II

It's hard to tell the passage of time with the blinds drawn, but Avex doesn't want to risk the brighter light. Kruuxish has looked close to waking a few times now, and with each one Avex has cautiously gone to the door and flagged someone down to check him over. The last dose was a few hours ago, and he'd been told to let him wake up the next time. It feels mean, almost; Kruuxish's arm has started to regenerate, and it's been a small miracle to watch the magic weave itself into cords of bone and muscle, but it hasn't reached his hand yet, and Avex imagines his leg has made about the same amount of progress. It might make sense to wake him up before it's done, for things like, for example, food, but that doesn't make Avex feel any kinder.

The tabaxi has been in and out a few times: twice with clothes (once with ill-fitting spare scrubs, once with his cleaned uniform) and a few times with mugs of coffee so strong that he thought he could feel the grounds in his teeth. The latter, worth noting, started specifically after they opened the door to see him splashing cold sink water over his face; the coffee was the only acknowledgement they gave.

Avex figures hospital work might just lend itself to long hours. The flavor's decent, at least.

The rest of the visits haven't had anything to do with him, besides the fact that he turns politely away when they check the regeneration progress on Kruuxish's leg. He's... reasonably sure that he's dressed under the covers, but he's not going to figure that out. All of this already feels invasive as it is, but - well. Nobody else has arrived to replace him in his vigil, and he's not leaving Kruuxish alone.

Even if leaving is just to his desk in the hallway. The hospital staff don't seem bothered by the flimsy little fold-out table against the wall, though Fotia has leaned in a few times to complain that he's not there to deliver letters and if you're going to be here, at least reply to some of these. To which Avex has responded by giving him the finger without moving from his chair.

He gets the feeling Fotia enjoys having someone who won't berate him for being a bit of a shithead. He hopes so; it would be mutual.

Either way, Avex knows from practice that half of whatever's coming in will be the government equivalent of junk mail, half of what's left will be formal requests for meetings and such filled out so sloppily that they've voided their own chances, and the remaining quarter are the ones he actually has to deal with, and presuming they've filtered all the way up to him, they'd be manageable.

All of that is irrelevant. Kruuxish stirs, moving stiffly; his shoulder presses against the pillow as he tries to move a hand that doesn't exist, and for a moment he's still again before he hesitantly moves his other hand over to it. Avex watches him in silence, unsure if he's truly awake.

When his fingertips meet empty air, Kruuxish's face twists in a nauseated grimace.

"Sir?" Avex says quietly.

Kruuxish opens his eyes, narrowing them against even the dim light of the room, and it takes him longer than it should to focus on Avex given that he's slouched in the too-small chair directly beside Kruuxish's bed. Avex can tell when his vision focuses; a bit of the familiar neutrality settles over the confused fear.

He goes to speak and only coughs, a wheezing and fragile sound that has Avex moving for the door in an instant and hesitating only because Kruuxish is trying to feebly wave him back. Avex grips the back of the chair and hopes he's not leaving claw marks.

"It's just - it's just clearing things out." Kruuxish's voice is a light rasp, barely audible in the otherwise silent room. "Did Marianne live?"

"Marianne?" Avex echoes. "Oh, the guard at the theater. Yes, she's alive. Wasn't wounded."

The neutrality slips again, revealing something like guilt and something like sympathy, and then it returns. "Good."

Kruuxish sags back against the pillows, breath still shaking in his throat. His hand moves to his side again, lower, and this time lands on the bare skin of his abdomen. He shoves himself upright, instantly, frantically searching around in the blankets even as his breath comes in hacking coughs.

Avex covers the space between them in a stride and a half, grabbing Kruuxish's remaining hand and his opposite shoulder - in a way he hopes isn't too painful - to keep him still. Kruuxish jerks his head up with such ferocity that he nearly slams into Avex's chin and stares, terrified and infuriated even as he struggles to breathe, at his secretary.

"Tell me what you're looking for." Avex says.

Kruuxish hesitates, but his body relents before his will does. Avex lets go slowly as he lies back.

"My uniform," Kruuxish answers when his breath returns.

"I don't know what happened to it after they got it off you. It didn't look... salvageable."

If Kruuxish wasn't a dragonborn, he would have paled.

Avex lifts his hands, placating. "If you want me to get you some clothes -"

"No." He coughs again, harder this time, and when he continues his voice is a bit stronger even as it shakes. "The pockets."

"There wasn't..." Avex pauses, thinking back, "there wasn't anything that looked important in them, if I remember seeing it right."

"A box." Hebroth insists, his voice lilting unusually. A slip of an accent, so faint that Avex wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't already been paying attention. "A music box."

"It wasn't in your pocket - I picked it up," Avex hurries to add, seeing Hebroth start to sit up again. He fishes it out of his jacket and holds it out as he continues. "It was... it was on the stage. After."

Hebroth stares at the tiny machine in Avex's hand as if he can't imagine it being there and then slowly, tentatively, reaches out to take it from him. And then hesitates, not touching.

"I don't want to drop it," he whispers.

Avex sets it, just as cautiously, in the blankets over Hebroth's lap. Hebroth rests his hand over it for a moment, as if he's ensuring it's real, and then goes to wind it. It rocks, unsteady, against the gentle force. His hand trembles.

"I can -" Avex reaches for it again and Hebroth covers it, again, fast enough that Avex can guess it's close to instinct. Avex keeps his hand in the air between them, unsure. "I can wind it. If you'll let me?"

Hebroth looks at him, uncertain, and the door opens. The Captain-General tucks the box out of sight in the blankets, and his secretary sits up and folds his hands in his lap. The tabaxi steps quietly into the room, dressed as always in the standard hospital uniform. This time, they're carrying a clipboard with a hefty stack of papers pinned to it. He's had more chances to see them as he's been sitting here; their black furred, five-foot something form is almost more familiar than Fotia's, and certainly more welcome. They look at Avex with mild surprise in their bright yellow eyes, as if they expected him to be passed out in the chair by now, and then they turn their attention towards the bed.

When the doctor sees that Kruuxish is looking back, they smile. "Oh, good, I was just coming in to check on you." They turn to Avex, hands clasped over the top of their clipboard. "Has he been lucid?"

"I'm fine." The Captain-General interrupts, sitting up. Avex sees the brief catch in Kruuxish's breathing as he moves. "What do I need to know?"

The doctor hesitates, looking between the two dragonborn. "Are you comfortable discussing this in front of your...?"

"Avex stays."

