Waking and to his surprise finding Valentine still beside him, Luke could not help recall a similar circumstance, a time he had gone to sleep just outside the cabin he'd shared with Amatis, though by that point Amatis was long gone, having moved in with Stephen after their marriage.

So it was his, and only his, at that point. Though he knew it wouldn't be for much longer, for this was shortly after he'd been bit, and he was waiting for the next full moon to tell him his fate.

In fact, he'd just been well enough to travel and had gone to her with the news, while Valentine had seen to it that Stephen would be occupied and out of the way. In the end, it made no difference. Even without her husband's disapproval, Amatis was already looking at him with a stranger's eyes. Had not given him shelter, instead had kicked him to the curb.

So he'd wandered back home, miserable and alone, couldn't bear to open the door, to go inside, reminded him too much of her, of everything he was in all likelihood about to lose. Laid down just outside it, on a bed of moss, looked up at the leaves, swaying in a soft breeze, even the dappled light filtering down hurt his eyes, so he covered them with his arm, and since he could not see much sense or reason in moving, or in opening them, they stayed covered, and he stayed down on the ground.

He had not intended on falling asleep but at that point he had no intentions, and when he woke, a few hours later, judging by the new angle of the sun, Valentine had materialized beside him. Hadn't expected him, he was so busy with the Circle these days, however Valentine revealed he was aware the meeting between he and his sister had not gone well, and bid Lucian to stay with him and Jocelyn at the Fairchild's estate.

He briefly wondered what would be the point, maybe he'd be better off staying where he was, home, alone. Everything had changed, after all, and he had no interest in being the proverbial third wheel to the Morgenstern marriage. The parabatai bond would end shortly, if it had not already: he and Valentine had already been drifting, he'd already wanted to leave the Circle.

Yet Valentine was feeling noble, or maybe he just hadn't accepted the inevitable. Told Lucian, in most inarguable language, to go pack his things, or they would be packed for him, and they would be setting off, and Jocelyn would be preparing them dinner and a room for Lucian to sleep in.

But he knew. If Amatis could not accept him, Valentine most certainly wouldn't. Not when he turned. He was here now, but he wouldn't be much longer.

Yet… there was always hope. And that's what he eventually saw, when he looked in Valentine's eyes. What he felt in his own heart when Valentine stood, then reached down and offered him a hand, and it's what made him start walking, to Jocelyn's childhood home.

It's why he took Valentine's hand last night too, however he couldn't shake the feeling that this was more of the same: a hope that would not get them much farther than another hike through the surrounding forest, which they did; another meal or two or three; another dip in the bath outside. Neither of them made any move to push things beyond that, beyond once again sharing the bed, occasionally brushing up against each other in the middle of the night, and the next day, Rita appeared at the appointed time, and he was back in Renwick's, then back at his house, and back to the pack.

Valentine did manage to create a system, where Luke could indeed write him, yet every time he sat down to do so was strange. Telling him of errands he had run only cemented how far away from Idris and their old life they really were.

Magnus was proud at least, that he had not emitted a most unbecoming shriek, because though he housed many parties, at the moment, his home sweet home was currently empty. Only he and his sometimes sweet cats, for currently, Alexander was still away, not returned, anguishing over what he wanted or did not want with Jace, and because of that, Magnus had assumed he was very much alone, so he was in a most private state of undress, having just bathed, and regarding his clothes closet for something to wear, and was most definitely not expecting Rita, with a fur stole wrapped around her neck and shoulders, with the face of some poor mink still attached. Actually, upon closer inspection, he was not sure it was a mink, or an animal actually of this world. However, that was beside the point.

"Oh, I'm so, so sorry to have interrupted, dear. Would you feel more comfortable if I ripped off my dress too?"

"No, I am afraid I would not. Would not help in the slightest."

"We're centuries old, Magnus, really, it's more surprising this is the first time I've seen you buck naked, but since you don't want to go buck wild on me, yet – I ain't counting it out! – I'll wait outside. Gotta talk to you about something."

