"You can come in now," Amy told him.

Desmond had changed in the bathroom to give them privacy, as he did every day, of course, and had been waiting for them to finish with his back against the wall, arms crossed and eyes closed.

He'd like to say that he hadn't been thinking about anything. That he had been, instead of wasting time, relaxing, getting ready for sleep.

But the truth was that the words of that hateful woman were still echoing in his head with increasing force.

Even louder than when he had heard them in person.

He should not let the words of a woman who neither understood him nor sympathized with him have power over him. But he couldn't get them out of his head.

He knew there were many things wrong with him. That he wasn't normal and couldn't lead a normal life.

But he was damaged, not broken.

Damaged, not broken.

And he wasn't wrong. He had chosen the right path, or you could say the path had chosen him, but this was the only right way to live.

He knew that as surely as he could feel his heart beating, as he put his hand to his chest.

His feelings didn't lie and would lead him down the right path.

He left the room.

Amy had already climbed into bed. She seemed to be in a big hurry, even though she wasn't wearing revealing pajamas or anything like that, nothing so different from everyday clothes. He tried not to be offended by that.

He understood her feelings, after Christina had explained it to him, but he did feel a little offended.

Still, focusing on that would be too weird.

It would be like saying to him, "let me look at you." And he wasn't some kind of pervert.

Christina was getting into bed right now. Even if she wasn't, it would always be his turn to turn off the light because the only switch in the room was closest to his bed.

Desmond reached toward the switch.

"Wait a minute," Amy said.

She was curled up in a ball, hugging her knees to her chest as well as the sheets.

"What's wrong?"

He hoped that, if something was wrong, it wasn't about the nightmares again. Not that he minded the idea of having to help her with something he considered silly. It was silly to him, but not to her, and that was more than enough.

What bothered... what, rather, frightened him was the thought of having to do it and screw it up all the way like last night.

Amy hadn't seemed upset.

In fact, she had ended up thanking them. But Christina had taken care of it almost entirely on her own. Desmond had only obeyed when she'd pushed him forward, saying a sentence Christina had prepared for him, practically.

In other words, it hadn't been his effort that had fixed things.

He could feel happy that things had worked out after all. But not proud, because he didn't have the credit.

He had only been able to stumble about. Fumbling in the dark.

Relationships were about give and take. If he couldn't give anything, only take, he would be discarded and forgotten. It would only be a matter of time.

"No, nothing," Amy replied in a light tone, but he wasn't sure whether to believe her. There was a certain tension in her voice and in her expression. What did it mean? "It's just that... It's going to be a while before school starts, before we can officially put everything behind us. In the meantime, all we can do as a group is train."

"Yes," Desmond said, nodding his head, more to show he was listening than anything else.

She didn't know where he was going with this.

"I see where you're going," Christina said.

Fucking hell. She could, so why couldn't he? What was he missing? What had he overlooked?

"Okay, but let me say it," Amy replied with a little smile, "We should also get to know each other better. It's not too late, so we could talk a little before bed."

"We've already done that during the day," said Desmond. "I mean, don't get me wrong. It's not that I think it's bad. But what exactly do you want to talk about?"

"It doesn't have to be anything serious or painful to remember. Any nonsense will do. In fact, maybe it should be, we've met under the most abnormal circumstances possible. Taking a look at what normality is for all of us... I think it would benefit our health as a team."

"That's a good idea," said Christina.

It was better than talking about Amy's nightmares and heavy feeling of guilt, or maybe of inadequacy more than anything else. But he didn't know if it was much better. Normalcy. Normalcy...

"Yeah. I'm fine with that. I just don't know where to start," he admitted with some reluctance.

"I don't know why, but I figured as much," Christina said, her arms folded behind her head. She was joking. He knew it. Even if he didn't get the joke, even someone like him could tell if someone was joking by the smile, the expression, or both.

Still, that joke of his made him feel like he was being strangled by his own guts.