The doctor claps once, brightening again. Avex can't fault their optimism; it's impressive, given that they're under the firm stare of arguably the most important person in the country, and that person is sore and tired and pissed.

Maybe not pissed; Kruuxish hasn't shown anything stronger than neutrality, and probably wouldn't use pissed to describe it anyway.

Avex wants him to be pissed.

"Well, your initial prognosis wasn't looking great," the doctor explains, either oblivious to the tension or good at ignoring it. "Obviously, you have your visible injuries; you have three major entry wounds on your torso," they pause to point with their clipboard at Hebroth's most heavily bandaged spots, "which we did have to surgically widen to clear the wounds of debris. We successfully removed three instances of foreign material, which were set aside for analysis and were taken away by order of the Council shortly after."

The doctor frowns, flipping through the papers on the board, and then continues. "There was an unexpected delay in your recovery, which is why you were kept in medicinally-induced unconsciousness until this afternoon. We believe it was magical in nature, and took - minor - tissue samples from the wounds for further analysis. From the results of the initial tests, it seemed to be a magical nullification originating from either the shrapnel within the wounds, or perhaps something activated upon their removal. Further testing is inconclusive, as the effect seemed to disperse approximately twenty-four hours after it was detected, but for those initial twenty-four hours we were unable to magically assist your recovery."

Avex can't even imagine how many indecipherable medical-professional scribbles must be on those papers to convey all of that.

"So removing this..." Kruuxish glances back at Avex when he pauses, "shrapnel, it meant magic didn't work on the injuries?"

"Exactly," the doctor confirms. "Regardless, those wounds were stitched up once we confirmed they were clean, and the repair has been medicinally enhanced while you were out. I'll call someone in to clean up the last marks, so there shouldn't be any major scarring. They may itch over the next few days as the last bit of the healing occurs naturally, but just be careful not to pick at them and the stitches will dissolve on their own."

Kruuxish nods.

The doctor smiles at that, and then looks genuinely solemn, which is ominous. "Your internal injuries were more severe than we usually expect from visible entry points of that size. You're stable now, which is why you're awake, and we don't predict any future difficulties with the standard recovery process, but as you know it's important that you're informed as to the extent of those injuries." They pause, and nod towards Avex. "This may sound gruesome, if you'd be more comfortable leaving the room...?"

"I was the one who revived him before he came here. I'd like to stay, if...?" Avex turns briefly to Hebroth, giving him room to interrupt, but Hebroth doesn't look back. "I'd like to stay."

"Of course. Well, in order of severity, let's start with the one on your left shoulder." The doctor moves slightly and, despite it only being a little bit of a side lean, Avex gets the feeling that this is them settling in for the long haul. "This was the shallowest laceration, because the object that presumably caused the wound was stopped by your acromioclavicular joint, which resulted in a comminuted fracture through said joint that we were able to realign and repair - I'll get to how in a second. The object being so close to the surface also meant we knew what to look for in the other injuries, which is good, because if the wounds had been closed with these inside we don't know what kind of difficulties they could have posed, especially with the magical interference they released after removal. I'll write out a physical therapy guide for you to ensure that you continue to have full range of motion in the joint without any new stiffness or muscle deterioration due to the enhanced regeneration localized there."

Kruuxish's expression is neutral and attentive, to the point he actually looks like he knows what all of this means. Avex makes a mental note of busted shoulder but they fixed it, do stretches.

They flip another page. "The injuries connected to the impact on the right side of your chest were more extensive. The... I'm sorry to ask this, but do you know what the weapon was? It's easier to discuss the injuries if it can be specified."

"The objects are arrowheads." The Captain-General answers, hand and arm folded in his lap where two hands are meant to meet. He looks towards Avex again, still brief, and Avex confirms the lie with a single nod.

"The second arrowhead," the doctor emphasizes the word in a way that either means they're committing it to memory or they think they're both trying to bullshit him, "caused a segmental rib fracture that then punctured your right lung. It also, in layman's terms, tore the intercostal muscles around the impact point to shreds. Again, this is something that's been corrected and the healing has been enhanced thanks to our clerical technicians. You may experience localized pain both from the healing rib and from the lung itself during the last of the recovery period; don't be alarmed if you have some difficulties with deep breaths, especially after exercise. It's unlikely because we've enhanced the healing process, but just in case the tear in the lung is reopened," they turn to Avex, "do you two spend a lot of time together?"

"I'm his secretary. I - We..." Avex trails off. "I'm usually within shouting distance during work hours."

"If you can manage it, it would be best to help him with any heavy lifting or strenuous activity for the first week after he's discharged. After that point, the healing process should be complete - and," they turn back to Hebroth, "if you're still having pain after that point, you need to come back in for re-evaluation. If you feel a sharp pain with breathing, or one that radiates out to the rest of your chest, please tell your secretary so we can be sure you get prompt medical assistance. The same applies if either of you notice he's having a severe, lasting coughing fit without an obvious cause. Bring him in immediately if he seems faint, his heart rate is too high, his blood pressure is too low, or if - hold on, this reference isn't for dragonborn, let me think - if a blue or gray discoloration to the gums is present either on its own or in conjunction with any other symptom I've listed."

Avex lifts his hand to ask a question, and then realizes he's doing it and purposefully puts it back. "Do you have a spare piece of paper? I'd like to write that down."

"I can get you one in a moment, if that's alright."

Avex nods, but Hebroth speaks for him. "He'll remember it word for word until then."

"Of course. The third entry point was one that you should be having no side effects from, besides the potential itching around the site, because we did have to focus primarily on that one to ensure you didn't have delayed ventricular collapse. I'm getting ahead of myself; that arrowhead punctured your heart." The doctor sighs, and for the first time Avex glimpses the person behind the professional facade. For the brief second he can see it, they look haunted. "It's a miracle that the revival took hold when it did, and there's not an insignificant chance that we wouldn't be having this conversation if it had failed. Which brings us to your regeneration. We couldn't get any spells of that type to work on you until that interference I mentioned wore off, but luckily for us there was something else already trying to stitch you up."

They point the corner of their clipboard towards his arm, glowing faintly with lights like puzzle pieces as it repairs. "The magical regeneration you're experiencing with your arm and leg does extend across the visible surface of your abdomen. What was a surprise to the doctors attending to you at the time was that it seems to also be reinforcing every part of your upper body; potentially your entire body. It didn't seem notably delayed by the magical neutralization occurring with other spells we attempted, and likely sustained you through that initial period where we couldn't apply the usual trauma response. Evidently, the most extreme concentrations of this magic are in your arm and leg - and from the rate we've seen it working at, we expect it won't be long before those are functional again - but the integration with your body has a thoroughness that surpasses any prosthetic enchantment any of us working here have ever seen."

