The Call of the Raven

 

Cuyahoga Castles Convention Centre, February 2, 2023

18:04 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS

The Castle Comic Con was peaking.

The main vendor hall roared with layered noise- dice clattering across folding tables, foam swords thudding against shields in staged duels, panel moderators shouting into microphones that barely cut through the din. LED-lit banners hung from the vaulted rafters, fake stone walls draped in medieval tapestries printed with dragons, griffins, and corporate logos.

The convention encouraged a “medieval reinterpretation” theme this year. Some leaned into it. Others ignored it completely.

Ben Crawley had not ignored it.

He stood near the photo backdrop- a printed castle gate flanked by plastic torches- in full plate reinterpretation of Batman.

Not tactical armor. Not rubber cosplay.

Actual articulated steel segments.

The cowl had been reshaped into a knight’s helm, blackened and brushed to absorb light. The bat emblem was etched into the chestplate in subdued charcoal. The cape had been replaced with a heavy, dark tabard stitched with a silver sigil — a heraldic bat rampant.

He had spent months on it.

Blacksmithing tutorials. Budget overruns. Burned fingers. Late nights in his garage.

…and it showed.

“Yo, that’s sick.”
“Dude, turn a little- that shine is perfect.”
“Can I get one with you?”

Ben obliged each request, lifting his visor just enough so people could see he was smiling. He held a longsword prop- dulled, safe, convention-compliant- resting its tip on the ground in knightly repose.

Cameras flashed. Phones angled upward. Someone’s kid tugged at their mother’s sleeve and whispered, “That’s the real Batman.”

Ben felt twelve years old and invincible.

The armor was heavy but balanced. He had built it to move. What he hadn’t built it for was storage.

No pockets in plate.

No interior lining deep enough for a phone.

His wallet had been awkwardly wedged earlier between the padding at his thigh and the inside of a greave. It had jabbed uncomfortably every time he walked. The phone was currently sitting loose inside the chest cavity- resting in the padding behind the breastplate where it pressed faintly against his sternum.

He had considered bringing a small drawstring pouch.

Forgot.

Now, between photos, he awkwardly reached under the edge of his tabard and adjusted something inside the armor. He couldn’t quite see what he was doing.

“Hold up,” someone laughed. “Knight malfunction?”

“Utility belt oversight,” Ben said, voice echoing slightly inside the helm.

More laughter.

He finished adjusting the padding, hoping the phone hadn’t slipped lower. It buzzed faintly against his chest- a text notification he couldn’t access without removing half his torso.

Behind him, the vendor aisles were thickening.

Panel A had just let out. The hallway pressure increased- a slow-moving wave of people funneled toward the main floor.

A pair of witches brushed past. A Mandalorian bumped his shoulder. A Deadpool in chainmail tripped over someone’s trailing cloak.

A slow wave of bodies funneled into the vendor floor, compressing space into polite chaos. Capes tangled. Foam axes knocked into shoulders. Someone in full dragon wings tried to pivot and nearly decapitated a Stormtrooper with cardboard.

Ben adjusted his stance, lifting the sword slightly so no one impaled themselves on it.

“Sorry- sorry-” he echoed, though the helmet swallowed most of the apology.

Another buzz vibrated faintly inside his chest plate.

He ignored it.

A photographer crouched low to get an upward angle of the armor. Ben obliged, turning his shoulders to catch the overhead light. The brushed steel darkened, then flashed silver.

Behind him, the current thickened.

Someone bumped his right side- light, almost apologetic. He felt it mostly in the padding.

“Watch it,” someone muttered nearby, though it wasn’t clear to whom.

Ben laughed lightly inside the helm.

“Knight malfunction,” he repeated to himself, reaching briefly under the edge of his tabard to settle the inner padding at his thigh. The greave shifted slightly when he did.

He didn’t notice the subtle hand that steadied him.

Didn’t notice the pause that lasted half a second longer than a normal collision.

Didn’t notice that someone had chosen their angle carefully.

He lifted his visor again for another picture.

Smile ready.

Sword poised.

The crowd pressed closer.

…and just behind him, Queen Elsa stopped moving.

The crowd compressed further as another panel emptied into the main corridor.

A bard with a lute squeezed between a Spartan and a Pikachu in chainmail. A stroller wheel clipped someone’s boot. Foam weapons bobbed over heads like reeds in a marsh.

Then-

A scream.

Sharp. Clear. Female.

“My phone! My phone has been stolen!”

Heads snapped toward the sound.

The voice belonged to a young woman dressed as a medieval Moana- embroidered Polynesian patterns woven into a leather bodice, carved wooden oar strapped across her back. Her braids swung as she turned in frantic circles.

“It was right here- it was just here- someone took it!”

Instant reaction.

A ripple of instinct.

Hands flew to pockets.

Palms slapped against denim.

Zippers were yanked open.

Backpacks twisted around torsos.

People checked inside purses, under cloaks, inside satchels. Someone swore in relief. Someone else muttered, “Oh thank God.”

Ben froze.

He couldn’t pat his pocket.

He didn’t have one.

Instead, he awkwardly reached under the edge of his tabard, fingers digging into the inner padding at his thigh. The greave shifted. The pressure of the wallet was suddenly very noticeable.

He pressed it deeper instinctively, trying to secure it.

The motion was obvious.

He lifted his visor halfway, looking down at himself to make sure everything was still there. His other hand instinctively brushed across his chest plate where the phone rested.

Behind him, a woman in a pale blue cloak stood still.

Queen Elsa- reimagined as a frost court noble, silver embroidery threading through her sleeves, crystal tiara catching the overhead lights.

She was not looking at Moana.

She was looking at hands.

At who touched what.

At who hesitated.

At who exposed their weakness.

She saw:

Back pocket- tight.
Front pocket- zipped.
Backpack- clipped.
Crossbody bag- guarded.

Then-

The knight.

Armor. No pockets. Visible adjustment. Thigh padding accessed in public. Limited mobility.

She stepped once to her right as another attendee turned toward the screaming Moana.

She let someone brush between them.

She measured distance.

Ben lowered his visor again, reassured for the moment.

He didn’t see her angle.

He didn’t see her shift into his blind spot.

Elsa had her target.

The corridor hadn’t fully recovered from the first scream.

Moana was still turning in agitated circles, drawing sympathetic murmurs and scattered accusations. A few attendees had already begun scanning the floor as if a phone might materialize under a folding table.

Ben lowered his visor again and adjusted his stance, trying to reclaim his heroic composure.

He never saw Elsa step in.

She moved in the wake of a Mandalorian’s shoulder turn, sliding into the space at his right hip. Her gloved hand dipped under the edge of the tabard with deliberate precision.

Two fingers.

Then three.

She felt the padded seam.

Found the wallet edge.

Pulled.

It slipped free more easily than she expected.

Too easily.

The sudden absence of weight shifted the padding at Ben’s thigh.

…and that was the mistake.

Because he had just pressed it deeper seconds earlier.

His brain registered the difference instantly.

The greave felt loose.

Wrong.

His hand shot down under the tabard.

His fingers closed over leather- but not the wallet.

They closed over a wrist.

Soft glove. Narrow bone.

He looked down through the slit of his visor and saw the corner of his wallet already in her other hand.

“Hey-” he barked, instinct overriding diplomacy.

He grabbed her forearm to stop her from turning away.

It was not a violent grip.

…but it was armored.

Heavy gauntlet over steel fingers closing around fabric.

Elsa did not hesitate.

She let the wallet fall from sight- either into her sleeve or behind her cloak- and snapped her head back.

“Don’t touch me!”

Her scream cut sharper than Moana’s had.

“He grabbed me!”

People froze.

Ben released her immediately, but the optics were already poisoned.

“I- she-” His voice echoed awkwardly inside the helm.

Elsa staggered backward theatrically, clutching her arm.

“He reached under my cloak! He grabbed me!”

Gasps.

A few phones turned toward them.

Moana stopped screaming and pivoted perfectly into view of the confrontation.

“He was right behind her!” Moana cried. “I saw him!”

Ben lifted his visor fully now, panic rising.

“She took my- she just took my wallet! Check her-”

…but he was a six-foot armored knight with a drawn blade prop in one hand and gauntleted fingers still half-curled from grabbing a woman’s arm.

Security arrived fast.

The convention had increased staffing after recent legislative changes.

Two uniformed Civic Security contractors pushed through the crowd.

“What’s going on?”

“He assaulted her,” someone said.

“He grabbed her!”

“He was reaching under-”

“I didn’t- she stole-”

Elsa’s eyes were wet now. Controlled. Precise.

“He reached inside my cloak,” she said quietly, trembling just enough. “I don’t know him.”

One of the guards looked at Ben’s gauntlets.

“Sir, step back.”

“I’m the victim,” Ben insisted. “She- check her! She has my wallet!”

“Sir. Step back.”

Ben instinctively reached forward again, trying to point, trying to explain.

The guard misread the motion as escalation.

Hands went to his arms.

Steel scraped fabric.

“Sir, you are being detained.”

“What? No- I was trying to stop her-”

Elsa shrank slightly behind another attendee, eyes wide.

“She said no,” someone whispered nearby.

Another voice: “ACCA just passed, right?”

The second guard spoke into his radio.

“Possible violation. Female complainant. Physical contact.”

Ben felt his sword prop taken from his hand.

His wrists pulled behind him.

The crowd had already decided.

Phones recorded.

Moana watched from a safe distance, no longer frantic.

As Ben was led away, visor half-raised and confusion etched across his face, he caught one final glimpse of pale blue fabric disappearing into the crowd.

Security did not escort Elsa out.

They escorted the Dark Knight.

