Note: Hello there! If you're reading this and you're a returning reader, thank you so much for being patient with me. I am finally returning to this story after such inconsistent breaks, and I promise that the end will be in sight. This should mark the technical "end" of the drug arc, but there is still some angst to come. Also, every chapter up to this one has been rewritten and edited accordingly. The earlier chapters were totally reworked, but the previous ones (15-17) were only mildly touched upon. Please view those when you have the chance.
I love you all so much! Thank you for being patient with me and enjoy another chapter of Lethality.
Gaius was a lot of things, sure, but he wasn't an idiot. He could see things that lay behind his grasp and understanding—he could size up the strength of someone's steely resolve against his own, and balance the idea of winning or losing for either side. He could imagine the dozens and hundreds of different outcomes when it came to talking to other people, and at times like those, he really got a sense of what Robin must have felt on a daily basis. He understood what it was like to have the world laid bare, and to get all the possibilities of a situation unfold before him, each of them offering their own lucrative result. In order to avoid the temptation of either decision, Gaius had to always, always, always exercise caution.
Because if he was too reckless with his pursuits, he would undoubtedly find himself on the wrong end of someone's blade, lying as nothing but a motionless heap in the battle-scarred ground below him.
Gaius was a lot of things, but he wasn't an idiot.
So his anger towards Henry for the accusation was totally justified. And it wasn't that Henry outright said "Honeybuns, you're a Gods-damned idiot if there ever was one!" or something within that vein. But rather, it was the fact that he looked up at him with pitifully empty, sordidly black eyes, alongside a smile that was more hollow and broken than anything else he'd seen thus far. It was the fact that Henry, in all his drug-induced haziness, managed to bark out words such as "You're just like everyone else" and "You're just gonna leave me here", foolishly thinking that either statement was true.
Without directly saying it, Henry managed to make a fool out of Gaius. He shamed him for being too attentive to the Plegian's dark and twisted behavior, just as he shamed him for being too ignorant of the exact same thing. That—coupled with the fact that Henry was so intent on destroying himself that it wasn't even funny—only helped to fuel Gaius' anger further, like the impatient sparks of a youthful fire bursting into mature, full-fledged flames. With each step he took, it was as if his feet were steeped in uproarious inferno, and his chest emptied itself of feeling, with nothing but cold air and hot indignation spilling through—all of which originated from the bitter and sharp inhales of breath, that collected alongside the frustration that welled within him as he thought more and more about Henry's current condition.
Was the sorcerer that bad at expressing his feelings towards the assassin? Or was the assassin too proud to think that he could ever truly wrong the sorcerer in any way, no matter how inconsequential? Or perhaps it was both things at once—Henry's inaptitude in dealing with people, Gaius' overly analytical nature towards the same thing—that worked together to make things unravel as they did.
The more Gaius thought, the less he knew, and he figured that it was just as well.
Nothing ever worked out on days like this, anyway.
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Gaius had a renewed sense of fury within him as he moved throughout the camp like a twister on the run. Each step was a speedy takeoff in one direction, followed by a quick stride that gave everyone the silent meaning to stay away and leave him alone, dammit. The signal was clearly conveyed, though, because no one got close enough to Gaius in the first place. They expertly avoided his anger, presence, and state of affairs as they walked past him down the dirt pathways, and kept to themselves instead of greeting him when they fatefully ran into him in the healer's tent or such.
By the time the assassin retrieved the necessary supplies, he could already feel the exhaustion of a heated argument climbing through his veins and making quick work of his scorned energy, turning his vindication into lethargy within seconds.
When Henry's tent laid in front of him, all those sluggish feelings increased tenfold, and a sting of regret followed his every move. He said he would come back with supplies, and surely enough, he kept to his word. But what would happen after this exchange, he wondered? Would he and Henry go back to being on friendly terms with each other, or would this evident rift between them deepen further, and further still—making it so that there was no other choice but to avoid each other for the rest of their waking days?
He answered himself as he parted the tent flaps to Henry's domain.
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Henry remained on the bed all the while. He had no rhyme or reason to move, and so he stayed motionless while Gaius left to do...something. In the short moments in between their interactions, Henry already forgot what it was that Gaius said he was going to do. Something about leaving, maybe. Something about fixing things.