This sounds reassuring; Hebroth's strength seems to drain out of him with every word. His remaining hand curls into a fist. "It's... thorough, yes."

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to come in for further testing?" They cut themselves off before either dragonborn can answer. "Never mind, that's not relevant. It was also not on your standard medical record, and at the time we hadn't processed emergency security clearance. You may want to give a third party the right to disclose your unredacted files in the event of another crisis; we got lucky in that we were able to work fast, but a different team in a potential future operation may be caught unaware, and an organ or bone repairing itself while not correctly positioned could have long term, likely chronic effects."

"I'm aware of the potential complications." Hebroth takes a deep breath, and some of his usual steady confidence returns. "I'll consider an emergency contact."

"All you really need is a name, given that - oh! Names, of course." The doctor's ears pin back briefly, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, I should have introduced myself earlier; it slipped my mind, since I'd already seen you before you woke up. I'm Kite Song, and I specialize in medicinal anesthesiology and critical care medicine, which is why I'm the one here to make sure you're awake."

Kruuxish dips his head in acknowledgement. "I'm General Hebroth Kruuxish, as I'm sure you know, and this is Mr. Lumivarax, my secretary."

And just like that, the professional mantle settles back into place. Avex grins, welcomingly lopsided. "I'm the one secretly running the country, but don't let him in on that. Just Avex is fine; is there a version of your name you prefer we use?"

"However you prefer it. Let's be on a first-name basis, Avex." They smile back, and pin the clipboard under one arm so their hands are free. "Now, Captain-General Kruuxish, obviously as a citizen I can't order you around. But as a medical professional, I highly advise you take some time to recover, and possibly seek out mental health resources to deal with any shock or post-traumatic disorders - that goes for both of you. Regardless of your physical health, being a part of a crisis situation like that can take an invisible toll, and there are people available who are trained specifically to help work through those feelings. No sense in locking yourself in an ivory tower."

Hebroth is silent, so Avex leans forward with an intentionally conspiratorial air. "We're already locked in an ivory tower, Doctor Song. I believe it's called the Bastion."

Song laughs politely. "Well, I won't presume to know how you organize things up there. But it's sound advice, if you can manage it." They shift their attention back to Kruuxish. "How are you feeling, General? You can request a meal whenever you'd like, but most people don't have their appetite back for a while after being under like this."

"I'm fine for now. I'll let you know if I need anything."

The dismissiveness in his tone is a bit surprising, but Song seems to take it in stride; they give him a respectful nod. "Flag down any of the staff if you need anything and we'll get it to you straight away."

Kruuxish just nods.

Avex talks for him. "Thank you so much for the help, Doctor Song. You - and all of the staff here - have done incredible work."

Song smiles and politely leaves the room.

Kruuxish sags into the pillows as the door shuts.

Avex whistles quietly through his teeth. "All that, and you're up and talking? After a day?"

He grimaces, like this is bad news.

"Well." Avex looks away. "I don't know if you remember asking me, but I did schedule that group for a meeting today. They should be here in a few hours."

"I remember asking. Thank you." Kruuxish takes a steadying breath. "I'm relatively sure of how this conversation will go. Is there anything you need to know?"

"Do you want me formally transcribing?"

Kruuxish slowly shook his head. "It's... off the record. If you write anything down, please keep it private."

Avex hums approvingly. "What do I need to know about this group?"

Kruuxish moves to sit up further out of professional habit, and Avex glares at him for it. He settles back against the pillow. "They're an... accomplished adventuring party. I've been in contact with them as a group before, a few times now."

"Names, pronouns, anything I should be aware of?"

"If you can grab some paper for me, I can write it down for you."

Avex pats down his pockets, aware of Kruuxish watching him intently.

"You look exhausted." Hebroth says gently.

"Couldn't get to sleep in a hospital chair," Avex shrugs, trying to be nonchalant.

Kruuxish's eyes narrow anyway. "You should have gone home."

"And just left you here?"

"It's not your job to be my bodyguard," the Captain-General says. "You aren't obligated to stay."

"I'm not here because of obligation." The words hang heavier in the quiet room than he meant them to. "I didn't want you to wake up alone." Not an improvement.

"You didn't have to do that."

Avex sighs out a laugh. "What, was my handsome face not the first thing you wanted to grace your field of vision upon returning to reality?"

"I'm not used to seeing any faces when I wake up." Hebroth pauses, as if he didn't entirely expect himself to say the words aloud. "... it was reassuring."

"It was, uh... don't mention it. Felt like the right choice." He finds a crumpled piece of paper in his pants pocket (flips it over; just the envelope of one of the meeting requests Fotia had brought directly to him, before they really started flooding in) and passes it to Hebroth, who does the same check out of habit.

He awkwardly holds the paper in place with his elbow while he writes, slowly and cautiously, with his remaining hand. "Have you slept at all?"

"A bit, when we first brought you in. I don't know for how long." Avex awkwardly rubs at the back of his neck. "Not since then."

"Lumivarax." Hebroth frowns at him.

"I'll nap, I'll nap," Avex waves off the concern. "You know me, I'm a catnap expert. We've got time before this, uh, adventuring party arrives."

"I'm not sure finding you facedown in your outbox tray counts as me knowing you're a catnap expert," Hebroth says drily. Avex shrugs. "Will you at least take a pillow?"

"Is that sanitary?" Avex asks without thinking.

He rolls his eyes. "I was... shot. I'm not oozing toxins from the back of my skull."

He sits up, moving carefully, and tugs the bottom pillow out. He tosses it clumsily towards Avex - who has to lean out of the chair to catch it, and focuses intently on putting the remaining pillow back in a comfortable position. He pushes the blankets away a bit as he does, and Avex is wordlessly relieved to see that he has been wearing the pants from a set of hospital scrubs.

Hebroth settles back into place, and he sighs. "That... should not take as much out of me as it does."

Avex fidgets with a corner of the pillow. "Do you want me to reschedule this meeting? I'm sure they'd understand a delay."

Hebroth picks up his pencil to continue writing and pauses, considering as he watches the end of it shake in his trembling hand. "...No," he says after a long moment, and starts to write again. "No, I don't think this can be postponed."

"If you say so."

"I do." Hebroth finishes writing and holds out the paper for Avex to take. He does, and immediately starts committing the information to memory. "If you're still set on staying here, get your sleep in. I'll wake you up before the meeting."