Since the muses had left him, and his creative expression through fashion had been so terribly disrupted, he did not bother trying to put anything acceptable together. Simply threw on some modest – most modest – lounge clothing, complete with slippers, exited his dressing room, and found Rita sprawled, most provocatively on an ornate throne chair in his sitting room.

"Sorry boo, couldn't resist. I'll help you pick out a better outfit after we finish business. It's about the pauper."

"...Luke?"

"Yeah, him. What's wrong with him?"

"Well, nothing in particular, as far as I know."

"Cut the bull. See, this here is a courtesy to the pauper, me coming to you. You were shocked, can't imagine the pauper would handle himself a whole lot better, me showing up in the middle of his cute wolf pack, demanding to talk to him all by my lonesome. So speak up now, sure he's told you something during all you two's pillow talk."

"This blasted rumor!"

"Knew you were a scamp, sugar, but thought that was pretty gosh darn cruel of ya. Already told ya I had eyes on him."

"Well, in that case you're going to have to be a little more specific. I can't very well tell you something that was told to me in the confidence of the bedroom!"

"Fair enough. You know who wasn't having any pillow talk, on that little trip I arranged for 'em? The prince and the pauper."

"...What?"

"Something was putting a damper on things, between those two. Wasn't at Renwick's. There they did just fine, fire was going strong."

"...So why aren't you asking about the both of them? Why only Luke?"

Rita raised her eyebrows. "That should be perfectly obvious. 'Cause I don't think Valentine's got any problem."

"While I would love to help you, Luke does not confide in me about this. I truly do not know what the issue, if there truly is one, may be."

"Oh, come on. You know I'm good at this, and I'm telling you, it's the pauper, and something ain't right with him. And I'm also pretty damn sure you know what that might be about. There ain't no reason, everyone thinks you two are spooning. So spill."

Magnus sighed. They'd been away from each other a long time, but he remembered well, the times he'd seen her searching for information. She usually found it. He had no doubt she would indeed go ask Luke, spell him, if she had to, to find what she was looking for. And while it was true, he did not entirely know what was going on with Luke, it was true he was still concerned, hence his early meetings that everyone they knew and many they didn't had keyed into, and come to the wrong conclusion about.

For Magnus had once attempted to take his own life. Dark times. He and Luke's reasons were not the same: Luke's hand had been forced, and he was quickly losing control, while Magnus simply could not go on living. Eternity could be oh so hard to bear.

Fortunately, Camille had intervened, taken him on as her charity case, coddled and cared for him, until he was able to get back up on his feet and they were able to paint the town together red. They of course became lovers, but in the immediate aftermath, he was not capable of being any sort of partner to her, could no longer feel the spark of life, inside of himself. And she had patiently waited for him, dragged him out clothes shopping, and to expensive restaurants, even kinder of her, considering she did not in fact eat the food that was served there. But she did it for him, and enjoyed the atmosphere. He could still see her, clear as day, across the table, candlelight and a steady smile on her face.

Luke, on the contrary, had jumped back into life so quickly as to defy all expectations. Magnus was well aware his near obsessive mission to fix headquarters was most likely his version of retail therapy, and the mantle of leadership seemed to fit him. Despite all the credit his former parabatai typically garnered for that particular skill, Magnus would dare say Luke was actually the superior of the two in the role, due to the never failing cosmic rule: that the ones better suited for it were the ones who didn't want it.

Was how Magnus actually acquired his current title. And why he was currently facing the decision of what to tell Rita for the greater good. He hated to do it, but thought in this particular case, it would be beneficial for him to play the middleman. He'd known Rita longer, and despite her nosiness and her air that she didn't care, he knew she never would have offered her private cabin without a personal reason. And since they were on the subject...