No, no. The second one was imagined, surely. Gaius wasn't the type to try and fix things. An assassin existed to create chaos, not to sort out the affairs of the chaotic. So why would Gaius be trying to fix anything—or anything that wasn't his own sugar cravings, at least? Henry had no answer for this, so he simply assumed that Gaius left him to his own devices.
Those devices were the sedatives, "painkillers", in question. But Henry lacked energy to retrieve those substances, and he almost didn't want to see them right now, anyway. He was mad at them, childishly so, for betraying him and hurting him. His anger clung to him like static, and it absorbed any other emotion that even tried to emerge from within. But the anger ran through his mind, body, and soul.
It was in his heart, too, but he gave up on that a long time ago.
Henry fully expected Gaius to abandon him, so the emotions that overtook him when the assassin returned, instead, were indescribable. "I'm back," Gaius called out softly. He sounded less loud and bitey than he did before. Maybe he had time to think about Henry along the way, and changed his mind about...something? Either that, or the drugs in Henry's system made his hearing off-kilter. They were both very possible outcomes, and so they had to be considered in the same light.
"Welcome back," Henry said quietly. "How goes it?"
"Are you really asking me how I'm doing right now? Compared to you, I'm a stack of gold bullions," Gaius jeered. "Just sit up, already."
"You want me to...sit up?"
"Yeah. Do you need help?"
"Why are you here?"
"Huh?"
Henry continued to lie down, and folded his hands across his stomach contentedly. He spoke with just a hint of lucidity, although the words didn't do much in the way of maintaining that lucid appearance, to begin with. "I'm confused as to why you're, uh, here. So why are you here?"
"Because you're injured and I'm here to patch you up. Also, I'm pretty ticked off about the way you've been acting, so I wanted answers to that, too, but you're about as temperamental as a souffle right now, and twice as delicate. So I guess that means I'm here to work on you while you shut the hell up and think about what you've been doing for the past few days."
"Hmm...okay, I'm not so sure about the souffle parts, but the rest is all jolly and good." Henry didn't move an inch when he added on: "I can't feel my arms or anything, though, so I can't really sit up. Looks like you'll just have to try again tomorrow!"
"As if," Gaius snorted. "If you can't sit up on your own, then I'll just help you. Move over."
As he spoke, Henry felt a small weight gently press into his side. Then the weight dug deeper, and for a brief moment, he could feel his whole body shift. It didn't occur to him that Gaius literally shoved him aside, or that the assassin took monopoly of the bed like it was his domain, instead. He carried on in the same strong, assertive manner, knowing that Henry's current state of mind (and body) wouldn't allow him to protest largely, anyway.
Sometimes, his idiocy was good for something.
Then he prompted Henry to sit up, and it took some doing on his part, since the painkillers reduced the once-bright sorcerer to nothing but a shivering, inconsolable, black-eyed mess. When Henry did finally manage to become upright, his tremulous body made it so that he had no choice but to lean into Gaius, and being half-pressed into someone else made for difficulty when it came to dressing wounds or cleaning up messes.
But Gaius had been in sticky situations before, and so this was almost the same as all those other times. Someone else screwed up—yet he was undoubtedly involved—and the other guy ended up being unreliable, so he had to clean things up before it got too complicated. Although this wasn't some thief's job—and although Henry was far more valuable to Gaius than some random comrade, employer, or obstruction—he treated it as the same, because it was the only way that he could sort out his own emotions in tandem.
One hand wrapped Henry's injury on his left arm with gauze, while the other hand held the boy in place, and forcefully stilled his shaking body into calmness. Then when that was done, one hand brought a wet wash rag to Henry's face and clean off the rainbow splatter of unidentifiable powders from his skin, while the other hand rubbed soothing circles into Henry's back, in hopes that doing so would placate the restless movements that dominated the other's spine, neck, shoulders, and arms—all which shook with varying degrees of instability.
He wanted to be of some comfort to him, but he also wanted to put him in his place, because, Gods damn it all, Henry needed to be scolded like a child if it meant getting him to do anything worthwhile.
No, no, that wasn't actually true. Gaius had a feeling that that sort of thinking was exactly what pressured Henry into taking drugs in the first place. He was constantly being patronized, ostracized, and cauterized by other people around him. They all looked down on him, or told him what to do, or dictated what was right and wrong for him. Even Gaius was guilty of doing this, and he knew that better than anyone, which was why he was trying the hardest to remedy his own mistakes.