Avex clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "The government just keeps interfering with people's personal lives. What's next, set meal times?"

"You do have a set lunch break, yes," Hebroth reminds him, and then his attitude shifts so suddenly it's as if the lights in the room grew dimmer. "Before you try to sleep, I... could you wind the music box? I - I'm sorry, it's a stupid little thing, but-"

"Of course I can." Avex sets the pillow in his place as he stands, and Hebroth finds the box in the blankets and sets it back on the little table. Hebroth doesn't shy it away when he reaches for it, this time. He winds it, and holds the handle in place with a finger when it's done. "Want to hold the song for me until I'm all cozy?"

He doesn't really expect him to, but when he slides the box back their hands touch as Hebroth stops the drum from turning.

Avex settles back into the chair, wedging himself sideways with the pillow propped awkwardly between an inelegantly arched neck and a shoulder angled higher by his elbow braced against the chair arm. He gives Hebroth a thumbs up and an exaggerated smile.

Hebroth lets it go as Avex's eyes drift shut, and he falls asleep to the gentle chimes of a lullaby he's known his whole life.

"Avex," Hebroth prompts, and Avex squints groggily towards the words. He hears a sound that might be a gentle laugh. "Half an hour before the party is due to arrive. You might want to rinse the drool off of your face."

Avex blearily sits up, massaging his jaw where it had been uncomfortably wedged open. "I don't drool, sir, that's unprofessional."

Hebroth hums. "Well, there's unprofessionalism on your left cheek."

"Ha, ha." He wipes at it with a palm and grimaces. "Okay, yeah, rinsing that."

He slouches out of the chair, tosses his pillow down on the bed beside Hebroth, and walks over to the sink in the corner, feeling Hebroth's eyes on his back the whole time.

"It was just the one side, right?" He asks over his shoulder.

Hebroth mhmms an agreement as Avex scrubs water over his face. "As for the meeting, it may be... personal. If you're ever uncomfortable, you have my full permission to leave."

Avex pauses, dripping cold water from his chin. "If it's personal, would you prefer if I stayed in the hall?"

"No," Hebroth replies immediately. "I think... it's something I would like you to hear, if you can stand to listen to it."

Avex pulls out a few paper towels and blots his scales dry, careful not to leave flakes of paper caught in the edges. "I'll try to listen. It sounds important."

"It is," Hebroth says softly.

He sounds fragile; Avex stays turned for longer than he needs to, giving him the chance to steady himself, and then pivots grandly, tugging his jacket straight and posing. "What do you think, sir? Professional, now?"

Kruuxish gives him a deadpan look. "You consistently manage to be the most professional and least professional person I have to deal with."

Avex grins. "And I'm so good at my job?"

Kruuxish waves towards the door. "Only if you go and do your job."

Avex grins at him and leaves the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. He glances up and down the hallway past Fotia and Thymos - who both look incredibly bored - and immediately arches his back to roll his shoulders and shake out the rest of him. His shoulders pop audibly enough that Thymos startles.

"Chair nap?" Thymos says sympathetically. Avex nods, and Thymos nods along. "I find sleeping on the floor works better, honestly."

"You shouldn't sleep on the floor of a hospital," Fotia reminds him.

Thymos looks dramatically awkward. "I mean, I guess. And I guess you can't really share a hospital bed with the Captain-General."

"You're not supposed to share hospital beds," Fotia says, a bit more severely. "But you," he looks up at Avex, "could have gone home."

"Been over this," Avex mutters as he scoots his chair in behind the little desk and its messy piles of paper. He cracks his knuckles - Fotia winces - and picks up the first part of the nearest stack. He pops open the sealed envelopes with a thumb claw as he rapidly scans the loose papers; just as he guessed, most of these were filled out so hastily that they're void. His hand goes to the corner of his desk without thinking and lands on more papers.

"Stamps are still in the office, aren't they?" He asks nobody in particular. "Fotia, could you be a dear and find me two boxes? Large enough for these."

"I'm not your errand boy."

"I can find you some!" Thymos offers cheerfully.

Avex lifts an eyebrow. "Can you tell me what size of paper the Bastion uses?"

Thymos smiles at him, a little blankly. "Well, it's the size of paper, isn't it?"

Avex is saved by a group rounding the corner, and even from down the hall he's able to recognize the party from the theater. Well, then. Avex set aside his papers. Punctuality was certainly a mark in their favor.

Fotia frowns at them with much more seriousness than could possibly be required as they approach, probably since this is the first time he's had a chance to actually guard all day. "You know this place is off-limits to civilians."

"They were invited," Avex reminds him, scooting his chair out.

The tiefling - another military Ignis, funnily enough, last name Curre - homes in on him instantly. "Hey, did I get sent to your voicemail the other day?"

Avex stares at him. "My... voicemail?"

"I don't know." He frowns at him. "I tried to do sending and it wouldn't work."

Avex looks towards Fotia for help. Fotia shrugs. "Who were you sending to?"

"Hebroth."

"Oh." Damn, he'd meant to get the Captain-General to redo that with something more formal. "Yeah, don't worry about that."

Curre is very clearly not dissuaded. "How did you do it?"

Avex tried to push as much I work for the government and this is a public space into his tone as possible. "Don't worry about it."

The person who comes to his rescue is one of the half-elves, Reed Athey, the one who had been on the stage. Avex can assume he's a druid, or something similar; his armor is currently blooming, with actual flowers, which is unusual enough. He looks a little awkward, but not unkind. "Who are you?"

"I guess we... haven't met." Avex straightens up and tries to ignore his back still aching as he does. Sleeping in chairs wasn't an option that got kinder with age. "I'm Avex Lumivarax, it's nice to meet you. And thank you for the... help, yesterday."

He looks a little uncomfortable at the praise. "No problem."

The conversation trails off, and Avex is annoyingly aware of Fotia paying full attention from where he's almost sulking on one side of the door and Thymos paying no attention on the opposite side.

Athey makes another valiant attempt. "So is Hebroth, like - is Hebroth good?"

"He's..." Avex can't help but glance at the closed door, "resting."

"Is he good to talk to us right now?" He clarifies. "Or do we need to wait for him to wake up?"

"He's awake right now."

"Can we just go in?" One of the others, Turk, asks. "Do we need to be announced?"

"Why would we need to announce you?" Fotia says, at the same time Avex says, "Well, you could knock."

She only replies to Fotia. "I don't know!"