"If you allow me, I'll start...." Christina said.

"Go ahead. "

"Although the truth is that there is not much to tell. I prefer to spend my time reading or walking, enjoying nature. I like to be alone. Sometimes I write, although I don't take it very seriously."

"What kind of things?" Desmond asked hurriedly, wanting to get ahead of Amy since that was an obvious question that would have popped into anyone's head.

Christina looked at him.

"In a journal. My thoughts... about the day, or about what's going to happen soon. Other things, too. Poems. Stories, though short and clearly amateurish, I have no talent, as much as it pains me to admit it."

"I'd like to read some of what you write," Amy said.

Christina shook her head.

"Oh, no way. I'd die of embarrassment and have to look in the ground for a hole to crawl into."

"And what's shadow magic for if not to hide in the shadows?"

Christina laughed without malice. He thought the comment could easily have been interpreted as offensive, but oh well. He supposed it was a joke after all.

"Nice one. But seriously, I'm never going to let you read anything."

"Okay, fine. I won't insist."

"And neither will you, Desmond. Just for the record."

"Yeah. I figured it was meant for both of us."

Had he said something wrong? Not that Christina seemed upset or angry, nothing like that, but... Yes, he must have said something wrong, or maybe the problem was in what he hadn't said. Earlier, he had felt as if he was being strangled.

Now that feeling returned with renewed intensity, an unbearable pressure in his throat and stomach.

He had to concentrate.

He had to treat this almost like a fight. Looking for openings, looking for what they wanted to hear, their weaknesses, in a sense. If he kept his concentration, he could come out of this well.

It couldn't be that hard. Just because he'd screwed up now and still couldn't figure out why didn't mean all was lost.

That they had realized he wasn't like them and would write him off as hopeless.

"And what else... Well, I don't have what you'd call real friends," Christina said. "Until now. Forgive my boldness."

"Boldness? No, not at all," said Amy. "It's what we are. But what do you mean? About not having any real friends."

She seemed excited, for some reason.

I can't, he thought, his heart sinking to his feet. I really can't. This is beyond me.

"Well... Uh, it's hard to put it into words. Not because it's painful, but because it's never been more than a thought in my head.... I'd rather be alone, but even when I'm not alone I don't open up to people, after all. Ah, how can I put it?"

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I already said it didn't have to be serious. Don't worry about it."

"I've already told you it's not about that. Don't get me wrong. It's just that... If one day I disappeared from their lives, they wouldn't care, it wouldn't change anything for them. And they wouldn't go out of their way to keep me in their lives. That's the feeling I've had for years."

"And why didn't you get rid of them? If they meant so little..."

Thinking about the faceless, nameless people who had treated her like that made him forget his fear and deep anxiety. How dare they do that to her? To take something so special for granted? He tried to control himself, not to let too much of those feelings seep into his voice, worried that she would misunderstand him for some reason.

He couldn't understand others. Predicting how they would react to what he said or did was just as difficult, therefore.

"I stayed with them more out of inertia than anything else. And out of fear of being alone, though I was already alone, I suppose. For a long time, I refused to accept it. But in the end, I did. And today, well, it's been confirmed that I was right. It's been several days since the attack and not a single one of them has bothered to call me or send me a letter."

Sons of bitches. Miserable sons of bitches!

"Desmond, don't make that face. I don't care. I really don't. I made my peace with it a long time ago. It's not like it caught me by surprise."

"I know. You've said it. But, still... Still..." He put his hands under the sheets.

They had begun to tremble with his agitated feelings. Partly so they wouldn't notice, if they hadn't already, he clenched his fists.

That helped him to conceal it. But less than expected.

"I'm sorry," he said at last. Please go on.

"I've already said everything that came to my mind. Unless you have any questions, I'll pass the ball to you, Amy."

"All right."