Because judging from the defensive way that Henry attempted to carry himself with earlier, Gaius was definitely involved in this mess, somehow. He wouldn't be surprised if he set off the sorcerer in some way, and caused him to turn to drugs as a solution to cure whatever emotional turmoil existed within him. Didn't he decide that he would mentor the other when it came to understanding emotions, and how they worked within relationships between people? Didn't he say that the fun in knowing Henry was retaining some mystery in his image? Why did he work against those statements just now? Why did he act so hypocritical, in these recent times more than ever before?
Why?
He didn't have any answers for himself, but Gaius knew that he had been a little unfair towards Henry, nevertheless. Ever since he got in that disagreement about what love was and how people should treat each other—regardless if they were lovers or boyfriends or husbands or what have you—Henry had been acting a little bit off. He was even more distant than usual, yet Gaius didn't really blame him. For someone that tried to appear above Henry's antics, he sure had a habit of being affected by them the most.
Unfortunately, he wasn't surprised by that. He had a feeling that if things were to go a certain way, then they would turn out like this: Gaius, sitting in Henry's bed, wrapping his injuries in bandages and cleaning powder off of surfaces, meanwhile wondering to himself if he was really in the wrong, after all this time. And after some painstaking slowness, he decided that yes, he was partially to blame for this entire occurrence, alongside the perpetrator: Henry himself. But just as he was guilty, Gaius felt vindicated by this act, and hoped that Henry would start becoming lucid enough to answer more pressing questions—or, at least, become lucid enough to face him head on.
The entire time, the Plegian remained snuggled into the Ylissean's arms, but his gaze looked downward and his eyes burned holes into the ground. Those dreadfully black irises were directed elsewhere, and for once in his life, Gaius was glad to not be able to see Henry's eyes. Normally, he enjoyed their colorful variance, but lately they looked pitch black and nothing else. Gaius didn't know the exact meaning behind the colorful magic, but even he could tell it was a bad thing.
An eternity and a half later, Gaius finished his work. He slowly pulled his hands away from Henry, and inspected his work on the bandages. Like most anything else that required skillful hands, wound dressing was a simple task for Gaius. His seams were neat, his gauze evenly aligned, and his touch so experienced and assured that Henry didn't feel like he lost, for once.
There was a small sigh of relief that escaped Henry's lips, and he brought up the newly bandaged arm to his head, where he let it rest against the surface of his own skin for quite some time.
By the time he was aware of himself again, Gaius had taken on the role of comforter at full speed ahead. He rubbed even more tiny circles into Henry's back, and went further than that to try and console him—an action that he assumed the other would appreciate, especially after the discomforting things that have happened between them in the recent past.
Then as his eyes trailed onto the fresh bandages, he thought of the nasty cut that laid underneath the wrapped surface, and Gaius' hesitation melted away as he said: "Alright, that should be good, for now."
"Mmhmm," Henry muttered, sleepy. He was rather quiet throughout the whole procedure and Gaius figured that the exhaustion of his wickedness had finally caught up to him. The weight of his head was slight but noticeable as he leaned further into Gaius, wiry body melting into his shadow like ice melting back into water. It was natural, quick, and unobtrusive: just a boy and his companion, sitting next to another, wondering how everything turned out to be this way. It was soft, sweet, and wondrous, which made them question how things were ever worse than this before.
How did things lead up to this, anyway? Weren't they at each other's throats just the other day? Or were they friends before that? Maybe they had always been allies, and the previous fights were just ways of solidifying their bonds, which were like wet concrete: completely malleable at first, and then utterly set and immovable afterward.
If staying by Henry's side was stagnation at its finest—never moving on, never branching out, never doing more than what was already done—then Gaius didn't want to ever be active again.
But then the subtle smell of vomit and blood assaulted his nose, and he remembered the situation they were in. While peaceful, the boy next to him wasn't the one that he wanted to spend time with. He wanted Henry, the brilliantly scary sorcerer, who was known for being as dark and macabre as the crows that flocked to him like servants. He wanted Junior, that annoying bastard that could make anyone's life hell, just as he could become the staunchest ally in the entire world if it meant being on someone else's side. He wanted him, with his unpredictable nature, yet predictable antics that became just as charming as they were insufferable. Gaius wanted him, with his snow-white hair, but honeyed skin and ever-changing eyes that added to the infinite amounts of beauty and substance that existed within him.