The other elf, Dauvouc, joins the argument. "Well, he's kind of like a high rank personality, and we had a whole problem circumstance -"

Romero pushes past to knock.

"- when we had to see him in the theater -"

Romero rolls his eyes. "We saved his life, that should be enough."

Avex doesn't know exactly how soundproof the walls are, but he has a feeling the answer is not very.

"Come in," Kruuxish calls through the door.

Not very. Avex confirms with a grimace as the group files into the room. Avex glares at Fotia in a please don't cause problems for the doctors again way - glaring at Thymos is pointless - and Fotia glares back with an expression entirely inscrutable.

Excellent. Another day at work. Avex closes the door behind him and finds the group has already pulled the chairs from the walls up to the bed, in a little semi-circle like children waiting for a story. It's kind of endearing, though solemn in the dim light of the room and with Kruuxish looking exhausted on the other side of them.

Avex is glad none of them were bold enough to take his bedside spot. He steps past them and walks over there himself, trying his best to not be intrusive. Kruuxish doesn't acknowledge it, which is fine by him. He's also shoved the second pillow in behind him again, letting him sit up properly.

Kruuxish breaks the silence first. "Well. I guess I should thank you all for saving me."

The group choruses their responses, a full five versions of you're welcome. Impressive.

Kruuxish sighs, which makes Avex immediately worried about the direction this conversation is going to take. "Sorry that you have to see me in this position."

Having this meeting so soon was a mistake.

"It's fine. I mean, you got killed twice yesterday," Turk replies, remarkably casually. "It's not like we were expecting you to be bouncing around."

Hebroth smiles. "Guess I did."

"Honestly, I'm surprised that you're making such a fast recovery." Romero hesitates. "What, like - with your... arm?"

"Is it an enchantment?" Curre asks before Hebroth can answer.

"It," Hebroth pauses. "I guess I should... should start from..."

"If you don't want to talk about it, don't worry about it." Curre adds.

Avex makes a mental note in Curre's favor.

"It's partially the reason I called you up here." He nods towards his arm. "But... I guess I should - I guess I should start from the very beginning."

Hebroth sighs, deep enough that he visibly winces. Avex's claws dig into his palms.

After a quiet moment, Hebroth begins, tone heavy with resignation. "I'm not actually from Jorenn."

Avex is professional enough to keep from visibly perking up, but this is not where he expected this to start. Actually - he rapidly thinks back through everything he's picked up from the few times Kruuxish has implied he exists outside of work - he's not sure Hebroth has mentioned anything further back in his life than the past few years.

The silences between Hebroth's words hang in the air like an executioner's axe.

"I'm not sure exactly where I was born, in complete honesty." Hebroth laughs, and it's small and bitter. "My earliest memory is of Shenlor. I lived on the streets, with a lot of other kids."

Curre's interruption is more hesitant this time. "Jorenn as in the city, or as in the country?"

"The country," Hebroth confirms, "but like I said, my earliest memories are of the streets of Shenlor. I wasn't - I didn't have a lot of -" his hand tightens around the music box, "I didn't have any friends or family as far as I can remember. Kids that age aren't exactly... sociable."

Avex thinks of his sister's children, enthusiastically looping anyone in earshot into their pretend games, and his heart aches for a part of Hebroth he'll never know.

Hebroth doesn't linger on the thought. "So I didn't really have... anyone. As best as I can remember, that's how it stayed for a few years, just living on my own and trying to get by. But..."

The light seems to go out of Hebroth's eyes as he looks down at his hand and the stump of the other. "It didn't last, because I began to hear someone, or something." Hebroth's words tumble out, as though he's frantic to get them out of his mind. "It would whisper to me in my dreams, in a thousand voices, saying friend and promising me a family, and like any other stupid kid," Avex winces at the bitterness, "I said yes."

Hebroth traces the edge of the music box with one claw. "I would do anything to have a family."

Avex digs his elbows into his thighs to keep from reaching out to him. The group doesn't seem to notice.

"I mean, it was," Hebroth comes back to himself, a little. "It was just a dream. The next thing I knew, I was being jumped by some bullies, but instead of the usual - the usual outcome, they were," he stammers, trying to find the words, "I was saved by a - a local - another gang. It was a bunch of other kids. Some a bit older than me, some a bit younger, but... they took me in and became my family."

Hebroth pauses, and he almost starts to smile. "And for the first time in my life, I was happy. They taught me how to laugh, to cry, and... to live."

He settles his hand back over the music box.

"And to love," he says quietly.

The silence after that lingers until Hebroth clears his throat. "But that was lost in the Street Cleaning."

The expressions on the faces of their guests range from confused to concerned, though Hebroth has gone almost completely unreadable. If it wasn't for his shoulders shaking as he breathed, Avex would almost think he'd frozen.

He knows about the Street Cleaning; most people do, to some extent, but what he knows doesn't match up with the abruptness of Kruuxish's withdrawal. It's not the time to interrupt - he's thankful that this group has been quiet as well - but the inconsistency gnaws at him.

With another steadying breath, the mask slowly drops from Hebroth's face, though the words that follow are slow and unsteady. "Suffice to say, it was crushing for me, and I... didn't know how to live for a while. I mean... for about a year, I was miserable and distraught, until a paladin of Helm found me. And then," Hebroth laughs, "once again, I was taken in and taught how to fight, how to protect people. I was even gifted power to do this."

He looks at the group, listening with rapt attention, and his expression softens. "I joined an adventuring party much like you all, so I thought you guys were adorable. You reminded me of my friends back then."

Turk stifles a noise of surprise.

"But after a couple of years, I began to learn how to live again." The fondness doesn't last; in the next moment, he's already distant again. "And once again it was burnt to cinders and taken from me, along with my arm and my leg."

Once again lodges in Avex's thoughts like a burr, tangling into what he knows of the Street Cleaning.

Oh.

Hebroth moves as if to fold his arms over his chest and realizes too late that the arm there is still gone and has to settle for just awkwardly shifting with a sigh.

"I really would have died there in Karnath. If I was going to-"

Hebroth stumbles over his words, and Avex rapidly matches up the edges of what Hebroth has ghosted around the edges of saying.

Oh, gods.

"I was going to - in that pile of rubble - or to that monster - it's... sorry." He doesn't look up from his hand. "It's hard to talk about."

"No, it's fine," Turk says gently. "Take your time."

Avex has half a mind to show them out now, with how haunted Hebroth looks, but - fuck, he knows Hebroth wouldn't let him try.