…and by the time municipal police arrived to formalize the charge, the first public arrest under Ohio’s new Affirmative Consent & Coercion Act had been made.

Cuyahoga Castles Convention Centre, Auxiliary Security Office, February 2, 2023

18:32 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS

The holding area was not a cell.

It was worse.

Fluorescent lighting. Folding tables. A retractable divider wall pulled across a corner of the convention’s administrative corridor. Two metal chairs bolted to the floor. A plastic bin labeled Confiscated Props.

Ben sat in partial armor, helmet removed now, hair damp against his forehead.

His gauntlets had been taken off. His sword rested in the bin. The chestplate remained, straps loosened but not fully removed. One greave hung slightly crooked where security had tugged at it during the detainment.

Across from him, a Civic Security officer typed into a tablet with methodical indifference.

Ben’s phone vibrated.

The sound was muted by steel and padding- more a tremor through his sternum than an audible buzz.

He froze.

There it is.

Another vibration.

Short. Sharp.

He swallowed.

“She’s using it,” he said under his breath.

The officer didn’t look up.

“She’s using my credit cards. That’s what that is.”

“Sir, we are processing a complaint right now,” the officer replied flatly.

“You don’t understand. She stole my wallet. My ID. My cards. That buzz? That’s a charge.”

Another vibration.

Ben shifted awkwardly in the chair, trying to wedge fingers under the chestplate to reach the phone.

“Can I just check it?” he asked. “Please. Just let me check it.”

The officer finally looked at him.

“You were detained following a complaint of non-consensual physical contact.”

“I grabbed her arm because she stole my wallet!”

“Sir.”

“She reached under my tabard. I reacted.”

The officer’s expression did not change.

“Your statement will be taken. For now, remain seated.”

The phone vibrated again.

Ben’s heart began to race.

He imagined:

A tap at a nearby kiosk.
Gas pump outside.
Someone already walking away with his identity.

“She’s doing it right now,” he insisted. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

A second uniformed officer entered- this one municipal police, not convention security. He carried a small notepad and a body cam blinking red.

“Name?”

“Ben Crawley.”

“Identification?”

Ben let out a short, humorless laugh.

“I don’t have it.”

The officer looked up slowly.

“Why not?”

“Because my wallet was stolen,” Ben said, the snark slipping out despite himself. “That’s kind of the point.”

The officer’s jaw tightened slightly.

“Sir, this is not the time for sarcasm.”

“I’m not being sarcastic. I literally don’t have ID because the woman who accused me took it.”

The officer scribbled something down.

“Victim claims counter-theft,” he muttered into his recorder.

“Not claims- it happened.”

“Sir,” the officer said calmly, “at this time we are investigating a complaint made against you under the Affirmative Consent & Coercion Act. We are not investigating theft.”

Ben blinked.

“That’s insane.”

“Whether or not a theft occurred does not negate the allegation of physical contact.”

“I grabbed her arm to stop her from taking my property.”

“Sir.”

Another vibration.

He felt it through the metal like a pulse.

He pictured numbers stacking up.

Gas stations.
Online purchases.
Identity cloned.

“You’re letting her walk,” he said quietly now. Less anger. More disbelief.

Neither officer responded.

The fluorescent lights hummed.

In the hallway outside, the convention noise continued- laughter, announcements, applause.

Inside the holding corner, Ben sat half-armored and powerless, listening to his phone vibrate against his chest while his words dissolved into procedure.

No one asked to search for his wallet.

No one asked to review vendor cameras.

No one asked where the alleged victim had gone.

They had a complainant.

They had contact.

They had a statute.

…and for the first time inside the Cuyahoga Castles Convention Centre, the ACCA had been activated.

Cuyahoga Castles Convention Complex, February 2, 2023

19:01 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS

The convenience store sat just outside the convention complex’s south entrance- half fluorescent refuge, half opportunistic cash funnel. Foam swords leaned against the slush machine. A bard argued with the cashier about whether mead-flavored energy drink counted as “period accurate.”

Endgame stood at the counter in jeans and a dark zip-up hoodie, no mask, no theatrics.

To anyone watching, he was just another attendee who had ditched the armor early.

Under the hoodie, though, weight shifted differently.

He paid for a bottled water and a pack of gum.

Behind him, a Deadpool stylized as a medieval paladin- chainmail coif, tabard with a crimson-and-black crest, foam kite shield strapped to his back- stepped up to the counter.

“Bro,” Paladin Deadpool said cheerfully, voice muffled through fabric. “That Batman knight inside? Absolute legend.”

Endgame glanced sideways.

“Yeah?” he said mildly.

“Peak masculinity. Chivalry is back.”

“Sure,” Endgame replied. “Nothing says enlightened society like metal pants and poor situational awareness.”

The paladin laughed, assuming it was a joke.

“You gotta admit though- the vibe in there is awesome. No negativity. Just fans being fans.”

Endgame studied him for half a second longer than comfortable.

“You think that’s what’s happening?”

“Uh. Yeah?” Paladin Deadpool shrugged. “It’s Comic Con, man. Escape from reality.”

Endgame capped his water bottle.

“Reality doesn’t take days off,” he said.

The paladin blinked, uncertain whether that was supposed to be deep.

Endgame pushed the door open and stepped back into the February air.

The parking lot lights flickered to full brightness as dusk settled in. Costumed attendees drifted in clusters toward cars, rideshares, afterparties.

He didn’t head toward the entrance.

He scanned.

Two slow turns of the head. Not obvious. Just habitual.

Sedan.

SUV.

Food truck.

Rental cargo van- white, unmarked, parked too far from the main entrance for convenience but too close for coincidence.

Michigan plates.

Endgame’s jaw shifted slightly.

He had seen that van before. Different city. Different event. Same plates.

He walked casually past it, as if checking his phone.

No one inside.

Rear doors locked.

He continued walking another ten yards.

Then doubled back from a different angle.

A quick look left. Right.

No one paying attention.

He knelt as if tying his shoe.

A thin, compact blade appeared briefly in his hand- quick, efficient, almost bored.

One slash.

Soft exhale of air.

Second slash.

Third.

Fourth.

He stood, blade gone as quickly as it had appeared.

From a distance, nothing looked dramatic. The van just sat lower than it had before.

Endgame stepped back toward the sidewalk and leaned against a light pole, sipping water.

Five minutes passed.

Then they came.

Elsa first- pale cloak now partially hidden beneath a neutral jacket. Moana behind her, no longer frantic. Two more men trailing, each carrying a convention tote bag that sagged unnaturally heavy.

Satchels.

The men moved quickly, scanning the lot.

They reached the van.

Stopped.

One of them swore.

“What the-”

Another crouched, touching the front tire. His hand came away dusty.

“Slashed.”

All four looked around at once.

Endgame lifted his bottle slightly in acknowledgment.

“Evening,” he called.

Recognition flickered across one of the men’s faces.

“Michigan,” Endgame continued conversationally. “You guys really should diversify your plates. It’s lazy.”

The group stiffened.

Moana’s expression lost all theatrical panic.

Elsa’s posture changed- no longer fragile, now calculating.

“You’ve got the wrong people,” one of the men said.

Endgame tilted his head.

“Yeah. I don’t.”

His gaze drifted to the satchels.

“Return the contents,” he said calmly. “Back inside. Same pockets you took them from. No drama. We all go home slightly inconvenienced.”

A beat.

One of the men laughed- short and humorless.

“You think you’re what, exactly?”

Endgame smiled.

“Observant.”

Another man shifted his bag onto his shoulder more securely.

The air changed.

Parking lot noise receded.

Engines in the distance.

Convention chatter muffled.

The gang spread slightly without meaning to.

Endgame noticed.

He finished his water, dropped the empty bottle into a nearby trash can without looking.

“Last chance,” he said lightly. “Return the stuff.”

The men exchanged a glance.

A decision passed between them.

They dropped the satchels.

…and stepped forward.

Endgame’s smirk widened- not wild, not manic.

Interested.

“Okay,” he said softly.

…and waited.

The first one came in fast.

No warning. No flourish.

A straight right aimed at Endgame’s jaw.

Endgame leaned just enough to let it graze air.

I wonder if paladin Deadpool can do this.

He stepped inside the second punch, caught the attacker’s wrist, twisted- not theatrically, not brutally- just enough to compromise structure.

A sharp yelp.

Elbow to the ribs.

Knee to the thigh.

The man dropped.

The second gang member swung a tote bag like a flail. Something hard inside thudded through canvas.

Endgame raised his forearm to absorb the blow, rotated with the impact, and drove his shoulder into the attacker’s sternum.

They both staggered.

Elsa didn’t rush him. She circled.

Smart.

Moana lunged from the left- less skilled, more desperate- nails flashing toward his face.

He caught her forearm mid-swipe.

“Careful,” he muttered, pivoting and guiding her momentum past him. She stumbled forward into one of her own men.

Two down.

Not finished.

The third man had pulled something metallic from his pocket- not a blade, but a collapsible baton.

That shifted things.

Endgame exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” he said, almost conversational. “Now we’re honest.”

The baton cracked against his shoulder. Pain flared hot and immediate.

He didn’t flinch.

He stepped into it.

Closed distance.

Headbutted.

The man reeled.

Another blow caught Endgame across the ribs. He absorbed it, turned, drove a fist into a solar plexus.

They were relentless.

Not skilled fighters- but coordinated, angry, and unwilling to disengage.

A knee clipped his thigh. A hand grabbed his hoodie. Someone tried to tackle him from behind.

He rolled with it, dragged the attacker down, and came up on one knee.

Breathing controlled.

Heart steady.

No frustration.

Just math.

He wasn’t trying to win theatrically.

He was thinning them.