He wanted everything except for the hazed, dazed, drug-induced mess of a person that he currently sat next to. This thought hung over his shoulder, like an observant reaper, waiting to bring the scythe down on his heart and soul.
He let the blade cut into him as he thought of the best way to stop this from ever happening again. The other slept on his shoulder, now, completely oblivious to the simultaneous feelings of hot and cold anger and acceptance that surged through Gaius.
Henry was oblivious to the frustration that Gaius felt for caring about someone and hating their recklessness, all at once.
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When Henry woke up, Gaius was nowhere to be found, although he only vaguely remembered the other being there in the first place. He was dreary and weary, unable to hold himself up for longer than a minute, and completely miserable as he questioned why he was there at all.
Then he noticed that his stash was unearthed, with few remnants of the painkillers left behind. Only a few pills—discarded, trashed, forgotten, most likely—sat there, and the rest of the box was shockingly empty.
Henry didn't think too much about it when he popped the pills in his mouth, and dry swallowed them in less than ten seconds.
Then he floated away, and he forgot all about Gaius' visit, or the pain residing in his heart.
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"Did you forget? Gaius went to you the other day, and you got into a huge fight with him. He didn't tell anyone the details except for Robin, and I've only heard rumors at best...but I figured that if anything was bothering you today, it would be that."
"...What are you talking about, Ricken? I haven't seen Gaius since we got here at the new camp. Which was, like, yesterday or something."
"What are you talking about, Henry? We've been here for almost a week now, and he's definitely talked to you before! Everyone has, actually. So i-is something wrong, Henry? How come you don't remember all that?"
"Hmm~ I wonder! It's a bit strange, isn't it? Might be a curse or something. Well, I'm leaving now! Bye!"
His body moved very quickly. He registered the sound of a chair being squeaked against the floor, and then the sound of dull footsteps resonating underneath him. He also became aware of Ricken's irritated but concerned voice piercing the air with its suddenly brave tones, and the touch that the other boy's skin had when he brushed against him in an attempt to grab him. Finally, Henry noticed the wind, and how it blew against his body with full force when ran outside with all his might.
He dodged the noise and the stimulation that suddenly attacked him all at once. The throbbing in his head returned, as did the ringing in his ears (albeit softly, gently—as if to sweetly remind him that it was still there after all this time). And the sun seemed too bright and the colors were too vivid, to the point where everything appeared widely fabricated like it were from some picture book, instead.
This wasn't a story, though. This was reality.
Henry hated it all the same.
And just as he decided that he hated it, he found himself remembering all those things in full—all the things that Ricken asked him about and all the things that he didn't quite yet understand. Because, truly, Henry didn't understand. He didn't know how someone could lose several days of life from their memories while they were awake, but then he thought back to the drugs, and realized that yes, there was a way to live and die at the same time. He had been indulging in that new machination this entire time, and forgot about the few days in between when he first stole the drugs (when Libra was too tired and too busy to notice the supplies go out from under his nose), to when he ingested the last of his supply (when the pills were left behind—a mistake on Gaius' part, no doubt, but it resulted in one last high that managed to last a whole day) and forgot everything in between that.
If it were up to him, he would never again remember the awful sensation of realization, where his entire body screeched to a halt, where the feedback from the too-vivid world around him drowned him in varying degrees. He would never again remember the terrible way he felt when he abandoned Ricken mid-conversation, or abandoned any of his allies in those low moments of his life. He would never again remember the pain of it all—aches that resonated in his feet, hands, legs, throat, mouth, and chest. He would never want to know the words to describe the emotions he was feeling, the words that would put a name to the face of defiance, anger, disappointment, envy, hatred, and love.
If Henry had his way, he wouldn't ever be inconvenienced by little things like that ever again. But he never had his way, especially as of late, so he wasn't surprised that things turned out the way they did.
The only thing that kept him somewhat happy with the situation at hand was the numbness that spread throughout him—the last remains of his painkillers that surged like a lightning bolt, powerfully but ephemerally so, because the euphoria would soon end and he would go back to the way things were before the drugs were introduced to his life.