"I was on death's door, but I heard a familiar voice. Or familiar voices. Something I hadn't heard in a very, very long time. It was harsh whispers that returned and stood before me, promising me revenge and power. I mean, I guess it made sense. I'd grown up from being a kid since I last saw it." He pauses, with a resigned laugh. "Funny."

With each pause, Avex finds he's bracing himself as much as Hebroth seems to be.

"In that moment of fear and rage, I accepted. Before I knew it, my strength returned, and I... wasn't... I felt whole again." He pauses, and Avex has the sense that if his other hand had returned, he would be digging his claws into it. "It was enough to honor them, at least. I hope. But like everything in this world, everything was revealed with time. While these," a bitter glare at the stump of his arm, "tools were helpful in the field, to save people, I found out that they had been draining me. One of the powers I received from the Order when I was a paladin was a better body, one that could protect people, and... well. Let's just say it wasn't exactly what you see before you."

Hebroth hasn't changed dramatically in the time Avex has known him, save for the last few days, which is a chilling thought.

"The reason I'm telling you this," he's talking more directly to the group now, more than himself, "is because I've seen that thing, and I've had more than enough time to research it using... unique sources. It goes by many names. The most common is the Former."

"Fuck," Turk says.

Hebroth looks sympathetic as he continues. "The reason why - the reason why I wanted to talk to you all about this is because I saw it yesterday, and it was -"

"Yeah," Turk says, in a tone like she's been damned.

"- looming right over you."

Turk looks up to the empty air above her, but there's nothing visible there now. She looks back down at Hebroth, and then at her hands. "Yeah. Yeah."

"I may not be able to save myself any more, or save other people any more. If I can at least help you save yourself, then... maybe there is another reason that I'm still alive."

Turk sighs out an almost breathless, "oh."

Kruuxish turns away from them, and Avex schools his expression neutral as Kruuxish looks past him and to the table at the bedside. He picks it up and turns back to the group, passing over Avex again. He carefully opens the folded paper on his desk, rereading it before he continues.

"I'll spare you the details, but - in short - I've recovered a document from some officers within the Corps, and I think you'll find something of interest. I assume you've heard of Lenolia?"

Turk and Romero both nod.

"Well, there's a city there called Shenya. Somewhere either in, within... well, I'm not entirely sure, there is a tomb of some kind that belonged to - I think - an avatar of the Former."

Turk curses.

Kruuxish nods towards her. "Now, I can promise you I've spent years investigating, with many unique sources of information, and this is the most certain I've ever been. This is a very special lead, and I think that if you're trying to find - short of the Bowl of the Materium - if you're trying to rid yourself of this monstrous thing I believe that this would be the best way."

The party grimaces as he names the Bowl.

"We did try that," Turk says, strained.

"Well." Kruuxish looks surprised for a moment. "If it didn't work, then maybe you'll be able to find more information here."

Turk nods. "Thank you."

Kruuxish's grip tightens around the music box in the following silence. "...Sorry. If you have any questions, then please, ask."

Athey clears his throat. "Are you going to be okay? Here?"

Kruuxish glances down at his arm, and then back up at him and nods.

Romero leans forwards, elbows on his knees. "What if that person - Khadinger Jhin? - comes after you again?"

"Well," Kruuxish looks introspective for a moment. "That'll be a problem that I have to deal with. I'm not going to put it on any of you."

"Well, I don't want you to die." Athey's expression is between concern and disbelief. "It would be pointless for you to die now."

Turk makes a noise of agreement, but Kruuxish is silent. Avex can't tell from where he's sitting, but he assumes Kruuxish has been looking away during his long silences; people tend to look more uncomfortable when he stares them down.

Athey hums, not sure how to continue.

"Do you know of any other people who have been affected by it?" Turk asks. "I didn't realize it was so..."

She trails off, but Kruuxish answers. "I don't know anyone in person, but I've read of people who have had - who have been affected by this thing, but... as far as I can tell it's typically fatal."

Turk pales. "Ah."

"Which is why I wish that I could help you," he adds, trying to soften the blow.

"Thank you. Um" Turk shifts uncomfortably, "can I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"Does the Former have..." she frowns, thinking. "I don't know what you'd call them, but... people working for it? That you know of?"

"Like I said, no one I know in person, but I know it's not unusual for an avatar of it to appear."

"By avatar, what do you mean?" Curre asks.

"An agent of it's will," Kruuxish explains, remarkably calm about the topic given how increasingly concerned Avex is feeling while hearing about it. "One that's empowered by it."

"Does it create these agents?" Athey asks. "Or do they do it willingly?"

"I'm honestly not entirely sure."

Turk speaks up again. "If we were to - I'm trying to do what I can to take out the Former, and if we were to do that, or to hinder it in some way, would that help you as well?"

Kruuxish's attitude shifts briefly; for a moment, Avex sees a glimpse of a person he's never known in the tense excitement of Kruuxish's posture. And then it's gone again, and he settles back into the bed. "I honestly can't say."

Athey's been watching Kruuxish with a calculating expression. When nobody else takes up the conversation, he asks, "have you ever heard of Lazare?"

Avex is feeling remarkably out of his depth.

"I think I did come across that name in my research, why?"

"Apparently Lazare has been working against the Former for a while," Turk answers, "and, well, we've got them on our side. But they're not -"

"On our side is a loose term," Curre supplies.

"Yeah, I don't know if they're going to be a big help." Turk finishes.

"Last resort." Athey shrugs. "If it gets too bad. I don't know."

"Okay." Kruuxish looks thoughtful. "Well, I'll look into that if I have more time."

"You do." Athey says instantly, and considers his next words for a brief moment. "It would be a shame to end now, after all the effort - not just from us, but from - you've done probably a lot for a lot of people."

Kruuxish laughs under his breath and shakes his head. "In any case, that's most of the information that I have for you. Like I said, your best bet for this is to head to Shenya."

"Do you know how we can get there?" Curre asks, as Turk softly thanks him.

"I don't know how you'd be able to manage that," Kruuxish admits. "I mean, it's Lenolia. But I feel that if anyone can, well, you all seem to have the best chance."

Romero awkwardly clears his throat. "Captain-General Hebroth, sir."

"Just call me Hebroth."

"Mister Hebroth-"

"You can just call me Hebroth."

Romero looks like he's going to force this through or die trying. "Mister Kruuxish." This time, he doesn't acknowledge Kruuxish's third correction and just continues. "In our travels, we've come across a certain name in conjunction to our research. Uh - is there anything you know about a figure named Lin Yuansheng?"