She had seemed so enthusiastic a moment ago, listening to Christina talking about himself. Now that it was her turn, she didn't seem so enthusiastic. Quite the opposite. The reason for that, at least, was easy for even him to understand. He didn't even have to think about it.

He didn't like the idea of his turn coming, either, and it would come soon enough.

Why?

Well, because... because he didn't, period.

"I..." Amy began, hesitantly. "I've always been surrounded by people who sought my attention, who would be devastated if I pushed them away. I'm not saying this to brag, or to rub it in your face. Because I have nothing to brag about. I was what they wanted, but for the wrong reasons."

Amy scratched the top of her head with an embarrassed smile.

"I know I said we didn't have to talk about painful things, but this is the only thing I can think of, for some reason, right now."

"If that's what you need to talk about, we'll listen," Desmond said, feeling stupidly proud of himself, as if he'd said something great instead of ordinary.

He hoped it didn't show on his face. That he wasn't making an idiotic expression.

"I know. Thank you. The reason they swarmed around me like bees around a flower.... Well, it's obvious, but because of my family. Those people never saw me as Amy, they saw me as a Sunderland. They were nothing but vultures. The adults and even the children who claimed to want to be my friends, those children were nothing more than an extension of the greed of the adults I had to put up with."

"So your family is important. Rich. I see."

They both turned their heads to look at him, as if he had wasted his time saying the sky is blue.

"You mean you didn't know?" Amy said.

"Frankly, I'm not sure if you're joking. No, you can't be, you don't seem like someone with a very developed sense of humor. No offense."

Another gaffe.

He couldn't do anything right, no matter how hard he tried. Would it have been so hard to shut his mouth instead of asking for unnecessary confirmation, exposing his ignorance of things obvious to normal people?

He would never learn. No, if he kept it up, he would never learn. And his hands would be, forever and ever, empty.

"No. I didn't know. Is it really so strange?"

And yet a moment ago he'd thought it best to keep his mouth shut like a good little boy.

He couldn't be consistent, could he?

What was the point of asking that? He already knew it was strange that he hadn't noticed. That he was strange, he had known all along.

"Well, if I went around stopping random people on the street and telling them my name, nine out of ten would know who the Sunderland's were and figure out the rest. So it's not like it's impossible, but I'm not used to it."

Oh. That was a better answer than he had expected. So, while it was unusual, it's not like it was that big of a deal either. It wasn't like he didn't know something that would be obvious to everyone, except for maybe children, who naturally didn't know a lot of things that others took for granted.

"Anyway, as I was saying.... Thank you. It's the first time I've been around people my age with the feeling that they're looking at the real me. You, Desmond, didn't even know who they were and... Christina, maybe I'm wrong, no offense, but you don't seem to care at all."

"No offense taken. It's natural for you to be suspicious. That you continue to be suspicious, even if you say otherwise. But it's true, I don't mind in the least. Partly because my family has plenty of money. But even if they didn't, I'm not that kind of person. I've already said it, haven't I? That I like to be alone. For better or worse, in every way that's true."

Yes. She wasn't the kind of person who depended on others. She would make her own way to the end, even if it was a bitter one. In that sense she was like him too.

He had felt a special connection between them for good reason.

Amy would perhaps abandon him, losing hope in him over time, but Christina would never do the same. Because she understood him like no one but himself could. And while he couldn't understand her side as a normal person, he understood perfectly well the self she had shown him in the woods.

So I'm not going to lose this, he told himself. I'm not going to lose anything, right now....

"Although it didn't take me long to realize that that was the only thing they saw in me," Amy continued, "the only thing they wanted, the truth is that I didn't try to push them away either. Not out of fear. Not out of inertia. Out of obligation. For me, spending time with friends meant nothing more than playing a role. I'm ashamed to say it, but I've always dreamed of something like that. Even if it's still nothing special... even if to many people this would seem silly...."

Amy put her hand to her face, rubbed her eyes as if she were crying. However, she wasn't, there weren't even tears in her eyes.