The first man he’d dropped was back on his feet now, blood at the corner of his mouth. Elsa had repositioned near the original van- eyes darting toward the street.

A new set of headlights cut across the lot.

Another van.

Dark. Engine running.

It pulled in fast, too fast for a casual pickup.

“Move!” one of the gang shouted.

The second vehicle screeched to a stop near the curb.

The side door slid open.

Two of the men grabbed their satchels and bolted.

Endgame turned just in time to see them sprint toward salvation.

“Ah,” he muttered. “Contingency planning.”

They dove into the second van.

The engine revved.

Then-

A low hiss.

Then another.

Then a long, sagging sigh of rubber collapsing.

The van dipped.

Front left first.

Then rear.

Then all four corners, almost gracefully, lowering toward the asphalt like something kneeling.

The engine kept running.

…but the vehicle did not move.

Silence rippled outward.

The gang members inside the van stared down in disbelief.

Outside, Elsa froze.

Behind the second van, stepping from shadow into parking lot light, a figure straightened.

Dark coat.

Controlled posture.

A scythe held loosely at her side- not raised, not displayed, simply present.

The Raven.

Endgame wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand and glanced toward her.

“Okay,” he said softly.

The gang now had two disabled vehicles.

…and nowhere to go.

The parking lot held its breath.

Endgame and the woman with the scythe stood on opposite ends of the disabled van, neither theatrical, neither announcing themselves.

He gave the smallest nod.

Not gratitude.

Not recognition.

Acknowledgment.

She returned it- just as subtle.

Alignment confirmed.

He still didn’t know who she was.

She didn’t ask who he was.

That was enough.

The gang tried to recalibrate.

One of them lunged first- desperate now, no vehicle, no clean exit.

Raven moved before Endgame did.

No flourish.

No warning.

She stepped into the swing, hooked the man’s wrist with the shaft of the scythe, and pivoted. His own momentum folded him forward. She used the flat of the blade to strike the back of his thigh- precise, disabling, not maiming.

He dropped.

Endgame smirked.

“Nice form,” he muttered.

Two attackers came at him simultaneously. He drove one backward with a front kick to the hip, then slipped inside the second’s guard and delivered a short, brutal elbow to the jaw.

A baton swung toward Raven’s shoulder.

She didn’t block it.

She stepped offline.

The baton met air.

Her heel drove into the attacker’s knee joint. A controlled crack. He collapsed with a scream.

They weren’t overpowering the gang with spectacle.

They were dismantling them.

Elsa made a break for it.

Endgame intercepted.

Not with a punch.

With positioning.

He cut off the angle, forcing her back toward the center of the lot.

“You’re done,” he said quietly.

For a moment, it looked like they might actually contain it.

Then Endgame felt it- the shift.

The hesitation in the gang’s aggression.

The subtle stalling.

They weren’t trying to win anymore.

They were buying time.

Of course.

Hold out.
Let police arrive.
Switch roles.
Play victim.

He knew the pattern.

He turned toward Raven.

“Grab the bags,” he said, voice low but urgent. “All of them.”

She didn’t ask why.

Didn’t ask where.

Didn’t ask how he’d find her again.

She saw the calculation in his posture.

This wasn’t about winning the fight.

It was about evidence.

She moved.

Fast.

Scooped up one satchel.

Then another.

Endgame slammed one final attacker into the hood of the first van and shoved him to the pavement.

Headlights flooded the lot.

Red and blue strobes burst against asphalt and steel.

Sirens.

Not distant.

Immediate.

Too immediate.

Four cruisers.

Then six.

They boxed the lot in from both exits.

Doors flew open.

“Down! Everyone down!”

The gang reacted instantly- almost rehearsed.

Hands up.

Voices raised.

“He attacked us!”

“He slashed our tires!”

“He’s got a weapon!”

Elsa dropped to her knees first, palms visible.

Raven froze mid-step, satchels in hand.

Endgame stood still, breathing steady, blood at his lip, hoodie torn at the shoulder.

Officers fanned outward in formation.

Weapons drawn.

“Drop it!” one shouted at Raven.

Time compressed.

No one moved.

The police had arrived faster than either of them expected.

…and for a split second, everyone in the lot understood the same thing:

The fight was no longer theirs to control.

“Drop the weapon!”

Raven didn’t hesitate.

The scythe lowered immediately. She set it down slowly on the asphalt and stepped back, hands visible.

Endgame raised his hands as well.

“Easy,” he said. “We’re the helpful kind.”

“On your knees!”

They complied.

Six officers moved in fast. Two secured Endgame first- forcing him forward, hands wrenched behind his back. Cold cuffs snapped shut.

Raven was handled just as quickly, though one officer took extra care moving the scythe out of reach before restraining her.

Meanwhile, the gang stayed exactly where they were- kneeling, palms open, voices loud.

“He attacked us!”

“He slashed our van!”

“We were just leaving!”

One officer peeled off to begin taking statements from them.

Endgame twisted slightly as he was hauled to his feet.

“You’re kidding me,” he said, staring past the officer’s shoulder. “You’re not detaining them?”

“Sir, face forward.”

“They have stolen property.”

“Sir.”

“In the bags,” Endgame pressed. “Search the bags.”

An officer near the gang picked up one of the dropped satchels and unzipped it halfway.

Vendor merchandise spilled into view- boxed figurines, sealed trading cards, a leather pouch.

“Looks like purchased goods,” the officer muttered.

“Yeah,” one of the gang members said quickly. “From inside. You can check.”

“They’re lying,” Endgame snapped. “They ran when they saw me. They’ve been lifting all evening.”

“Sir,” the officer behind him said more sharply, “you are under arrest for property damage and aggravated assault. You will have an opportunity to make a statement.”

Endgame stared at the gang.

Elsa met his eyes briefly.

Not frightened.

Not panicked.

Calm.

She adjusted her posture slightly, wincing just enough to look like someone who’d been attacked.

Raven said nothing.

She simply observed.

Two officers guided her toward a separate cruiser.

“You see this?” Endgame called out, incredulous. “This is the part where you detain everyone.”

“Enough,” the officer replied.

Behind them, another officer continued questioning the gang.

“Who initiated contact?”

“That guy,” one of them said, pointing. “He just started swinging.”

“He slashed our van tires,” another added.

The officer nodded slowly, making notes.

No cuffs.

No commands to stand.

No search beyond a glance.

Endgame shook his head as he was led toward the cruiser.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

The lot, moments ago a battlefield, had reorganized into procedure.

Vigilantes in custody.

Gang giving statements.

Red and blue lights washing everything into simplified categories.

…and once again, the first impression had won.

Cuyahoga Castles Civic Security Building, Holding Centre, February 2, 2023

21:02 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS

The cell was concrete and echo.

Not dramatic. Not cinematic.

Just functional.

A steel bench ran along one wall. A camera dome blinked quietly in the upper corner. The fluorescent light hummed without mercy.

Endgame sat first.

Wrists still marked from cuffs. Hoodie torn. Lip swollen slightly. He leaned back against the wall like he’d been there before.

Raven remained standing for a moment before lowering herself onto the bench opposite him.

No scythe. No coat. Just dark clothing and steady breathing that wasn’t quite steady enough.

Silence stretched.

“You move clean,” Endgame said finally.

She glanced up.

“So do you.”

He huffed faintly. Not a laugh.

“Didn’t expect backup.”

“I wasn’t backup.”

“No?”

She hesitated.

“I was coming off work.”

He studied her now.

“You work at the convention?”

“Adjacent.” A small pause. “King’s Harem.”

Recognition flickered across his expression- not judgment, just filing the information away.

“…and you just… happened to see me?”

She exhaled slowly.

“I’ve read about you.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“You expose things,” she said quietly. “People no one else touches.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“That’s one way to frame it.”

“I saw the van,” she continued. “I saw them. I saw you standing there alone.”

“…and decided to make a lifestyle choice.”

She didn’t smile.

“I’ve never done that before.”

“Slashed tires?”

“Intervened like that.”

There it was.

The truth under the composure.

A faint tremor in the admission.

Part of her was proud.

Part of her was shaken.

“They were stealing,” she said, as if justifying it to herself, “and you were outnumbered.”

He looked at the camera dome briefly.

“Rule one,” he said.

She waited.

“The police don’t like you.”

She frowned slightly.

“They’re supposed to.”

He shook his head once.

“No. They’re supposed to like order.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Exactly.”

She absorbed that.

He leaned forward slightly now.

“You stepped into a fight. With weapons. On their jurisdiction. With property damage already in play.”

“You slashed the tires.”

“Correct.”

“…and they don’t care why.”

Silence again.

“They won’t ever like you,” he continued, voice calmer now. Less anger. More instruction. “Not if you operate outside their script. Best you get is tolerance. Worst you get is charges.”

Her jaw tightened faintly.

“I was trying to help.”

“I know.”

“That doesn’t matter?”

He looked at her for a long moment.

“It matters to you.”

The fluorescent hum filled the space.

Somewhere down the hall, a metal door clanged shut.

“I thought…” she began, then stopped.

“What?”

“I thought if you were clearly stopping something worse, they’d see it.”

He almost smiled.

“That’s adorable.”

The word wasn’t cruel.

Just tired.

“They respond to what’s visible,” he said. “Not what’s true.”

She looked down at her hands.

For the first time since the parking lot, a flicker of doubt passed across her face.

“I’ve never crossed into vigilante territory before,” she admitted quietly.

“You did tonight.”

“…and it already feels…” She searched for the word. “Complicated.”

“Good.”

She looked up, surprised.

“If it ever stops feeling complicated,” he said, “that’s when you should be scared.”

Another pause.