He would revert back to the pain, agony, and misery that came along with being Henry. He would go back to those days full of haziness and mystery, of renewal and death, of friendship and rivalries that never seemed to be realized completely. It was like some piece of the puzzle was still missing, for him. It was like something still haunted him, although it couldn't have been the ghosts of the innumerable enemies he defeated in the past, and it surely wasn't any magical spirit come to collect his soul from the afterlife.
No, the thing that haunted him right now was Gaius, and the thought of disapproval resting on his wickedly handsome face. The thing that bothered him the most right now was Gaius, who was everywhere and nowhere at once. He occupied his thoughts, even when his mind was altered. He claimed the negative space in Henry's world, because his absence spoke as loudly as his presence did. Even when inoculated into dreaminess, Henry felt the cold fingers of reality pull at him, and remind him that things only worsened between him and Gaius recently, for the assassin saw him at his lowest possible point thus far.
At least, the lowest point Henry had being allied with the Shepherds. There were so many untold, unknown, unrecorded times in the past where he fell so low that not even a flurry of crows or an angel's wings could have saved him. There were so many times where, beyond the usage of drugs, it was the influence of dark magic and bad habits that drove him close to the brink of death—or the brink of whatever in-between living and dreaming state he was currently in.
Frankly, Henry was always a mess, even from before when he fought and killed underneath Gangrel's banner.
He just never wanted Gaius to know that, too.
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It was the weekend, which wasn't as much of a relief to the Shepherds as it should have been, because war wasn't a nine-to-five job with a lunch break in between. Although some days were better than others, warfare was a daily, hourly thing that consumed every minute it could. The relief came in being incapacitated, killed, or called away to some other issue. Even though they were in a slow moment of reprieve, the Shepherds' lives were busied with militaristic duties to fulfill—everything from cleanups to marches, all the way back down to supply runs and invasions. From the smallest of tasks that needed doing—like recovering from a deathly escapade in a magical cave, per se—to the largest campaigns that needed finishing, a soldier's work was never done.
The weekend wasn't a savior in their eyes, although for the first time in a long time, the Shepherds got to have such a feeling.
On the first Saturday since the camp relocation, the Shepherds had a break. The nearby squabbles with resident towns and villages being attacked were taken care of, the several dozen meetings with the war councils were attended dutifully, and every weapon had been sharpened and stocked in the armory. The next big move hadn't yet been decided, and many soldiers were sitting prettily as they awaited their next order.
This was the same for Henry and Gaius, who hadn't spoken to each other since the day before last. Gaius not only smacked some sense into Henry, but he also patched the other up from his dangerous and poorly-thought decisions that lead him into injuring himself, and scaring the absolute hell out of Gaius. But ever since Henry fell asleep on his shoulders—and ever since the sorcerer depleted the very last of his drugs in one ugly swallow—they hadn't contacted each other since then.
It wasn't so much of an emotionally strained occurrence as it was a physically-strained one. Henry was so out of it that day, between forgetting the time of day it was, to not remembering Gaius' few encounters with him while under the influence of drugs. The fact that he awoke from the previous day's struggle alive and unpunished for mishandling the medical supplies was a miracle in and of itself, and Henry wondered if Gaius bothered telling Robin or anyone else what was going on with him, or if everyone already knew and they were just being nice to him for whatever reason.
Either way, the weekend was upon them, and other soldiers took this rare opportunity as a time to go out to the nearest town and drink their sorrows away. A tavern here and there supported the hearty Shepherds' arrival, and the countryside became aglow with drunken songs and storytellings, alongside elated dances and romantic swindlings. Everything happened underneath the dim glow of lamplight and firelight, while voices varied from sweet hushes to hyperactive shouts. Between Vaike and Virion, the Shepherds had it made for their variance in temperaments and behavior, and for the first time in a long time, everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.
Everyone but Henry and Gaius, of course.
The sorcerer was dragged along to some tavern alongside Ricken and their other friends, and although half of their party was still underage, the barkeep was so thankful for their heroism ("You saved my son from highwaymen some time ago!" She happily recalled. "This is the least I could do!") that she let it slide, just this once. Within the hour, the sage had turned red in the face, and his words slurred so badly that he sounded more like a baby than he ever did. Henry teased him like always, but there was a veritable lack of cheer in his voice, so his words weren't as effective as they usually were.