"Do you feel guilty? For something you said to Luke? The morning you found him at Renwick's"

"Being upfront, are you? Maybe you've learned something from me after all… I'll admit, I was jealous, then just plain confused. Pauper's fine too. Thought it'd be fun to drive a wedge in between them two, see if I could have a shot myself. Wasn't till I saw him again I realized something was just plain wrong with him. It's keeping me up at night."

That was about as clear an answer as Magnus could expect to get. His answer didn't need to be all that clear either though. "Luke was gravely injured, recently. I don't think he's quite recovered from the shock of it."

"...Now you're taking me for a fool, Magnus. I'd have heard about it, if someone went after him. And from what I hear, the man ain't easy to take down. You telling me he got into a car crash, or what?"

He considered lying, but it would only delay the inevitable. She would go to Luke, if she was not satisfied with his answer. And she already knew there was no particular reason to lie, if Luke had been injured in an accidental manner. And as she said, he had not been targeted by anyone in the Downworld, and even if he had been attacked by a mundane, between his accelerated healing and his supernatural strength, that conflict would not have lasted long for the other combatants.

"If I tell you this, I want your word you will not misuse it."

"…He did it himself? He don't seem like the type. Unless he had that rare trouble, them wolves sometimes get into."

"...I helped him. He was able to recover, as you can very well attest to yourself."

"...So the pauper wasn't feeling hot, since he's got one foot still in the grave?"

"It was a trying time. We… weren't sure he would be able to come back. He's been doing remarkably well, all things considered."

"And you've been taking care of him in the meantime too; even if everybody thinks you're cheating."

"He is my friend."

"...So maybe the cabin wasn't the right place. What about his? Maybe the pauper would prefer to entertain at home?"

"Everyone in the Downworld knows where Luke lives. Valentine would never go there."

"...What about his other place? The one out in the country?"

Magnus really wanted to shoot that idea down, only the more he thought about it, the more feasible it became. "Could work," he acquiesced.

"Between the two of us, I'm sure we've got enough spells to secure them some privacy."

"And you would like me to propose this idea to Luke?"

"I'll talk to Valentine."

"Just out of curiosity, what are you planning on telling him?"

"Now you're nosy too! I'm going to tell him he wasted a damn fine opportunity to lay low, hear his wolf howling, but since he's such a stud, I'm giving him second chance."

"I'll only talk to Luke if Valentine agrees to it first."

"Well, then you best prepare yourself to be talking to the pauper about this at your next morning chat. I'm so excited, I'll go get the prince right now, so you can talk to him yourself."

"I never said that was necessary–"

But before he could finish his sentence, she was forming a portal, and he watched in bewilderment, because surely, she couldn't get him this quickly, how did she even know where he was.

"The prince asked me to keep eyes on his parabatai, while he's out of town – sweet, isn't he? – so I've got a pretty direct line, and this is about the pauper, so he can't accuse me of misusing it."

"I'm sure he will agree with that reasoning," Magnus replied, but couldn't help smiling. If his morning was rudely interrupted, by god, someone's else's should be too.

"Just need him to… there we go," Rita half explained, half talking to herself, as a light emitted from a jewel she had taken from her purse, then turned back to Magnus. "Hold on for a sec, sug. I'll be back with him in a jiff."

Magnus nodded, though it was not seen by Rita, as she stepped through the portal. He prepared himself a cup of coffee, and sat down with it just as they were stepping back, Rita beaming and Valentine seeming to already have some sense this was a prank call of sorts, but because it was such an impromptu summons, he was not as done up as he usually was, was dressed much like his parabatai, in fact, in jeans and a long sleeved shirt.

"Did she tell you what this meeting is about?" Magnus asked, while shifting the blame away from himself. Just because it was his house didn't make this his fault.

Rita however, answered for him. "Yeah, yeah. I told him he better make a move fast, or else the pauper's gonna go more wild over my curves than his pecs."

"...Did she tell you her plan?"

"She wants to seduce Lucian, apparently. Though I fail to see the reasoning,"

"You're grumpy, I get it: a cold day in July, you getting shot down," said Rita.