She glanced at the camera again.

“Are we going to jail?”

“Probably not,” he said, “but we’ll get paperwork. Maybe court dates. Maybe press.”

Her shoulders lowered slightly- relief mixed with unease.

He leaned back again, staring at the ceiling.

“Lesson one,” he repeated more softly. “They don’t like you. And they never will.”

That landed.

Not as anger.

Not as rebellion.

As something heavier.

Raven looked at the concrete floor.

A small part of her- the part that still wanted institutions to work- dimmed just a little.

…and that saddened her more than the cuffs had.

The fluorescent light buzzed overhead.

Somewhere down the corridor, a chair scraped against concrete. A voice barked a name. Then quiet again.

Raven watched Endgame for a long moment before speaking.

“Are you worried?”

He didn’t look at her.

“About what?”

“Jail.”

That made him glance sideways.

“You mean the orange jumpsuit aesthetic? Not my color.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She held his gaze this time.

“You don’t seem concerned.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“I don’t worry.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It is when you’ve done your homework.”

She frowned slightly.

“What homework?”

He studied the camera again, then lowered his voice half a notch- not conspiratorial, just measured.

“I built a relationship.”

“With who?”

“Peace.”

The name landed with weight.

Not fear. Not awe.

Institution.

Reform.

Process.

“You’re connected?” she asked.

“Connected is a generous word.” He flexed his wrists, feeling the faint indentation from the cuffs. “We understand each other.”

“That doesn’t sound clean.”

“It isn’t.”

He shrugged slightly.

“He knows I see things before the reports do. I know he can’t act on half of what he knows without plausible deniability.”

“…and that protects you?”

“It doesn’t protect me,” Endgame said. “It contextualizes me.”

She processed that.

“So you’re not worried.”

“I’ve spent years building goodwill. Delivering information. Not crossing certain lines.”

“You slashed tires.”

He gave her a sideways look.

“Strategic inconvenience.”

“That’s still illegal.”

“Sure…but it’s not random…and it’s not selfish.”

Silence settled again.

“You make it sound easy,” she said.

“It’s not.”

He leaned back against the wall.

“This is why I tell the cosplay revolutionaries and blog-comment crusaders to stay home.”

Her eyebrow lifted slightly.

“You have fans?”

“Unfortunately.”

“…and you tell them not to copy you?”

“Relentlessly.”

“Why?”

“Because they think it’s a costume.” He nodded vaguely toward the hall where their belongings sat in evidence bins. “They think you put on a mask and suddenly you’re untouchable.”

He shook his head once.

“I needed years to get where I am. Years of showing up. Years of not screwing it up. Years of building a reputation that even people who hate me have to account for.”

“…and someone new doesn’t have that.”

“Someone new gets arrested,” he said plainly. “Or worse.”

She absorbed that.

“You didn’t look like you were trying to impress anyone out there.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I was,” she admitted quietly.

He looked at her again.

“That’s normal.”

“I saw you,” she continued. “I saw them. I didn’t think about long-term consequences. I just- moved.”

“Instinct,” he said.

“Yes.”

“That’s not the dangerous part.”

“What is?”

“Believing instinct is enough.”

She sat with that.

“You’re saying I shouldn’t have helped.”

“I’m saying,” he replied evenly, “if you’re going to step into this world, you don’t do it on impulse. You build infrastructure first.”

“Infrastructure?”

“Relationships. Patterns. Restraint. A line you don’t cross.”

“…and if you don’t?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“You don’t get the benefit of the doubt,” he said finally.

She looked down at the concrete again.

“I didn’t think about benefit of the doubt.”

“No one does the first time.”

Another distant door clanged.

She looked back up at him.

“So you’re not worried because Peace sees you as essential.”

“Not essential,” he corrected. “Useful.”

“That’s better?”

“It’s safer.”

The fluorescent hum returned to prominence.

Raven leaned back against the wall now too.

A little less certain than before.

A little more aware of the cost.

…and for the first time since stepping into the parking lot, she understood that crossing into vigilante territory wasn’t just about courage.

It was about longevity.

…and she had none of that yet.

The hallway noise softened as the night shift settled into routine.

Raven sat forward now, elbows on her knees, hands clasped loosely.

“Give me advice,” she said.

Endgame didn’t answer immediately.

“That’s a dangerous sentence.”

“I’m serious.”

“I can tell.”

She held his gaze.

“If I… if I decide to keep doing this,” she said carefully, “I don’t want to be reckless.”

He studied her face for a long moment.

She wasn’t chasing adrenaline.

She wasn’t dazzled.

She was calculating.

He exhaled through his nose.

“You’re actually thinking about it.”

“Yes.”

“That’s either very good or very bad.”

“I don’t want to be stupid.”

“You already avoided that by not arguing with the officers.”

“That wasn’t strategy. That was shock.”

“Still counts.”

She waited.

He ran a hand over his jaw, considering.

“I don’t have a clean blueprint,” he admitted. “Most of what I did was trial and error.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“No. It’s honest.”

She didn’t look away.

He leaned forward slightly.

“Fine. If you’re serious, the most important thing isn’t combat.”

She glanced at the camera again, then back.

“It’s not?”

“No. It’s people.”

“People are the problem.”

“People are the leverage.”

He pointed subtly toward the hallway.

“You don’t survive in this space by being liked.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“Good. Because likeable gets you applause. Useful gets you protection.”

She processed that.

“You have to understand how people think,” he continued. “What they fear. What they’ll tolerate. What makes them hesitate.”

“…and then?”

“Then you make yourself indispensable to the right ones.”

“Peace,” she said quietly.

He didn’t smile.

“Peace.”

“You said he sees you as useful.”

“Eventually.”

“That didn’t happen overnight.”

“No.”

He leaned back again.

“It took years of showing up. Years of not embarrassing him. Years of making sure when I broke something, it was something he couldn’t publicly defend anyway.”

“That sounds… delicate.”

“It is.”

She absorbed the word.

“So if I do this,” she said carefully, “I need to think long-term.”

“You need to think ten moves ahead,” he corrected, “and you need to decide what line you won’t cross.”

“…and if I don’t know that yet?”

“Then you’re not ready.”

The metal door at the end of the hall buzzed.

Footsteps approached- purposeful, unhurried.

Endgame’s posture shifted slightly.

Not tense.

Alert.

The door opened.

Elian Reyes stepped in.

No uniform tonight- plain jacket, collared shirt, expression tight but controlled. His presence carried authority without volume.

The officer at the desk straightened slightly.

“Officer Reyes.”

“Evening,” Elian replied calmly, eyes already moving past him toward the holding area.

They met Endgame’s first.

“You look terrible,” Elian said dryly.

“Flattered you noticed.”

Elian’s gaze flicked to Raven- assessing, not accusing.

“She with you?”

“She was helpful,” Endgame said.

Elian exhaled once, then turned to the desk.

“I’m here to clear this up.”

The desk officer tapped the tablet.

“Assault, property damage, multiple complainants.”

“I’m aware,” Elian said. “Release him into my custody.”

The officer hesitated.

“That’s not how this works.”

“It can be.”

“Not tonight.”

Elian’s jaw tightened slightly.

“What’s the obstacle?”

“Directive came down after the ACCA arrest earlier. Any associated violent disturbance requires formal supervisory sign-off.”

“From who?”

The officer checked the screen.

“Norah Anam.”

Endgame made a small noise in the back of his throat.

Elian didn’t look at him.

“Call her.”

“She has to sign in person.”

Elian stared.

“That’s unnecessary.”

“It’s policy.”

“She’s not even in the same country.”

“We’re aware.”

“She’s in Florida.”

“Yes, sir.”

Elian’s composure thinned by a fraction.

“That makes in-person authorization impossible.”

The officer gave a small shrug.

“Then they stay.”

Endgame leaned back against the wall again.

Raven looked between the two men, processing new information quickly.

Elian turned slowly back toward the holding cell.

For the first time since entering, his expression wasn’t controlled irritation.

It was calculation.

…and the air in the room shifted again.

The silence lingered after Elian stepped away from the desk.

Raven watched him exit through the buzzing door, then turned back to Endgame.

“What’s the line you don’t cross?” she asked.

He didn’t answer immediately.

For the first time that evening, he didn’t have a reflexive response.

“That’s not something I can give you,” he said finally.

“You don’t know?”

“I know mine.”

“Then tell me.”

He shook his head once.

“If I tell you mine, you’ll borrow it.”

“…and that’s bad?”

“It’s lazy.”

She frowned slightly.

“I’m asking because I don’t want to screw this up.”

“…and I’m telling you that’s the part you can’t outsource.”

He leaned forward again.

“If you don’t draw your own line, someone else will draw it for you. Police. Criminals. Public opinion. A partner.”

She held his gaze.

“You need to decide what you won’t do,” he continued. “Not what you’re willing to do.”

“That’s abstract.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

She looked down at her hands again.

“What’s yours?” she asked quietly.

He hesitated- not evasive, just careful.

“I don’t hurt people who can’t hurt me back.”

She absorbed that.

“…and?”

“…and I don’t make moves I can’t defend later.”

That lingered between them.

The metal door buzzed again as Elian stepped outside into the colder air of the administrative entryway.

He dialed.

Norah answered on the second ring.

“I assume this isn’t social,” she said evenly.

“Two detained,” Elian replied. “Property damage, alleged assault. They’re refusing release without your in-person signature.”

A pause.

“That’s not compliant.”

“They’re citing supervisory protocol tied to the ACCA arrest earlier.”

“They’re conflating statutes.”

“I’m aware.”

Another brief silence on the line- the sound of air conditioning in the background, distant traffic.

