Maka had a bad feeling, and she knew she was always right.

Soul had picked up on how uneasy she was during the last round they had taken together. That was pretty quick, it hadn't taken him as long as last time, when she hadn't been sure whether she had left the stove on or not.

This was different though. It was a gut sensation, nothing quite as rational as something she had forgotten. It was something in the air, like when a Witch was on the prowl. It probably wasn't the case though.

"They're all gone. There's no way any could have survived within Death City itself."

Maka tilted her glass, looking at how her drink slipped over the ice cubes. Soul was right, of course. And she was tipsy.

"Well, yeah. Maybe close by or something," she answered. Another sip, maybe that would clear things up in her mind.

Smooth jazz from Soul's collection sounded through the flat, giving the whiskey a nostalgic sheen. Everything was like seen through a yellow filter, the alcohol not helping. Maka's eyes brimmed with tears, emotional now for some reason.

That extra sip hadn't helped at all.

"I believe you, but maybe we'd better investigate it in the morning. Not that I'm saying you're not in a state to right now or anything, but it's just that… I'm tired. There."

He was trying not to hurt her feelings. It was cute to see him flounder like that, but not tonight. The itch at the back of her brain was too irritating to ignore and it was all the more frustrating to watch Soul try and go against her.

"It's probably not even a Witch anyway," she muttered, finishing off her glass. "It's not anything we haven't dealt with before is all I'm saying."

"I'm not doubting you on that, Maka," Soul replied. He hadn't seen that she had spotted him rolling his eyes. "It's just that I spent the whole day patrolling a city for Sir Paranoid up in his castle and honestly, I just want some off-duty time."

Now Soul was angry, too. "It's not like we're kids anymore, we're paid a wage instead of being exploited. Lord Death had a lot of faults, and having child soldiers fight in his war was the one I've personally decided to hold against him. I'm not letting Kid walk all over us, god or not god."

Soul switched off the record player, bringing the room back into a deafening silence.

"I guess you're right," Maka said after a pause. It was to pacify him, and he knew that too. He knew that she was right though, that whatever she felt, it was real. But they were adults now. There were no Witches, no monsters under the bed, no matter what Kid tried to make them believe.

Maka tried to get up to brush her teeth but decided against it when she got too dizzy to stand straight. Tomorrow, she thought as she curled up on the couch, boots, coat and all.

Meanwhile, Death was not having a fun time either. Thanks to his father that he had the ability to move between mirrors, otherwise they would have had to go through all of Death City without being spotted. And Kid didn't trust a driver to bring them home, either.

To be honest, even his trust in Liz and Patty was limited. He knew the girls would mean no harm, but they couldn't keep a secret to save their lives either. Death couldn't really keep the secret from escaping once Black*Star was out of jail anyhow, so it wasn't as if keeping Crona's presence to himself was going to be something that he could keep under wraps long, anyhow. The young assassin was probably the best rumour mill in the whole city.

For now though, all of them were out of the picture: Patty was on night patrol and Liz had elected to stay over at her girlfriend's place this evening, so there wouldn't be any other people in Death Manor for a few hours.

They had emerged through the large mirror in the entranceway to the manor, that was, as always, absolutely speckless. Crona held their arm stiffly. All the grandeur of the plaster details, the elaborate, candle-heavy chandelier, all of it was more than what they could have possibly been able to imagine on the moon's surface.

Good. He wanted them to feel like the smudge that they were.

"Follow me."

They did, without a word. The candles flickered on as they walked past them, lighting the way as Lord Death had intended. This was soothing to Death, despite the potentially dangerous Meister following close behind. He looked up, and he could tell that everything was perfectly aligned. The candles were all the same length, the walls reflected each other perfectly, and even the kitchen would have two matching fireplaces, lit with the same sized log and the same kettle will boil at the same time above both of them.

It was a way of coping that he had never been able to let go completely. He blamed the Witches. Once they were gone, he would be free of the torture of imperfection.

The double door in front of them opened silently, letting in the slightly musty air of the living room.

"Take a seat, I think we should discuss the terms of our contract."