"She actually wants to ward Luke's country house, so the two of you can have another weekend there… and probably to interrogate you, about what went wrong."

"Oh, that reminds me: Valentine, I saw Magnus here butt-naked, and he's bulked up. No doubt trying to impress his Shadowhunter. Oh no honey, is it really… you working out with him? That's sad, doll. That's sad."

"Thank you for your input, Rita. But I did look good, didn't I?"

"Liked you better before. But why's the pauper so damn thin? Valentine, didn't you fix him anything to eat?"

"I did."

"And?"

"He ate."

"Ooh, you're tightlipped about him, aren't you?"

"I am glad you are discussing this with me, and not him."

"Ya didn't even make it past first base, did ya? Worse than I thought, and that's a first. Really, what happened?"

"I am willing to go to his home outside the city. That is why you brought me here, I assume?"

"That's what I needed to know, before agreeing to anything myself," Magnus said. "So, I'm willing if Luke's willing. But who's going to tell him?"

"I will discuss it with him first," Valentine answered, to Magnus' relief.

Luke agreed, and a date and time were set. Magnus was pleased to put the whole business behind him. Let them settle their own private affairs. Only when he sat with Luke and had the girls give him their usual a side-eye stare when they emerged sleepy eyed from their shared bedroom, so they could later spread the word the high warlock was still hanging about their pack leader's house, while still denying his intentions were anything other than platonic, he could not help but feel troubled.

For while Luke had thanked him most courteously for his assistance, he did not appear excited in any way about his upcoming appointment with his parabatai, and Magnus could not simply write it off or ascribe it to Luke's typical stoicism. In fact, Magnus sensed Luke was nervous about the whole affair, and since they themselves had been dating for some time, Magnus was fairly confident in his assessment.

He was thankful that Rita's assumptions – albeit most likely true, her near psychic perceptions about other people's sex lives had often left Magnus wondering if she'd actually gotten a hold of his diary – had evaded Luke's ears for the time being. Wouldn't help him in the least, and of course, Rita already knew that. Why she had come to Magnus, and not Luke in the first place. She was trying to help, in her way.

But he could relate somewhat, to the seeming futility of trying to bridge two worlds. For all his bravado, he had serious concerns whether or not Alexander could handle the struggle. Magnus was firmly ensconced in the Downworld, and Alexander was only now seeing the sun, allowed freedom to come and go from Idris when he pleased, after his family's exile. Perhaps the comfort of finally being accepted and allowed home, and the bond of a parabatai to boot, would be the tipping factor in their relationship.

Cruel to have met him right before he was gone.

Then again, he wasn't gone yet, and Alexander was taking a risk of his own, undergoing these tests with Jace. Putting his heart on the line, in two places, could potentially fail both.

He had asked Luke actually, about it. Why he had felt the need, since he did not appear to be a zealot about it. Why was that rune so important.

"It felt like fate, I suppose," was his reply, and that was the rub, wasn't it. There was no explaining and despite his lingering dislike of it, he could not help be somewhat assured that fate or what have you, had paired Valentine to Luke. That they had passed the necessary tests. Or more specifically, that at one point, Valentine had been willing to die for him when they'd partaken from the water of Lake Lynn.

It made Magnus feel better, that perhaps his efforts in warding Luke's farmhouse were not in vain. And how odd it was, to aid a former enemy in this way.

Luke was busy. Cleaning. The place hadn't been cleaned in ages. He hadn't really cared for the party with the pack, knew he'd just need to clean again afterwards, anyway. He hadn't been planning on doing this, just wanted to take a drive, get out here ahead of Magnus and Rita, and Valentine, walk around, have a little time to himself. Was still cold but winter had passed.

But it'd been left a mess, for obvious reasons, last summer. Though Jocelyn told him she'd gone up a few times, turned the water off so the pipes didn't burst, there was still a lot he'd wished he'd been able to do: lot of dead growth that hadn't been cleared, grass was left too high.