“The Peace Charter is clear,” Norah said calmly. “Civic Security cannot override my authority on interagency holds without documented cause.”

“They’re claiming violent disturbance.”

“That does not suspend Charter obligations.”

Elian’s tone remained controlled.

“They say you must sign in person.”

“I am in Florida.”

“I mentioned that.”

“Put the officer in charge on the phone.”

Elian turned back inside.

The desk officer stiffened slightly as he approached.

“She wants to speak to the supervising officer.”

A heavier-set officer stepped forward from a side office- senior badge, clipped tone.

“Who is this?”

Elian extended the phone.

“Norah Anam.”

The officer hesitated, then took it.

“This is Lieutenant Harper.”

Norah’s voice came through steady and precise.

“Lieutenant, under Section 4.3 of the Peace Charter, my verbal directive is sufficient for provisional release pending documentation.”

“With respect, ma’am, we were instructed-”

“You were instructed to ensure procedural compliance. You are not authorized to create additional barriers.”

A beat.

“The situation involved weapons and property damage.”

“I am aware,” Norah said. “Email me the incident paperwork. I will review and sign it securely within the hour.”

“That does not address-”

“It addresses everything,” she replied, still calm. “You may hold them until documentation is transmitted, but you may not require physical presence when remote authentication is permitted under the Charter.”

The officer’s jaw worked slightly.

“You’re confident in this directive?”

“I drafted that section,” Norah said evenly.

Silence stretched.

“Email the documentation,” she repeated. “You will have my signature within sixty minutes.”

The officer exhaled slowly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He handed the phone back to Elian.

Elian met his eyes for half a second- not triumph, just acknowledgment- then stepped a few feet away to finish the call.

Inside the holding cell, Raven and Endgame watched the shift in posture ripple through the officers.

Something had changed.

…but nothing was settled yet.

The hallway outside the holding area was quieter now.

You could feel the bureaucratic machinery grinding- slower than violence, but just as decisive.

Raven leaned back against the wall again.

“I’ll figure my line out,” she said quietly.

“Good,” Endgame replied. “Because you don’t get to borrow mine.”

A faint silence settled between them.

Then he tilted his head slightly.

“You’re lucky.”

Her brow furrowed.

“Lucky?”

“One,” he said, counting with two fingers, “because I find you tolerable enough to talk to.”

She gave him the smallest, reluctant almost-smile.

“That’s high praise.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“…and two?”

“Two,” he continued, voice flattening a little, “because most people who try this don’t get arrested on day one.”

She blinked.

“That’s lucky?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Because a lot of people start doing the vigilante thing,” he said, “and nothing bad happens immediately. No cuffs. No ER visit. No court date.”

“…and that’s worse?”

“That’s when they start thinking it’s a hobby.”

She watched him carefully now.

“They think it’s adrenaline,” he continued. “They think it’s content. They think it’s branding.”

Her expression shifted- faint recognition of that cultural undercurrent.

“They don’t take it seriously,” he said. “Until they’re bleeding. Or in jail. Or someone else is.”

She swallowed slightly.

“I’m taking it seriously.”

“I know,” he replied. “That’s why you’re still here thinking instead of trying to justify yourself.”

She looked down briefly, then back up.

“I hope I never end up in the hospital.”

He studied her for a moment.

“I wish you luck on that one.”

That landed harder than the joke suggested.

Silence again.

Footsteps approached.

The door buzzed.

Elian stepped back into view, posture composed but intent.

The supervising officer followed with a tablet in hand.

“Provisional release authorized,” the officer said stiffly. “Pending formal documentation.”

Endgame stood slowly.

“See?” he muttered to Raven. “Paperwork.”

The officer unlocked the cell.

“Wilson, you’re being released into Officer Reyes’ supervision.”

Endgame stepped forward- then stopped.

“And her.”

The officer glanced at Raven.

“She’s a separate-”

“No,” Endgame cut in calmly. “Packaged deal.”

Raven looked at him, surprised.

“You intervened in the same incident,” he continued. “Same location. Same statements. You process one, you process both.”

The officer’s jaw tightened.

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is to me.”

Elian stepped in smoothly.

“She cooperated fully. No prior record attached. No active complainant against her.”

A pause.

The supervising officer exhaled through his nose.

“Fine. Both released. Additional paperwork will be filed.”

As Raven stepped out, one of the officers muttered quietly to Elian:

“This is going to generate extra reporting.”

Elian didn’t look at him.

“Then generate it.”

The cuffs were fully removed.

Property returned- minus the scythe, which would require a retrieval form in the morning.

Endgame rolled his shoulders once, testing mobility.

Raven flexed her wrists subtly.

The fluorescent lights felt harsher outside the cell than inside it.

They were free.

…but not clean.

…and everyone in the room knew it.

Zasaramel’s House, Rocky River Beach, February 3, 2023

06:12 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS

The lake was still iron-gray at dawn.

Waves rolled in with quiet, patient rhythm against the cold February shoreline. The house that sat just above the sand wasn’t grand- no sprawling glass façade, no gated drive- just a sturdy, weather-worn structure with wide windows facing the water and enough space for a growing family.

The International Wrestling Council (IWC) paid well.

Just not World Fighting Empire (WFE) well.

Inside, warmth held against the winter air.

Watcher lay at the foot of the bed- thick-coated, broad-shouldered, one ear half-tilted in perpetual vigilance. The Akita-Rottweiler mix had been a rescue, wary at first, slow to trust. Zas had named him after the man who had once trained him in the Carnelian Blade.

The original Watcher was dead.

This one snored softly.

Upstairs, Arel-Sin- almost a teenager now- slept through the dawn with the indifference of someone just beginning to stretch into adolescence.

Down the hall, two cribs.

Two different temperaments.

Two different outcomes.

At precisely 06:12, Zasaramel felt something warm and intrusive enter his left nostril.

He did not jolt.

Years of discipline meant he woke in layers.

First awareness.

Then location.

Then threat assessment.

There was no threat.

Only a small, determined finger.

He opened one eye.

Kyren stood on the mattress beside him- barefoot, triumphant, curls a quiet riot around her face. Sixteen months old and already built like someone who had inherited his skeletal stubbornness. Ruby’s eyes. His structure.

She leaned forward with total concentration and tried again.

Ruby stirred beside him.

“…no,” she mumbled, half-asleep. “Not the nose.”

Kyren giggled.

Zas exhaled through his mouth and gently lifted her wrist.

“Strategically unsound,” he muttered.

She responded by placing her palm over his mouth instead.

Watcher’s head lifted slightly from the foot of the bed. One eye opened. Assessed. Approved. Head back down.

Ruby pushed herself up on one elbow, hair falling across her face.

“She did it again?”

“She did.”

“Crib escape?”

“Successful operation.”

Ruby squinted toward the hallway.

“I thought we lowered the mattress.”

“We did.”

Kyren tried to crawl across Zas’ chest now, aiming for higher ground.

“Apparently not enough,” Ruby sighed.

Downstairs, faint movement in the kitchen.

Joanna was already awake.

She stood barefoot at the stove wearing one of Zas’ old tunics- loose on him once, now draping nearly to her knees like a makeshift dress. Her hair was tied back loosely, sleeves rolled, moving with easy familiarity through morning routine.

Pans warmed.

Eggs cracked.

Fruit cut into careful, soft pieces.

Souren- fourteen months, darker hair, quieter temperament- sat in a small chair nearby, contentedly chewing on a wooden spoon.

Upstairs, Zas finally sat up, lifting Kyren with practiced efficiency and settling her against his shoulder.

“You’re growing ambitious,” he told her quietly.

She patted his cheek with absolute authority.

Ruby rubbed her eyes.

“It might be time.”

“For?”

“Toddler bed.”

Zas paused.

He had been putting that off.

Toddler bed meant:

No containment.

More freedom.

More unpredictability.

Kyren, now attempting to climb down his back like a small mountaineer, made the decision for him.

“…yes,” he said finally. “It might be.”

Ruby leaned her head briefly against his shoulder.

“She’s strong.”

“She is.”

“…and she knows it.”

“That is the concerning part.”

He stood, settling Kyren securely on his hip.

The hallway carried the smell of breakfast now.

Domestic.

Ordinary.

Fragile in ways combat never was.

Zas stepped into the kitchen.

Joanna glanced up.

“She did it again, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

Joanna smiled faintly.

“I’m getting the toddler bed today.”

Zas opened his mouth as if to object.

Closed it.

Then nodded.

“Yes,” he said again, softer this time. “We are.”

Kyren reached for the edge of the counter, fascinated by the movement of the pan.

Souren blinked at her, unimpressed.

Watcher padded into the kitchen and took up position near the doorway- sentinel of a different kind now.

Outside, the lake rolled steadily against the shore.

Inside, the day began with eggs, dog hair, and a toddler who had already learned how to escape her confinement.

…and for a moment, that was the only battle that mattered.

The house is quiet in the way only early morning can be- not silent, but soft. The hum of the refrigerator. The distant hiss of wind off the lake. The faint clatter of a spoon against a bowl.

Zasaramel steps into the hallway, Kyren balanced on his hip. She is awake and victorious, having once again escaped her crib. Souren’s low babble drifts from the nursery behind him.

On the wall near the living room hangs the scythe.

Polished. Maintained. Not displayed for glory- just present.

Zas walks past it without slowing.

At the kitchen table, Arel-Sin sits hunched over a bowl of cereal, eyes half-closed, hair still unruly from sleep.

“Homework?” Zas asks.

Arel-Sin nods without looking up. “Yeah.”

“Show me after school.”

Another nod. A slow spoonful.