"I can't say I recognize that name, no."

Athey's eyes narrow, but he doesn't say anything.

Kruuxish seems to notice, and he adds, "it sounds like a name from Lenolia. It's... I can't say it's anything completely familiar."

"What about the Tetric League?" Athey asks.

Kruuxish looks a bit surprised. "What about the Tetric League?"

"I mean, do they, I don't know, I feel like -"

"They were dissolved some seven hundred years ago."

Athey nods, but doesn't look remarkably reassured. "Okay, cool. Just wanted to make sure."

The group seems to be mulling over their next words; Avex takes a second to pick out the pieces of the conversation that he needs to really remember. Kruuxish's entire... thing - he's not sure what to call it - is mentally reviewed and set aside for later as one giant, inhospitable block. The rest is easier to prune down: Turk's whole situation; Shenya; Bowl of the Materium; Lazare; Lin Yuansheng; whatever the fuck this group of people has been doing in order to be able to casually say some of the things they've just said.

It's a surprisingly bulky list for a single conversation.

"Once we, do you know," Turk asks, "I mean, you probably would have told us if you did, but what are we expected to do in this place once we reach it?"

Kruuxish shrugs with his un-bandaged shoulder. "I'm not entirely sure. Like I said, I just have the information. I mean, if I was twenty years younger me and my friends would just... head over there blindly and hope that we find something." The wistfulness in his voice is almost tangible.

Turk seems to notice it, too. "That's probably what we're going to do."

"I mean, if you have any advice..." Curre prompts.

"Do we have a reliable way of contacting you?" Athey asks.

"That's not a voicemail?" Curre clarifies, glancing at Avex.

Kruuxish nods. "I'll try to be more prolific in response. I do apologize for two nights ago."

Avex rolls his eyes without thinking.

"It was night time, it's fine," Athey says.

"You are the Captain-General," Turk says at the same time, "it's not like you -"

Athey nods. "Yeah, you gotta catch some sleep."

"- weren't busy probably."

Kruuxish shakes his head. "It's - it's okay."

Turk stops, and looks more serious. "Just out of curiosity, when you say lethal, is it lethal for all parties involved, or...?"

"Typically anyone who is involved with the Former does die in the end."

"I see."

Nobody seems to know where to take the conversation from there.

Kruuxish sighs. "Regardless."

Athey speaks up again; Avex can see clearly that this isn't really what he expected when he arrived. "If we figure out what to do, we can help you too, hopefully."

"I guess we'll see," Kruuxish replies.

"How many times have you died?" Curre asks, with a bluntness that makes the rest of the group stare at him. Curre balks a bit. "If that's not - a - a weird question."

For his part, Kruuxish just seems to be thinking about it. "There's been... three."

Athey turns his bewilderment on to Kruuxish. "And two of those were yesterday?"

Romero echoes the question; Hebroth makes a small noise of confirmation.

"Physically?" Romero asks.

Romero becomes the new target of Athey's stare. "What do you mean by that."

"Is there a difference?" Curre asks Romero. "Between physically and non-physically?"

Avex clamps his jaw shut to keep from interrupting as he glances incredulously towards Kruuxish.

"I'd rather not talk about it." Kruuxish says firmly. "Do you have any more questions for me? Because if not," he shifts his attention to Romero specifically. "I'd like to talk to you, Camden."

"What." Athey looks at Kruuxish, and then back at Romero. "Hey. Why."

Romero, for his part, makes a mouth-closed hum that indicates fully that this cannot be good news.

Athey frowns at Kruuxish. "Why do you have to talk to him alone?"

Romero is still struggling to form words.

Turk leans over the side of her chair to face him. "Camden, do you want us to stay, or...?"

"It might be better if you stepped out of the room," Romero says, interrupting another question from Athey.

The whole group looks unsure, but they start getting up, glancing in confusion between Kruuxish and Romero.

"We'll be here if you need us," Turk says as they file out.

Romero nods. "Alright."

Kruuxish watches them head for the door, and then turns back to Avex, who is staring at him.

Avex widens his eyes for emphasis and glances between the remaining person and Kruuxish's face. Kruuxish looks at him with direct focus and tilts his head a nearly imperceptible degree towards the door. "Avex, I'd also like you to leave, please."

Which stings. Avex gets up from the chair and pauses behind Romero, making sure Kruuxish can still see him but Romero can't. This isn't hard; he's got at least a foot of space above the young man's head, especially now that he's the one standing. Avex grimaces with as many teeth as he can bare, holds up one hand next to the side of his head in an obvious thumb-and-pinkie we'll talk later gesture, and follows the party out of the room as Kruuxish ignores him.

The hallway is a circus cart of awkwardness, of course, because a hospital hallway was never meant to contain this many people at once and especially not when more than half of them seem to be in full combat armor and carrying a notable amount of weaponry. and two of them are definitely known idiots.

Avex does his best to tune it out as he scoots back into his chair. It only takes a second to make a permanent note of the things he wants to look into, and then he considers the interview forms he has to review and picks up a blank sheet to copy down the full conversation so he can reference it later. It's easy to ignore people - part of the job description, at this point - but ignoring the closed door at his back is harder, especially given that Kruuxish just casually dropped that he made a deal with an ancient god twice and promptly failed to elaborate.

He mulls over some of the conversation as he watches the group's cleric ask the guards about government compensation for the spell components used in the fight. Well, they handled the combat well enough. A lack of bureaucratic sense can be excused. They're an interesting group. If it weren't for work hours, he'd want to try and talk to them further, but as it is it's a struggle to look professional when the two people he's stationed with appear to have been playing rock-paper-scissors for the entire duration of the meeting. He makes a note under his research list to try and find time for a more casual talk.

Romero all but slams through the door, halting mid-step to catch himself before he slams it shut.

Athey's the first to recover from the surprise. "Camden, are you okay?"

"Yeah, are you good?" Turk echoes.

"Um. Yeah!" Romero looks more nervous than any of them have been for the entire meeting. "Yeah, I'm fine. Hebroth - Hebroth gave me some advice for growing boys but that's none of your -"

Avex tries to stifle a snort and almost gives himself a coughing fit.

Dauvouc luckily talks over the sound. "Did he try to enlist you in the military? I'm telling you right now, Camden, don't fucking do it."

"Don't do it." Curre repeats. "Don't do it! You'll only make mistakes."

Athey stares down Romero with the same directness he did Kruuxish. Romero wilts a little bit.