When Ricken was whisked away by an overly active Nowi and Donnel, Henry felt like he could finally breathe again, and so he slipped out of the tavern's front doors—right past a giddy Sumia and tipsy Sully—and into the dark night. The main streets of the town were alive with soldiers and civilians interacting with one another, and Henry even spotted Chrom conversing with the town's mayor. But as he continued to stray further and further from the heart of the civilization, he found himself in a much more preferable place.
The outer streets were darker, quieter, and easier on the eyes. He walked up on a slope and admired the way the houses also slanted downward, with tiled roofs and stone flower sills that bloomed with the local flora. A small breeze blew by and resonated with some windchimes, hanging over the door of what looked to be an apothecary and nursery rolled into one. Of course, the hour was late, so everything was closed now. All Henry could see were stragglers—a few drunks meandering here and there, but also several townspeople walking hurriedly to their houses. On occasion, there were parents returning home to clingy children, or elderly people reconvening with their fellow seniors in community homes. Henry even heard a dog bark excitedly as its owner returned with bags of groceries in hand.
He might have appreciated such domestic and mundane scenery, if he wasn't in such a sour mood, to begin with. The pain from before subsided somewhat, because his arms didn't hurt as much, and his mouth didn't feel tired from laborious chewing or swallowing of strange plants or substances. But the pains in his chest—the awful ringing in his ears and head—never once ceased since then.
When he thought back to Gaius, that pain only increased, and Henry truly felt miserable then.
After all, to continuously feel this way over the assassin meant a few things. First, it meant that the painkillers were only miracles in the short version of the word. They could quell some fierce discomfort and agony, but only for a small period of time, and afterward they would fade away and leave traces of dissatisfaction and disappointment behind. They could make Henry forget about Gaius, forget about the darkness, forget about the pain until they couldn't do those things anymore, and the lack of permanence in their use only worked to hurt him even more after that.
It meant that "painkillers" was an inefficient word to describe what those drugs actually did. A better name would be "pain-incapacitators" or "pain-medicine-that-makes-the-temporary-ouchies-disappear-but-the-permanent-ouchies-stay-behind". Of course, the latter was unwieldy to say and think, but the general message held up quite well.
Henry was unhappy, and he knew that he was mostly to blame for whatever stupid decisions he made over the past few days. He knew there was some discomfort in the Shepherds' camp because of him, whether because of his odd behavior or because of his lack of awareness, but both were forgotten in lieu of his supposed "recovery period".
Which didn't feel so good to think about, since he hardly did any "recovering" at all.
In fact, he might have gotten worse over the past several days.
He frowned at this thought, lips pressed into a curved line that wobbled back into a fake smile shortly thereafter.
Why did he think he could have the power to change anything, after all this time? Why did he think he was worth anything, anyway? All because of one guy that he started feeling so complicated towards? The same guy that probably hated him and was disgusted by him now, to which Henry could hardly blame him for?
As the questions resounded in his mind, Henry resigned himself to collapsing on top of a grassy hill in the nearby fields. He could see the whole town from his angle—everything from the tavern lights, to the minor explosions that came out of some play mage-fight, to the lush fields and farmlands on the opposite side of the boundary. He saw the sloped rooftops, the wide streets, and the lamp posts aimed skyward, as if to project their shine to the very heavens above.
He saw the night sky above him, gradually darkening and darkening until it turned black. He saw the stars in the same sky, dotted and lined against a background of sheer, dark beauty—heavenly beings set against an unholy scene, burning perpetually with a force even stronger than his strongest spells could conjure.
He saw the shape of birds fly overhead, their uniformed formation a truly wondrous sight to behold. He saw the way their wings flapped up and down, or how the feathers curved with each practiced movements. He saw the way they disappeared as inky dots into the horizon, fading beyond the moonlight and into the trees of the faraway forests that they called home. He marveled at the sight of himself, sitting alone on this grassy throne, observing the world like a lonely king removed from the rest of the kingdom.
He watched as the light disappeared above him, the once full moon obscured by a moving shadow—which loomed over his whole figure—that enveloped him all at once with its intimidating height.
Henry watched as this shadow began to move, and felt a small force place itself on his forehead, pressing its weight into the soft spot there, as if to remind him that he still existed in this world. Then he realized that the tiny weight had the same texture and movement as an index finger, and the finger itself was smudging its surface into his own forehead, teasing and scolding him all at once.
"Hey there, Henry," the shadow—Gaius—said. "We need to talk."