Ruby leans in the doorway, arms folded, watching Kyren try to grab at Zas’s beard. Joanna is already moving between stove and counter, barefoot, wearing one of Zas’s long tunics that nearly brushes her knees. Watcher lies under the table, tail thumping lazily.

Zas sets Kyren into her high chair and finally checks his phone.

One new email.

IWC Legal.

He opens it.

Another procedural motion from WFE’s counsel. Not substantive. Not urgent…but one more delay. One more billable hour. One more reminder that walking away does not mean being released.

He exhales once.

Locks the phone.

Ruby watches his face. “Goldstein?”

“Motion practice,” he replies. “They’re stretching it.”

“Of course they are.”

Joanna turns off the burner and sets down a plate. “They want you tired.”

Zas nods. Not angry. Just aware.

He sits at the table, hands folded, staring past the surface of the wood grain.

After a moment, Ruby says, casually but not casually, “You got another email about Ember Hollow too.”

Zas looks up.

“It’s still yours,” she adds. “Technically.”

“Ownership in the Blade is… fluid.”

“You know what I mean.”

He does.

Ember Hollow. The old temple. The stone corridors. The training yard carved into rock. The place that made him.

…and nearly unmade him.

“I could renovate it,” he says quietly. “Turn it into something different. A sanctuary. For people who want out.”

Ruby doesn’t react immediately. She wipes Kyren’s hands with a cloth. “With what money?”

Zas doesn’t answer.

Joanna sets a plate in front of Arel-Sin. “We need a toddler bed before we rebuild a mountain monastery.”

That earns the faintest hint of a smile from Ruby.

Zas’s gaze drifts, almost involuntarily, toward the hallway.

Toward the wall.

Toward the scythe.

“It doesn’t have to be what it was,” he says.

Ruby meets his eyes. “Or it can just… not be.”

Silence settles between them- not hostile, but heavy.

Watcher shifts under the table.

Arel-Sin crunches cereal.

Kyren bangs her spoon.

The lake wind pushes faintly against the windows.

Zas folds his hands again.

He does not say he misses the place.

He does not say he fears what happens if someone else takes it.

He does not say he’s not sure who he is without it.

Instead, he reaches for Souren’s bottle and tests the temperature.

“After breakfast,” he says, calm and steady, “we’ll look at toddler beds.”

Ruby nods once.

Joanna gives him a small, knowing look.

The scythe remains on the wall.

Untouched.

A knock at the door.

Not hesitant. Not frantic. Just firm.

Zasaramel looks toward it before anyone else moves. He stands slowly, instinctively, as if something inside him already knows.

He opens the door.

Cold air spills into the hallway.

He does not speak.

He just stands there.

Ruby freezes in the kitchen doorway. She has seen that look before- the stillness, the narrowing of the eyes, the slight forward lean.

The “deer in the headlights” look.

Something big.

“Zas?” she calls quietly.

He steps outside and closes the door behind him.

Endgame stands on the porch, collar up, hands shoved in his pockets. Raven stands beside him, steady, shoulders squared against the wind coming off the lake.

The February air cuts sharp.

Zas folds his arms across his chest. He does not shiver.

Endgame gives a tight smile. “You know, I respect the stoic outdoor greeting, but could we do this inside? It is aggressively freezing.”

The lake wind howls down the street.

Zas studies them both for a long moment.

Then he opens the door.

“You have two minutes,” he says.

They step inside.

Watcher rises immediately from under the table, ears up, low rumble in his chest.

Joanna and Ruby stare.

Arel-Sin straightens in his chair, no longer sleepy.

Endgame kicks the door closed with his heel and rubs his hands together. “Ah. Civilization.”

Raven gives a small nod toward Ruby and Joanna. Controlled. Respectful.

Endgame drops onto the couch like he owns it.

Watcher does not appreciate that.

Raven sits properly at the edge of the cushion.

Endgame squints at Zas.

“You grew a beard.”

Zas remains standing.

“Yes.”

“In the Blade you were allergic to hair. Whole ascetic monk thing.”

“Circumstances change.”

Endgame tilts his head. “What’s next? Man bun? Leather apron? Artisan bread?”

From the kitchen, Joanna says, “A man bun would actually be hot.”

Ruby stifles a laugh.

Zas doesn’t blink. “There will be no man buns.”

Endgame sighs dramatically. “Tragic.”

The humor fades on its own.

Zas steps forward, arms still folded.

“We are not friends,” he says evenly.

“I am aware,” Endgame replies.

Silence stretches.

The house feels smaller.

The scythe hangs on the wall down the hallway.

Zas looks from Endgame to Raven.

Raven holds his gaze. No bravado. No apology.

Just purpose.

Zas’ voice lowers, controlled.

“Why are you here?”

Endgame opens his mouth.

Zas doesn’t raise his voice.

…but the room shifts.

“Not you.”

Two words.

Flat. Final.

Endgame closes his mouth.

It’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. Yet something in Zas’ posture- the way he squares his shoulders, the way he plants his feet- makes even Watcher go still.

This is not the wrestling trainer.

This is the man who used to live in Ember Hollow.

Zas turns to Raven.

She wasn’t expecting that.

Her breath catches.

For a moment, she looks almost young again- not the vigilante, not the performer with the scythe- just someone who suddenly isn’t sure how to start.

“I-” she begins, then glances at Endgame. “He brought me-”

Zas doesn’t blink.

“Why are you here?”

The question lands heavier the second time.

Raven swallows.

“Well… I work at the King’s Harem now.”

A beat.

“That is not why you are here,” Zas says.

The babies sense it. Kyren stops banging her spoon. Souren makes a soft, confused sound. Even Arel-Sin doesn’t move.

The tension is thick enough to press against the windows.

Zas steps half a pace closer. Not aggressive. Just present.

“You are here,” he says quietly, “because something happened.”

Raven’s eyes glisten.

Zas maintains his tone.

“Someone came. Something that is not small. That is why Endgame took you here.”

She tries to keep her composure.

Fails a little.

“You told me,” she blurts, voice tightening, “you told me that I could come to you whenever I need help.”

The words hang in the air.

Zas’ expression softens- not weakness, not surrender- but recognition.

“I stand by that,” he says. Warm. Firm.

Raven’s shoulders lower just slightly.

She nods.

…but she still doesn’t know how to say it.

Endgame shifts on the couch.

Exhales.

“Can I finally speak?”

Zas lifts a hand.

Not fast.

Not dramatic.

Just enough.

Endgame stands anyway.

“If you’re not going to let me talk,” he says, voice sharpening, “I can cut you down where you stand.”

Watcher is on his feet instantly.

Zas does not move.

He doesn’t flare.
He doesn’t threaten.
He just exists.

The air tightens.

Before it can tip-

“There will be no blood spilled in this house.”

Joanna’s voice cuts clean through the room.

Not loud.
Not hysterical.
Certain.

Both men obey immediately.

Endgame exhales first and drops back half a step.
Zas lowers his hand.

Joanna steps forward, placing herself between them without even seeming to try.

“What,” she says evenly, “is going on here?”

The authority in her tone changes the geometry of the room.

Raven looks at Joanna and something in her softens. Not submission- safety.

She takes a breath.

“I left work yesterday,” she says, wiping at her eyes quickly. “King’s Harem. I saw him-” she nods toward Endgame, “-getting jumped. I thought they were bandits. I still think they were.”

Endgame shrugs slightly but doesn’t interrupt.

“I stepped in,” Raven continues. “We handled it.”

Her jaw tightens.

“…and then the police showed up.”

A pause.

“They arrested us.”

The words come faster now.

“They let the other guys go. They let them go…and I don’t understand that. I moved here because I thought things would work here. I thought Cleveland would work.”

Her voice cracks.

“…but it doesn’t. Not the way I thought.”

Kyren makes a small, uncertain sound. Ruby picks her up automatically.

Raven swallows hard.

“I wanted to be a warrior,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Like you. Controlled. Disciplined…but I’m in way over my head.”

The admission costs her something.

“I wanted to find you,” she adds. “I didn’t know where you were. He did.”

She gestures faintly toward Endgame.

Endgame lifts his chin slightly. “She moves like you do, Zas. That’s why I brought her.”

Raven tries to keep it together.

Fails.

The tears come fast and unguarded.

Joanna steps closer.

“Do you need a hug?”

Raven nods once.

Joanna wraps her arms around her- steady, grounding, no judgment. Raven leans into it like someone who’s been bracing for hours.

Ruby watches quietly, protective but calm.

The babies settle.

The house breathes again.

Zas and Endgame are left standing across from each other.

Measured.

Intent.

“I believe she has said all she knows,” Zas says quietly.

His eyes do not leave Endgame.

“Now it’s your turn.”

“The Griffin Gang,” Endgame says, settling back into the couch like he’s delivering a report, not a rant.

Zas glances briefly at him, then turns back to Raven. He places a steady hand between her shoulders as she cries quietly into Joanna’s tunic.

Endgame continues.

“They run out of Grand Rapids. Named themselves after the Griffins. Minor league hockey branding for organized theft.”

No one reacts.

“I spotted them at Castle Con. Working the floor. Vendors. Cosplayers. Distracted crowds. Clean lifts. Two-person rotations.”

He looks around the room.

“Thousands of people there. Security everywhere. No one intervened.”

A beat.

“That’s what ACCA does.”

Ruby stiffens. “Harassment is serious.”

“I know it is,” Endgame says immediately. No mockery. No dismissal. “That’s not the argument.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“ACCA replaces judgment with liability fear. It criminalizes ambiguity. When you make every physical intervention a potential legal event, people stop acting.”

He gestures vaguely, as if pointing at the convention hall.

“Those security guards weren’t lazy. They were cautious. Civilians weren’t apathetic. They were calculating risk.”