"So," Athey turns to address the whole group, "are we going to Shenya, I guess?"

"Yeah, Shenya," Romero answers, looking relieved.

The tone of the group seems to shift with the confirmation. It's a reminder that these people are travelers first, long before they happened to be there to help in the theater, and everything strange they've said suddenly feels like it fits them a little better. A group of strangers in a quiet hospital room don't seem right, talking about taking down immortal beings, but Turk's statement about ending the Former no longer seems as impossible as it did.

It doesn't feel much like eavesdropping when they're making no attempt to move away or hide their discussion.

Athey crosses his arms. "Well, game plan. I guess we call Mikan, let him know we're coming back, ask him where Shenya is. Go to Shenya, I guess, figure out how to beat the Former..."

He trails off, looking at the rest of the group.

"Right. Shenya." Romero still looks preoccupied. "Seems like the next logical step of action."

"I can take us there tonight, if everyone's ready."

Curre doesn't look convinced. "I feel like maybe we should prepare a little bit more."

Athey shrugs. "Well, we've been there before. It's... cold. Big. We've been in colder and bigger places."

Curre rolls his eyes. "I mean get our bearings and, like, try to see if we can figure out any other information."

"Maybe we should find more..." Romero waves a hand.

"Maybe like, have a map?" Turk asks. "Of Lenolia?"

"I would very much enjoy if we find that." Curre agrees.

Romero shakes his head. "I think Lenolia is like, super isolated, right? And outsiders don't know much about it? I think our best chance for a map would be from someone inside."

Athey half-shrugs. "We can look around, we've got a whole day."

Curre very obviously detaches himself from the conversation and turns towards Fotia. Fotia stiffens, looking cold and disdainful even though he's sitting on the floor and decimating Thymos at rock paper scissors.

Curre doesn't seem to care. "Your boss who has the same name as me, which is very weird -"

"Sometimes people can have the same name as each other." Fotia interrupts.

"I've never met someone with the same name as me." Curre's still focused. "He said he was going to reimburse me for a diamond. Do you know how long that would take?"

"Why would I know something like that?"

"I don't know." Curre pauses to think. "Where would it be sent to? How would I get it?"

Fotia shrugs, turning back to his game. "Ask Captain Ignis."

Athey steps around them to come up in front of the desk, still looking vaguely uncomfortable. Avex puts his pen aside.

"Hi. You probably know a lot." Flattering. "Do you know if we can find a map of Lenolia somewhere in Jorenn?"

It takes Avex a second to process; he expected to be asked about the diamond. "...No, I don't know where you would find that."

Athey looks more uncomfortable at this. "Okay. Thanks."

"Reed," Turk interrupts, "do you think it's a good idea for me to see Nell before we go to Lenolia?"

"Yes." Athey turns back to her, gesturing excitedly. " Yes! Oh my god, how could I forget. Let's go see Nell."

Turk immediately looks panicked. "Oh god, right now? Right now? Right now?! Can we go see Nell?"

"Yes."

"Potentially beforehand?"

"I would like to see Nell." Athey says firmly.

"Because I should probably tell her before we go to a different continent," Turk rambles.

"Oh, yeah," Athey pauses. "Yeah. Are you going to be okay?"

Dauvouc notices Turk seems to be losing her composure. "Are you going to break the news?"

"Yeah," Turk answers, voice taut.

"Is Lenolia even a different continent?" Curre asks.

"I don't know." Turk hesitates, distracted. "I don't know anything about geography."

"Do you know anything about geometry?" Dauvouc asks.

"Great question." Curre looks towards Turk.

Turk shakes her head.

"Geology?"

"Uh," Turk considers this. "There's rocks."

"Yeah there is," Dauvouc says cheerfully.

Romero is pulled out of his own thoughts long enough to agree. "Rocks in there."

Turk looks at Dauvouc. "Do you know about geo - geolometry? The rock one?"

"Me?"

"Yeah."

Dauvouc considers this. "I mean, you can break ‘em."

Turk nods. "You can."

"Have you ever had a spiced rock?"

"I have not."

Dauvouc nods, as if this was the answer they expected. "They're pretty good."

Avex adds Nell? to the list of things he needs to investigate. It's becoming a bit of a daunting list, not that he's planning on trimming it down any further. The group has huddled up to decide how to word a sending spell, focused enough that it does seem rude to listen in. Avex focuses on copying down the earlier conversation.

He's trying to decide if he should keep Kruuxish's wording about the events in Karnath exact or if he should clean up the loose ends when the tone of their conversation changes. Avex sees the vagueness in Romero's eyes for a moment as he casts the spell, and then comes back to himself with a wobble.

"Are you good?" Turk asks him.

"I need to sit down and have a little appley cider," Romero says, in the most dead-serious way Avex has ever heard someone say those words. "It's such a long day."

The group starts to walk down the hallway. Turk puts a hand on Romero's shoulder. "Well, we can get you a little appley cider. It's okay. You won't be ID'd now, probably."

And then they're gone.

Not down the hallway, or around a corner, or even passing behind someone walking the opposite way. It's just suddenly, abruptly, empty.

Avex stares at it.

Avex looks down at Thymos and Fotia, still on the floor. "Did that actually happen, or did I fall asleep?"

"It happened, unfortunately," Fotia confirms.

Thymos nods dramatically. "I don't lose this bad to Lio when I'm dreaming it."

"Excellent. Great work." Avex runs his hand over his eyes. "I don't get paid enough to deal with adventuring parties."

"You refused your last promotion." Fotia reminds him. "And every one before that."

"Because the people you have to deal with higher up are even worse, and the pay grade is even less worth it."

Thymos shrugs. "I don't know, everyone seems pretty normal to me."

"They would," Avex mutters into his palm. "Well, men, hold down the fort, I'm returning to the trenches."

"You're a door away," Fotia grumbles as he walks back into the room.

Avex lets the door closing speak for him, and then turns around and freezes at the expression on Hebroth's face. There's an unspoken, unspeakable grief in the curve of his shoulders, in the blankness in his eyes, in the tremor of his breathing.

Avex has so many questions, about all of this, and all of them slide from his thoughts as he crosses the room. Hebroth looks up at him, lost in a mess of things that Avex has only just learned the outlines of, and Avex half-sits on the side of the bed, one leg tucked under him, and tries to convey how much he wants to help without breaking Hebroth's silence.

Hebroth slides the music box across his lap desk and pulls his hand away before Avex can reach it. Avex winds it, still gentle, and both of them sit in silence as its quiet melody rings between them.