could forget. His father had always been cold to him. Warmed more by the drink than the affections of his only son. He was a bitter man. When he was taken, his father didn't look for him, didn't mourn for him. When he finally returned, he learned his father was dead. The house, the title, the factory – his. For all he had, his emptiness never left him. A void that he filled with alcohol and bitterness and eventually plans of revenge and retribution when he came to resent how Miranda had defiled him. By the time he was an adult, or at least, began looking like one, he realized he was the carbon copy, physical and otherwise, of the man who had abandoned him.

"They're dead." Was all he responded; eyes unopened.

"How did you get the scars?"

"Some were there...before. Others, like this one..." He pulled down his collar to reveal a jagged, pink line. "I think are symbolic. They remind me I'm no longer a man. I'm a creation. I like to think of it like my motivation."

"Motivation for what?"

Was she serious? He tried not to sound annoyed. "For revenge."

Celia stayed quiet at that.

He clicked off the desk lamp, bathing the room in darkness save for the dim moonlight filtering in through the window behind the bed. "You should go to sleep."

"Tell me about the other lords." Her voice was small, almost a whisper.

He stayed silent as the minutes passed. He was tired, though this was no time to relax.

Finally, he asked softly "What do you want to know?"

She didn't answer, having already succumbed to sleep. Karl closed his eyes.