He looks at Zas.

“When you ram something like ACCA through, you teach people that stepping in is more dangerous than stepping back.”

Ruby frowns. “So we just let harassment slide?”

“No,” Endgame replies calmly. “You build investigative capacity. You strengthen cross-jurisdiction coordination. You target organized crews.”

His tone hardens slightly.

“…but ACCA doesn’t do that. It centralizes reporting, escalates compliance metrics, and floods agencies with process. Meanwhile, the Griffins walk.”

He spreads his hands.

“ACCA makes the state look decisive. It doesn’t make the street safer.”

Silence.

“You can call it protection,” he adds. “Criminal networks call it distraction.”

“Marian.”

The word lands heavy.

“Three years ago they thought they were optimizing. Tightened enforcement in some areas. Overcorrected in others. Agencies started chasing public metrics instead of managing systems.”

He looks around the house- the babies, the dog, the scythe down the hallway.

“Criminal networks adapted faster than the state did.”

A beat.

“…and now it’s under a Peace mandate.”

Ruby shifts slightly but doesn’t interrupt.

“I’m not saying Ohio collapses tomorrow,” Endgame says.

“I’m saying when Michigan gangs start running daylight operations in Cleveland and walking away untouched, they think something is off.”

He meets Zas’s eyes evenly.

“They’re testing.”

…and this time, there is no humor in his voice.

“They think the state is distracted.”

“Every state is reactive,” Ruby says. “Every state has blind spots. How is Ohio different?”

Endgame nods once.

“Good question.”

He doesn’t dodge it.

“Ohio isn’t different because it has blind spots. It’s different because it thinks it doesn’t.”

A beat.

“UCSS sells optimization. Stability through metrics. Predictive governance. The whole ‘we engineered democracy’ pitch.”

He gestures toward nothing in particular- Gotham Hill as an idea.

“When a messy republic like Marian fractures, everyone shrugs. They expect volatility. When a frontier state implodes, no one’s shocked.”

He looks at Zas.

“…but when a technocracy that prides itself on control starts overcorrecting? That’s when the cracks matter.”

He leans back slightly.

“Ohio’s enforcement structure is built on data confidence. If the data gets skewed- if leadership starts chasing compliance optics over street intelligence- the system doesn’t bend. It freezes.”

Silence.

“…and frozen systems create vacuums.”

He glances toward Raven.

“The Griffins aren’t testing Ohio because it’s weak.”

A beat.

“They’re testing it because it’s rigid.”

Endgame pushes himself off the couch.

“I should go.”

Raven looks up immediately, instinctively preparing to follow.

Zas doesn’t look at her.

“She can stay.”

Raven hesitates.

Zas turns slightly. “You came here for help. Stay.”

That’s not permission.

That’s protection.

Raven moves to the living room table quietly and sits, hands folded, still recovering.

Endgame pauses mid-step.

He sniffs the air.

“Are those eggs?”

No one answers.

“They smell… aggressively excellent.”

Zas gives him a flat look. “You’re not staying.”

“I gathered.”

Joanna disappears into the kitchen anyway.

Zas notices.

“Joanna-”

“Shh.”

Ruby smirks slightly.

A moment later, Joanna returns with a foil-wrapped breakfast burrito.

She hands it to Endgame.

“For the road.”

Zas exhales through his nose but says nothing.

Endgame accepts it with exaggerated reverence. “You are a national treasure.”

“Eat outside,” Zas says.

They step onto the porch.

The lake wind hits them again, colder now.

Endgame doesn’t joke this time.

He unwraps the burrito halfway but doesn’t take a bite yet.

“I get it,” he says quietly.

Zas waits.

“I get why you left the Blade.”

The words aren’t mocking.

“They burn through people. They don’t build anything that lasts.”

Zas doesn’t confirm. Doesn’t deny.

Endgame looks back at the house- the lights in the window, the movement inside.

“You built something that lasts.”

A pause.

“…but Ohio’s shifting.”

He looks at Zas again.

“…and if it keeps shifting the way I think it will, I’m going to need help.”

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

“I don’t need your friendship.”

He shrugs slightly.

“…but I need you as an ally.”

That lands.

Zas studies him.

The wind moves between them.

Inside, faintly, a baby laughs.

Zas considers.

He didn’t leave the Blade to form new pacts.

He left to stop needing them.

…but he also knows what happens when warning signs get ignored.

Finally:

“If I see the same patterns you do,” Zas says evenly, “you will have my help.”

Endgame holds his gaze.

“That’s good enough.”

Zas extends his hand.

Not casual.

Forearm grip.

Warrior’s clasp.

Not nostalgia.

Recognition.

Endgame returns it firmly.

No smile.

No theatrics.

Then Zas releases him.

“Next time,” Zas says, “call.”

Endgame smirks faintly. “Where’s the drama in that?”

Zas’s expression doesn’t change.

“Call.”

A beat.

“…I’ll call.”

Endgame turns, steps off the porch, and disappears down the walk, burrito in hand.

Zas watches until he’s out of sight.

Then he goes back inside.

The house is warm again.

Zas closes the door behind him and stands still for half a second, letting the warmth settle back into his shoulders.

Ruby checks the clock on the stove.

“Bus in eight.”

Zas nods.

Arel-Sin is already halfway to his backpack but moving at the speed of someone who still wishes it were Saturday.

“Shoes,” Zas says.

Arel-Sin groans softly but complies.

Zas kneels, checks the straps on the backpack, tucks in a loose notebook corner. Domestic precision. Not Blade discipline- father discipline.

“You show me that math sheet later,” Zas says.

“I will.”

Zas rests a hand briefly on the boy’s shoulder, then they step outside together toward the bus stop at the corner.

The house quiets slightly without them.

Joanna turns back to the stove and cracks more eggs into the pan.

“You’re staying,” she says gently to Raven, not as a question.

Raven nods.

Ruby opens the fridge. “You like oat milk?”

Raven blinks, slightly caught off guard by the normalcy. “Yeah. I do.”

Ruby pulls out a carton and sets it on the counter.

Joanna glances over her shoulder. “Oh, she must really like you.”

Ruby gives Joanna a look. “It’s expensive.”

“That’s my point.”

Raven almost laughs- the first real hint of it all morning.

Watcher rises from where he’d been lying and pads over, heavy paws thudding softly against the hardwood. He lowers his head into Raven’s lap without hesitation.

Raven freezes for half a second.

Then she strokes behind his ears.

The dog sighs.

Joanna notices. Ruby does too.

“He doesn’t do that with everyone,” Ruby says.

Watcher’s tail thumps once against the floor.

Joanna plates the eggs and slides the dish across the table toward Raven.

“You’re fitting in nicely,” Joanna says, casual but deliberate.

Raven swallows, emotion flickering again- but softer this time.

She scratches Watcher’s neck.

The wind rattles faintly against the windows again, but the house feels steadier now.

Joanna leans her elbows on the counter.

“So,” she says gently, “how do you know Zas?”

Raven keeps petting Watcher as she begins.

“I’m from Portage,” she says. “Indiana Dunes.”

Joanna nods slightly. Ruby pours oat milk into a mug.

“My family’s Catholic,” Raven continues. “Very Catholic. They tried to raise me that way. It just… didn’t stick.”

She shrugs faintly.

“They weren’t monsters. They were scared.”

A pause.

“I think they thought they were losing control of me before I even knew who I was.”

Joanna doesn’t interrupt.

“It got worse when I was eleven,” Raven says. “Puberty hit like a freight train.”

Her voice steadies- not defensive, not proud.

“I got aggressive. I kissed a boy at school. He got scared. Told a teacher.”

She looks down at Watcher’s ears.

“I’m not saying that was fine. It wasn’t. I didn’t know what I was doing. I just felt… overwhelmed. Like my body was on fire and no one explained what that meant.”

She exhales.

“No one saw that part. They just saw ‘problem.’”

Ruby leans quietly against the counter.

“That incident confirmed everything my parents already feared.”

Raven’s mouth tightens slightly.

“After that, discipline got… heavy.”

She doesn’t dramatize it.

“Grounded constantly. Phone gone. Door off hinges once. If I breathed wrong, it became proof I was spiraling.”

Even the small details feel sharper than shouting would.

“I started hating being home.”

The eggs on the stove crackle softly.

“So I bought a notebook,” Raven says. “Started staying at the library until dark. I’d do homework. Write. Just… exist somewhere that wasn’t charged.”

She gives a faint, almost embarrassed smile.

“I’d either buy something cheap for dinner or wait until my parents were watching TV and raid the fridge. Made myself something quick.”

Watcher sighs contentedly.

“I hid the notebook. That was important. If they couldn’t find it, they couldn’t take it.”

A small beat.

“That worked for a while.”

Her hand stills slightly on the dog’s fur.

“Until the pantry light.”

Joanna tilts her head slightly.

“The pantry door goes almost to the floor. You can’t see the light from outside. I left it on.”

She gives a faint, humorless breath.

“It was stupid. Easy mistake.”

She looks up now.

“My dad didn’t care. He was already gearing up. Same speech. Same punishment.”

Her voice doesn’t rise- it flattens.

“…and I just… didn’t want to hear it.”

The room feels very still.

“I walked toward the door. Grabbed my backpack. The notebook was inside.”

Ruby’s expression tightens.

“He said, ‘If you walk out that door, you won’t be allowed back in.’”

Raven nods once.

“I walked out.”

A beat.

“I thought he was bluffing.”

Her jaw tightens.

“He wasn’t.”

Raven keeps her voice steady.

“I didn’t know what to do after that.”

She doesn’t dramatize it. She just states it.

“My mom came outside once. She said she was sorry…but she sided with him.”