Overall, it looked neglected, unattended. Inside too. Dusty, musty, threw back the shutters, opened the windows. Should have come up sooner, hadn't been thinking. At least he'd done the grocery shopping, but he'd come early enough to get the inside at least presentable, put clean sheets on the bed, and hop in the shower before everyone arrived.

Chided himself, wondered if it was worth the effort at all, to check the mirror, and opt out of his usual work attire and instead wear jeans he hadn't put through hell and a white button-down. Amatis always looked good in white, same should apply to him. Brought out her eyes.

Went downstairs to wait, quelling the desire to go out, keep working. Didn't want to wonder how this would all go, good or ill. Didn't want to recall how bad it'd gone last time. Didn't want to remember how lost he truly was.

Except when the motley crew was actually on his doorstep, he couldn't help be excited and amazed that two such powerful warlocks had offered to do this for him, for them, and they set about their business quick, casting spells after short greetings, while he and Valentine stood together, off to the side, and Luke was rather mortified when he automatically rocked on his heels, then both smiled and blushed when the motion caught Valentine's attention, but he was taken aback how happy he was to have him here, a place he considered home.

And the look he received from him in return promised nothing but trouble, yet was full of intentions: conveying fondness and pleasure, along with his express desire for Rita and Magnus, despite their kindness, to immediately vacate the premises, causing Luke to swallow hard and look away, but didn't regret his decision to dress nicer than normal seeing his parabatai had come smart in suit and tie.

"Alright, that should do the trick," Magnus announced a few minutes later. "Anyone who comes by will have the urge to go do something else. If they make it that far they won't see you, will think you're out."

Luke thanked them, accepted Rita's compliments about the property, before she and Magnus walked out and portalled away. Then it was somewhat of a blur, turning back, Valentine's hand in his, some brief discussion about where he could put his bag, an ignored offer to show him around in favor of lips on his, an arm around his waist and with such clumsy back stepping, tied together as they were, he couldn't help laughing then tripping up the stairs, and fumbling to open his door, then landing sloppily, nearly on his side, because his parabatai was being pushy. Still scrambled to straighten himself out, lay lengthwise instead of across, so his legs weren't hanging half off, while Valentine pared down to shirtsleeves then joined him.

Luke – caught up in the moment – decided to return the favor, when Valentine was unsteady on one knee attempting to slide one of his shoes off, to push him off balance so he too ended up on one side, and once he'd recovered from the shock, and very pointedly untied his laces, regarded Luke with lit up eyes and a grin, as though he would soon regret his impromptu act of rebellion yet respected his daring, which only caused Luke to laugh harder.

But then Valentine's hands were in his hair, and his legs were pressing against and between his, and the scent of pine seemed everywhere, and it had been a long time, since they'd been anything close to playful, and easeful, but here they were, in no rush, in no hurry, there was no pressure, only the comforting solidity of Valentine's weight beside him.

Until, at least, Valentine eventually maneuvered himself, rolled them so he was up on both knees, not so easy to knock over, this time, and there was a pause, a slowing down, the two of them simply looking at each other, and there was silent acknowledgement they would not continue further than this; there was even a shared sadness that something was still wrong, amiss.

Didn't take away that this was special.

April showers. It was cold, and there was a downpour, the following morning. Luke could have easily stayed under covers, it was barely light, yet he had a sneaking suspicion he needed to check the basement.

Like many of his purchases, this farmhouse was acquired on the cheap and in terribly poor condition. He'd spent many summers, while Clary and Simon were playing, and Jocelyn was set up painting in various locations on the property, fixing and repairing, but he'd never quite managed to sort out the occasional flooding in the basement. It was a dirt floor, and he didn't store anything down there. Tried to talk himself out of it, nothing really he could do anyway, even if it was, and for awhile he managed, dozing, until Valentine woke and wanted to do his usual morning routine, and only then did Luke take the opportunity to descend the basement stairs, and sure enough, the floor appeared not as compact and a fair amount muddier than usual.