"I should be talking about my hobbies or something. I'm sorry, I didn't intend for this to be such a serious conversation, but my mouth goes away from me."

"The goal is to get to know each other better," Christina said. "Hobbies and stuff is fine, but you can't understand what a person is like with that, just, at best, what they do. So you didn't make a mistake. For example, although it may seem like we've both said the same thing, more or less, there is a fundamental difference between us. I know it's your turn, but...."

Amy waved a hand.

"Don't take it so seriously, girl. The taking turns thing was half a joke. More to loosen us up than anything else."

"Yeah," Christina replied, nodding her head. "Well. As I was saying, I didn't want friends. It's been a long time since the idea of not having friends has made me worry or kept me awake at night. I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for this thing we have. But not fitting in on my own team wouldn't have affected me. I would have moved forward without looking back."

Desmond tossed and turned in bed.

Was that really true, would it be so easy for her to forget about "this thing we have" if it became an inconvenience, that is, at the first sign of trouble?

He didn't want to believe it.

True, he didn't want to, not that he couldn't. But it wasn't just that.

His first impression of her had been a helpless girl in front of three boys who were bullying her. A person who needed someone. Maybe it just seemed like convincing reasoning because it was what suited him, but he didn't think she would have been better off if he had turned away, pretending he hadn't seen anything, instead of helping her.

That would have brought no good. Neither to her nor to him. He would still be regretting it, deep down.

And that was without any knowledge of how much he would have thrown away in the trash just by looking the other way. But not fitting in on my own team wouldn't have affected me. I would have moved forward without looking back.

Desmond tossed and turned in bed.

Was that really true, would it be so easy for her to forget about "this thing we have" if it became an inconvenience, that is, at the first sign of trouble?

He didn't want to believe it.

True, he didn't want to, not that he couldn't. But it wasn't just that.

His first impression of her had been a helpless girl in front of three boys who were bullying her. A person who needed someone. Maybe it just seemed like convincing reasoning because it was what suited him, but he didn't think she would have been better off if he had turned away, pretending he hadn't seen anything, instead of helping her.

That would have brought no good. Neither to her nor to him. He would still be regretting it, deep down.

And that was without any knowledge of how much he would have thrown away the trash just by looking the other way. He would never have done such a thing, it was literally impossible, of course. That would be the act of a coward, not a soldier. But...

But it was dizzying to think how easily and quickly someone's life could change completely.

If he hadn't helped her, both of their lives would have changed for the worse.

He was sure of that.

-It's okay," Amy said slowly and after a while.

For once it seemed she didn't even know what to say, just like him. Desmond wasn't happy that he was still more or less as lost as when he'd started. But that he wasn't the only one at the moment was a relief.

And since she didn't know what to say, the tactic Amy employed was to change the subject.

"Desmond. Come to think of it, you haven't said anything so far. It's your turn."

He averted his gaze, staring at the ceiling, and sank into his thoughts. Trying earnestly. Looking for something interesting, something that would make them think of him more favorably or ideally both at the same time. However...

"Honestly, I have no idea what to say."

"You don't have to think about it that hard. We're not going to kill you if you don't tell us your life story," said Christina. "Just say the first thing that pops into your head."

"I..." Desmond fell silent.

He pursed his lips in a thin line. No matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn't think of anything.

"Hey," Christina said, getting up from the bed, which was between his and Amy's. She walked over to his bed and took one of his hands in hers, squeezing, "If you don't want to talk about you right now, don't do it. Take your time."

Only then did he realize he'd started to tremble.

Just his hands, and that's why Christina had grabbed one of them. Still, it was embarrassing, to start shaking like a child. And to have to be comforted before he'd even said a single word, when Christina already knew what there was to know, and they'd opened up to him, had dared to take that step....

There was the problem, he realized.

"I don't know what to say because there's nothing to say."