A small shrug.

“She said I’d pushed too far.”

Ruby looks down at the counter.

“I called friends. Knocked on doors. Couch-surfed for a bit.”

She gives a faint breath of a laugh.

“That gets old fast.”

Her jaw tightens.

“I’m pretty sure my parents were talking. Small town. I started noticing doors closing before I even knocked.”

No bitterness. Just memory.

“So I took what little money I had and bought a bus ticket to Ohio.”

Joanna nods slightly.

“I tried to cross the border. Didn’t have ID. UCSS officials wouldn’t let me through.”

Ruby winces faintly.

“I stayed the night at the Fremont bus station. Just across the line.”

She looks down at Watcher.

“I was going to stay another night.”

A pause.

“On my way to the convenience store, someone grabbed me.”

Her hand tightens in the dog’s fur.

“I did what I could. I fought back.”

She swallows.

“…but I wasn’t strong enough.”

Silence fills the room.

“That’s when he showed up.”

She doesn’t look at the door. She doesn’t need to.

“I still don’t know how he found me.”

Ruby thinks for a second. “Fremont’s close to where IWC runs shows sometimes.”

Joanna nods. “That must’ve been early in Zas’ run. He was barely talking to anyone back then.”

Raven manages a faint smile.

“Yeah. He barely talked to me either.”

She continues.

“I remember his apartment. Downtown Cleveland. Tiny. It barely fit him.”

A small glance toward the hallway.

“…and his son.”

Joanna and Ruby exchange a look.

“I didn’t know how I’d fit,” Raven says, “but he insisted.”

She shrugs lightly.

“I stayed a few months. I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Her voice softens.

“He helped me get an apartment. Helped me get ID sorted out. Got me a phone. My first job was at this little burger shack.”

A small smile.

“It wasn’t glamorous…but it was mine.”

She traces a finger absentmindedly along Watcher’s collar.

“Later I saw King’s Harem. It looked… bold. I applied on my own.”

No shame in her tone.

“As I got settled, we trained.”

She glances toward the hallway again.

“It wasn’t regular. He was on the road a lot…but he made time when he could, though more often at the beginning.”

Joanna nods slowly. “There was a stretch where he was traveling constantly.”

“…and he stopped being so… closed off,” Ruby adds. “He started opening up to the locker room more.”

Raven nods.

“I didn’t think he abandoned me.”

A beat.

“I think we just grew apart.”

Her voice doesn’t carry accusation.

“He still texted sometimes. Or emailed. Short stuff.”

She looks down at her hands.

“I knew he got married.”

A pause.

“A few months ago, I went to his old apartment.”

Joanna and Ruby both look up.

“He was gone. No forwarding address. Nobody knew where he went.”

She swallows.

“I sent a message.”

A small shake of her head.

“He never responded.”

The house is quiet now.

“I didn’t think about any of it again.”

Her voice lowers.

“Until yesterday.”

The words hang there.

Not accusation.

Not guilt.

Just gravity.

Joanna and Ruby exchange a look.

Not anger.

…but something close to it.

“He never mentioned her,” Joanna says carefully.

Ruby adds, “Not once.”

Raven straightens a little. “Don’t be upset at him.”

“We’re not,” Ruby says immediately.

Joanna nods. “We’re just… surprised.”

The front door opens.

Cold air rushes in.

Zas steps inside, shoulders dusted with snow. He pauses in the entryway and brushes it off before shutting the door behind him.

The room feels different when he re-enters. Not tense. Just expectant.

He notices the shift immediately.

“What?”

Joanna folds her arms loosely. “Why didn’t you ever tell us about Raven?”

Ruby’s tone is softer but direct, “and why did you stop answering her?”

Zas stands still for a moment.

He doesn’t deflect.

“I met her during a time,” he says slowly, “when I did not open myself to anyone.”

He removes his gloves.

“I was still in Blade mode.”

Joanna tilts her head.

“I did not ask for help,” he continues. “I did not offer explanations. I believed I could manage everything alone.”

Ruby raises an eyebrow. “You’re still in that mode.”

A faint breath of amusement passes through him. Not quite a smile.

“Less so,” he says.

He looks at Raven.

“Our communication faded because I believed you were stabilizing.”

Raven listens without blinking.

“You were finding work. Housing. Structure.”

A pause.

“I thought… you no longer needed me.”

His jaw tightens slightly.

“That was an assumption.”

He exhales.

“I lowered you on my… internal hierarchy.”

The phrase sounds foreign in his mouth.

“I prioritized wrestling. Travel. Reputation recovery.”

Joanna and Ruby say nothing.

“I was busy,” he continues, “but that is not an excuse. It is an explanation.”

He looks at Joanna and Ruby directly.

“I did not tell you about her because I feared misinterpretation.”

Joanna’s expression softens slightly.

“I worried you would assume emotional entanglement.”

Ruby gives a small scoff. “We’re adults.”

“I know that now.”

A beat.

“I am sorry I did not trust you with the truth.”

Silence settles.

Then he turns fully to Raven.

His voice changes- quieter.

“I am sorry I failed you.”

Not dramatic.

Not self-punishing.

Just direct.

The room absorbs it.

…and this time, he does not look away.

Raven steps away from the table.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

She walks toward Zas and wraps her arms around him before she can second-guess it.

He stiffens for half a second- not rejection, just surprise.

Raven speaks into his shoulder.

“You didn’t fail me.”

He doesn’t move yet.

“You changed my life,” she continues. “I don’t think you realized how much.”

Her voice steadies.

“If you hadn’t shown up that night… if you hadn’t let me stay… if you hadn’t helped me get ID, work, training…”

She pulls back slightly so she can look at him.

“You’re more of a father to me than my own dad ever was.”

The word hangs in the air.

Love.

“I love you,” she says simply. “I hope you know that. I hope you do too.”

Zas freezes.

Love.

His mind flashes through categories too quickly- inappropriate, disloyal, dangerous.

Joanna sees it immediately.

“That’s not romantic,” she says gently.

Ruby nods. “That’s family.”

Joanna steps closer. “Parent and child love. The kind that builds people.”

Ruby adds, “You loving her doesn’t betray us.”

Zas exhales slowly.

Something in his shoulders lowers.

He looks at Raven again- not as a former trainee, not as a complication- but as someone who survived because he chose to act.

“I do love you,” he says quietly.

No hesitation now.

“I should have said it sooner.”

His brow tightens slightly.

“I wish I had done more.”

Raven shakes her head.

“The past is the past.”

A small smile touches her face.

“…but we still have a future.”

That lands.

For a moment, the room is warm in a way that has nothing to do with the heater.

Then-

A long, unapologetic noise breaks the silence.

Everyone turns.

Watcher, still seated near the table, looks deeply unbothered.

The smell follows.

Ruby recoils first. “Oh my-”

Joanna bursts into laughter.

Raven covers her mouth.

Even Zas closes his eyes for a second.

The tension dissolves.

“Family,” Endgame would have said.

Instead, Zas just mutters, “Open a window.”

…and the house, somehow, feels lighter.

Zas gestures toward the table.

“Are you still at the apartment I found for you?”

Raven shakes her head. “I moved last year. Smaller place. Cheaper.”

He nods once.

“It’s being demolished,” she adds casually. “Six months. I’ve got four to find something new.”

Joanna and Ruby exchange a look.

Raven shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“It is not fine,” Ruby says.

“I’ve handled worse,” Raven replies.

“That’s not the standard,” Joanna says gently.

Silence lingers for half a second.

Then Joanna glances down the hallway.

“What about the spare room?”

Raven blinks.

“No.”

Zas doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Raven shakes her head again. “I can’t just-”

“You can,” Zas says evenly.

She looks at him.

“You’re family now.”

The words aren’t dramatic. They’re logistical.

Raven’s composure wavers slightly.

“I’ll pay rent.”

“No,” Ruby says immediately.

“We’re not landlords,” Joanna adds.

Zas folds his arms lightly. “You will contribute by existing.”

Raven laughs softly through her nose.

“That’s not how rent works.”

“It is here,” Ruby says.

A pause.

Raven exhales slowly.

“…Okay.”

Joanna gestures toward the hallway. “Come on.”

They walk down together. Zas lingers just a step behind, watching her reaction more than the room itself.

Joanna opens the door to the spare bedroom.

It’s simple.

Clean.

Made bed. Soft gray comforter. Window facing the lake.

Raven steps inside carefully, like she’s afraid it might vanish if she moves too quickly.

She presses a hand to the mattress.

“Nice bed,” she says quietly.

Ruby leans against the doorway. “We assembled it ourselves. It wobbles slightly on the left if you jump.”

Raven smiles faintly.

“I’ll need to get my stuff,” she says. “There are a few things I’d want to put on the wall.”

Zas nods. “That can be arranged.”

No elaboration. Just certainty.

Raven sits on the bed.

Then lies back fully.

She stares at the ceiling.

This is not a couch.

Not a bus station bench.

Not a tiny apartment she’s about to lose.

The room is still foreign.

…but it’s warm.

Her chest rises and falls slowly.

The idea settles in her bones.

Home.

She sits up suddenly, overwhelmed in a different way now, and walks back into the hallway.

She hugs Joanna first.

Then Ruby.

Then Zas again- tighter this time.

“Thank you,” she says.

No qualifiers.

No deflection.

Just gratitude.

As they step back-

Watcher wanders into the doorway.

Another ominous rumble.

Raven freezes.

“…Will I ever get used to that?”

Ruby deadpans, “That’s why we don’t feed him certain things.”

Joanna laughs.

Zas shakes his head.

Watcher remains unapologetic.

…and the house, officially, has one more heartbeat in it.