And he sighed. There was always something. But that was the cost of bargain shopping. Wasn't sure why it bothered him so much, this particular morning. Wasn't anything new, yet he trudged up the stairs, dejected, and into the kitchen to start preparing breakfast.

Thought of the basement at the shop while he was at it. Not a dirt floor, fortunately, and lacking the same flooding issues, but he realized there was a room down there he had never attended to, after last summer. That he'd never been back to. The padded cell he'd used for his changes.

Could have built one out here too, but never wanted to. One was enough. Here was where he went to get away from it for awhile.

Maybe it was a bad decision on his part. Reminded him of something Jocelyn asked: if she'd been around, would he have told her what was happening to him. Or would he have left without a word? Then watched her face crumble, when his silence said what they both knew to be likely true.

He'd thought he was beyond help. The timing didn't matter. He'd never told her, or his sister, he was going to fail out of the Academy either. Only Valentine became privy to that, and he didn't particularly like that Valentine knew he was in need of help currently: despite his success the previous day, time had not cured him and he apparently had not fully returned to his human body, was still slightly off, floating. Didn't make sense that he could run around town, even get in a bar fight, but somehow couldn't sit around without feeling sick. Just wanted to keep fixing things, and now he understood why the pack was more than fine with him taking a scheduled leave. Were probably looking at him like he was one hair shy of crazy, because even to him it was odd enough to tell his long-awaited parabatai he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to go weed his yard, to prevent him from doing so.

So he sighed. Crazy, of course, came with the territory. It was crazy he had seriously contemplated building a cage for himself to change form in. It was crazy he had inherited a werewolf pack that operated a bar called The Hunter's Moon, that lived behind the facade of an old restaurant called The Jade Wolf.

It was crazy he now heard Valentine open his front door, to come in after a morning run and that he was stepping into his kitchen to have a breakfast Luke had made.

It was crazy they were together at all.

A dreary day. Would have been perfect. It was not that he was intimidated by Rita's rather insistent demands he and Lucian engage together in a very private manner. He knew her threat to manipulate them with one of her love potions – or as she had put it, speed things along – to be empty. Not the strength of her charms, which were no doubt extremely effective, only her intention to employ one.

It was merely her way of encouraging him, he supposed. And she truly relished the drama, but Valentine had been encouraged that Lucian's immediate reaction to him was more outwardly joyful than he ever could have imagined. Rita's intuition, as usual, had been startlingly accurate about where Lucian wanted to be, and Valentine had surreptitiously taken a look around the house and the property.

Hardwood floors and high ceilings. Good bones. Lucian – Valentine had no idea he so enjoyed fixing things, had become quite the businessman during their years apart – was attempting to shine it up, in this case that being a project spanning many years. But there was land, and trees, and a quiet vista to gaze upon, much more in line with what Valentine would have envisioned him wanting than a bookshop on a busy street. Only Lucian had confided, when asked what had prompted the decision, that he had dreamed once upon a time as a child of owning a store. Another surprise to Valentine. Always dangerous to assume to know another so completely.

But in that way, Lucian had attained two dreams. Country and city. Despite his affliction. And it was that affliction that was posing a problem, in what Valentine had to concede was true, despite the arrogance inherent, of another dream of Lucian's, the desire for the two of them to be together.

He knew it was an experience that Lucian could never truly share, that Valentine could never entirely understand. What it meant to live as a child of the moon. The scars it had left upon him, however Valentine very much wanted to see those scars again: the initial bite on Lucian's shoulder, and the mark on his leg. Wanted Lucian to show them to him. Wondered if he would let him touch them, and had been waiting for an opportunity to present itself, but it had not, so instead he inquired about a well thumbed copy of Catch-22, which, to his again surprise, Lucian revealed to be his favorite novel. He could see the reasons Lucian might relate: his own life circumstances were a maddening dilemma with no easy escape: he could not stay with the Nephilim after becoming a werewolf, but he could not be accepted in the Downworld for having once been Nephilim; he could not tell the woman he loved he wished to marry her, because her husband-to-be was his best friend.