"I don't get it," Amy said. She had moved without him noticing, now sitting on the corner of the bed, her feet dangling.

-My hometown was attacked ten years earlier by the Empire. I lost everything that day. My home, my family. And things I can't put a name to.

"I'm so sorry," Amy said. No one should have to go through something like that.

There was something artificial about her answer.

But not in a bad way. It wasn't that she didn't care, that she didn't feel bad for him. No, it was something else, beyond her reach.

Desmond shook his head.

"But that's nothing special. That's a common tragedy. Hundreds of thousands of children suffered like me."

"It doesn't matter that you're not the only one. I'm not special either, I'm sure there are many children from wealthy families who feel or at least have felt like me. A tool for the family, cut off from the world, unable to connect with anything or anyone. Yes, as much as it pains me to admit it, my pain is not special. But that doesn't mean I don't have the right to cry and suffer through it. Just like you.

"I know. That's not what I wanted to say. I wanted to move on to talk about what happened next. I mean, nothing. I've spent ten years alternating between my job and training."

He was taking a big risk, exposing himself like that. He could at least try to make himself look better.

He swallowed hard.

Was it the right decision, really?

"And nothing else. If you were to ask me how I like to spend my time, what I'm passionate about? I couldn't answer you with anything. I've never thought about those things. When I look back, those ten years seem so empty... that I feel like my heart is being crushed."

There were tears in his eyes.

Yes, he had been shaking and now he was about to burst into tears.

Had he always been so emotional? So weak?

Maybe it's better not to talk, not to do anything with anyone. Maybe it's better than feeling like this. Anything.

Christina pulled him out of his bitter thoughts.

Hugging him against her chest. He wasn't even aware of how embarrassing this should be for him. Desmond concentrated fully on swallowing the urge to burst into tears, which increased as soon as he realized what she had done.

Those ten years went by in the blink of an eye, didn't they? Your life has only just begun. Just fill the next ten years with everything you want. Be greedy, be gluttonous. Don't hold back.

After a while in silence, they broke apart. He did so feeling quite proud that he had been able to hold back the tears, albeit barely, and although with that he hadn't hidden anything.

That feeling was eclipsed by the warmth that spread through his chest.

Never in his life had he felt so good.

They continued to talk for a while, this time not about heavy things, about anything that came up. He participated in the conversation, albeit awkwardly. The uncertainty and fear of not truly being part of the team that had come over him from the beginning of the conversation....

No, even earlier, when the "therapist" tore him to shreds. He didn't like to admit it, but it was true.

However, his fears were unfounded.

He could do this. Even if he stumbled and didn't understand what he needed to understand, he could get somewhere.

They went to bed past one in the morning.

It wasn't that late, but, after tossing and turning one too many times, unable to sleep because of his excitement, Desmond decided to stop trying.

He got out of bed and the first thing he thought of was to resort to the usual.

However, he didn't have a sword to wield.

Still, at least he could take a stroll through the darkness of the night. And maybe practice his aim deep in the forest, so as not to risk waking any human being. It wouldn't hurt.

So that's what he did.

Desmond wasn't the kind of person used to doing things for no reason, so he didn't just wander around to get some air and calm down a bit, and then maybe be able to go back and sleep.

He went into the woods, gun in hand, as he knew he would, deep down, even before he walked out the door. No bringing it along just in case he felt like it. He had made the decision unconsciously in less than a tenth of a second.

However, he didn't have the freedom to pull the trigger even once.

Although that stopped mattering to him in an instant. Because what made him stop was that he saw a woman in the trees, looking at him, a woman he wouldn't mistake for anyone in the world, though he didn't even know her name or what she really looked like.

His savior, again.

But this time it wasn't a dirty trick played by his head, and maybe it never had been, because he had used physical reinforcement to tear the veil of the night.

And because he was perfectly fine. Not fresh off a gurney, having been literally dead hours before.

He wasn't seeing visions.

The woman was here.