Yet, eventually, he had been accepted: he was the unanimous leader of a wolf pack. And, as circumstances would play out, the former marriage had dissolved, and now it was the two of them, alone.

Lucian seemed to sense his distaste, and added, with a grim humor, "At least it's not The Scarlett Letter."

"It would be rather on the dot," Valentine added, to cover his unease at the allegory: a young woman committing adultery, and subsequently being scorned by her village and forced to wear an embroidered red "A" as a symbol of her shame and crime. Lucian labelled a lycanthrope, tied to the moon phases and cast out on his own.

And perhaps it was not wise to try to push, in what ended up being a rather somber evening, yet he sensed an opportunity after the sun had set, and the rain kept on coming, for buttons to be undone and skin to be revealed, and eventually, Lucian had shed enough for his shoulder to be completely visible, and the jagged outline still remained of a hound's teeth, and Valentine remained mindful of the necessity for a slow pace, even as he longed to trace it with his tongue, to have a closer acquaintance with the wound that had ultimately changed everything, while also looking upon the empty place on Lucian's chest where their rune had once lain.

The scar on the thigh was more difficult to gaze upon without Lucian expressly knowing he was doing so, but it was not too obvious to grip and grasp around it. In light of his own efforts to control himself, it was little wonder he had neglected to notice Lucian similarly appraising him, until a spark and crack from the bedroom fireplace caught their attention – Lucian was well used, after all, to maintaining a stock pile and burning fire wood to stay warm.

And when they turned their attention back to each other, Lucian was not guarded as he was, in his appraisals. In no way attempted to disguise where he was looking, shifting to the other runes on his skin, the eye tattooed permanently on the back of his hand; swirls and slashes for stealth and strength. Remembered the first time, after they became parabatai, that Lucian drew a rune on him, uncertain how it would differ from before. He had always preferred his own script, as opposed to anyone else's, until then. Perhaps it was because he had so hungered for power. A cynical reasoning doubtless, containing a hint of truth nonetheless – that he so enjoyed the boost being parabatai gave them. Even had a moment of empathy for his much despised Clave, of why they would feel afraid at this gift in the hands of the wrong person.

Did not dare ask, how Lucian would describe the effect of his runes, on his skin. Tactless under the circumstances, particularly with Lucian finally resting his gaze on their mirrored empty space; not even a scar remained of Lucian's handiwork on his chest, and Valentine never did place another rune there.

And Lucian appeared now, sitting up in his bed, sheets bundled along his lap, as sweet as he had when Valentine first introduced himself. He had not known it yet, in that moment, what he would come to mean to him, and in his arrogance he believed Lucian was the one in need of assistance, struggling as he was with his classes, when as it turned out, Valentine was the one in need of teaching.

And it was surprising and not when the white of Lucian's eyes went red, and the blue became watery; how he cried, how he missed being parabatai, and though Valentine longed to tell him otherwise, that they still were, that he still considered them so, it was not the same. Could not feel him, were not bound, in the way they had once been.

But if Lucian had taught him anything through their partnership, it was how to adapt. Valentine had of course learned the lesson too late; could not adjust, at the time, to his descent and his submission to the sway of the moon.

And the opportunity he had hoped would present itself finally did, his hand on Lucian's thigh, on the still swollen scar; he startled, clawed his back when he covered it with his palm, still so sorry he had ever given Lucian that sword; still so sorry, as he studied the bite on his shoulder as he had wanted to, tasting the perimeter, while his parabatai whined, that he had suggested they go out searching that night and traced the outline of their rune with his fingertips, where it had once been, and despite its invisibility, was deeply satisfied when Lucian reciprocated.

Swore he could feel it, just the same.