It was just after noon. Fritz's team had settled into their respective rooms and had now taken to exploring the manor further. He himself was avoiding his own. He now regretted having foolishly flaunted his status as the head of his house and claiming the master bedroom as his due right.

Cursing under his breath, he paced the halls of his estate. It wasn't the room itself that filled him with dread, but the one across from it. The burned room, where he had watched his mother be murdered.

As he stalked the halls, he heard snatches of conversation, cries of delight and mutterings of disbelief.

Cal was walking with a chattering Rosie in something of a daze.

"Can you believe it?" Rosie said. "We're livin' like nobles. Abyss, I even look like one now, scales and all. Who woulda' thought?"

"Not me," Cal admitted. "It all feels false. A lie. Maybe I died when I first crossed Fritz's path, or maybe I drowned in the Spire, and this is a dead man's dream."

"Shut up," Rosie said. "You ain't dead or drowned."

"I know that," he replied, obviously annoyed. "I was just saying that it feels like that. Ouch! Don't pinch me! I know I'm awake and alive!"

"Then stop complainin' so much," Rosie said. "We're rich now. Get used to it."

"You get used to it," Cal retorted.

"I am," Rosie argued.

"No, you're not. You don't look like a proper young lady at all."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I haven't seen you wear a dress since you got the one made of sirensilk. You're afraid."

"I'm just waiting for a fancy dinner party to wear it," she said defensively. "Or a fancy ball. I ain't scared of puttin' on a dress. Not me."

Fritz walked past the two, unobserved under his cloak of dusk, and the sounds of their bickering followed him through the hall. He smiled as their voices rose, snide needling swelling into juvenile name-calling. Fritz didn't care to listen, so he hastened his step and came across the chatter of more of his team.

Jess and Lauren were in the grand study, as they had come to call it. They, with the help of Cassandra, were setting their meagre collections of literature, and other more educational books besides, into the bookcases lining the walls.

"It still looks rather bare," Lauren said, laying down the last of her own volumes on one of the shelves.

"It does, doesn't it," Jess agreed. "To think all these shelves were once full. I wonder how Francis doesn't rant and rave about the injustice. I know I would."

"I would burn down the Count's estate in revenge," Lauren said playfully.

"You shouldn't jest about such things," Jess chided. "You could do it. And what if someone heard you say that?"

"Oh, hush," Lauren said. "Anyway, it's just us."

"It's not just us." Jess tilted her head in Cassandra's direction.

"Cassie? She wouldn't tell a soul," Lauren said dismissively. "She's a wonderful girl. Diligent, delightful and as loyal as they come."

Cassandra beamed, eyes shining, and her hands signing humble gratitudes for the compliments.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Jess agreed. "Though we should be more careful around the recently acquired help. Until they've displayed similar loyalty, at least."

"You are quite right," Lauren said. "That had slipped my mind. I'll hold my eccentricities closer."

"No need for that. You simply have to refrain from threatening arson," Jess said.

Lauren sighed as if the ask was some great imposition. Jess smiled.

"We really do need more books in here. Feels wrong to have so many empty shelves," Lauren complained.

"I suppose some of those books in the vault could serve well enough, if only to fill that emptiness," Jess said. "What do you think is in them? Do you think they're full of Hightide secrets as Francis claimed?"

"We'll find out soon enough. Lord Hightide will likely be too 'busy' to bother with most of it. He'll surrender such investigations to us in time."

While Fritz bristled at Lauren's prediction, he couldn't contradict her reasoning. He was too busy to be sorting through old ledgers and histories of his House.

He lingered in the study's doorway, listening for only a few moments longer before their conversation drifted onto something more mundane. Mainly, what kind of distractions and establishments there were in the Palace Ring.

There were a few, of course. Those select salons, gambling halls, clubs and theatres boasted the finest entertainments, foods and beverages, though they were more exclusive and expensive in turn. While his team might not struggle to afford such luxurious places, they would find difficulty being afforded membership. Only Fritz himself, as a noble, would be allowed to apply.

Not that he would, the taverns in the Upper Ring and Sunken Ring were more to his liking. And they were cheaper.

Fritz left the women, steeling himself for what he knew he had to face eventually.

And he might as well face it now.

He made his way up the stairs to the very top floor, where the master bedroom was located. His feet wanted to trudge, and his heart squirmed unpleasantly, as it sometimes did. Fritz straightened his back and steadied his stride, taking the steps one at a time in a calming, Graceful rhythm.

Top of the stairs, turn left and follow the hallway. He remembered the way perfectly, not even his desperate struggles in the gutters could drown those memories. In minutes, which was both entirely too long and too short a time, he arrived before his parents' room.

His room now.

The door was closed. He stood there, staring at the dark wood, hands clenched on the grips of both his belted blades.

Fritz forced himself to keep his calm. While he could have used his Control, he didn't. His reliance on it, like the Ring of Pain Suppression, wasn't something he wanted to reinforce. Adam had also warned him that Control, though useful in restraining emotion in the moment, wasn't a long-term solution. It would have been admirable advice if it weren't espoused by a drunk.

With one hand, Fritz tried the handle. Locked. He unlocked it with the manor's master key, then tried the handle again. With a click and a light push, the door swung open.

The scent of freshly sawn wood and new varnish poured out from the room.

The place bore little resemblance to his memories. Gone were all the fine furnishings, paintings and intricately woven rugs. Within was a large bed, easily big enough for two, though not comparable to the four-poster bed that had previously stood in its place. There was a cabinet, a pair of doors that led into not one but two walk-in closets on opposite walls and a wide window that overlooked the garden.

It appeared... normal. The bedroom was plain by any other noble's standards, though to Fritz's sensibilities, reshaped as they were by poverty and starvation, it was adequately luxurious.

There was the pang of loss, but the heart-rending pain he had been fearing was absent. He sighed, relieved.

Fritz sat on his bed. The mattress was wonderfully soft.

After a few minutes, he stood and stared out the window.

What he saw caused his jaw to clench. The garden wasn't well-maintained. More than half of the rows of roses were withered, the lilies in the pond were choked by clumps of thick green moss. Even the sapphire willow, which was grown from a seed brought out from a Spire, looked to be waning in health. Leafless branches waved creakily in the wind and rain.

The sight of the neglect had him curse the former groundskeeper out loud. For a moment, he wanted to turn around and hunt the man down, cut him to ribbons for the sheer inadequacy of his care. Then he wanted to do the same to the Count who had hired him. He was storming out of his room and thundering into the hallway before he stopped himself.

Though his fury was flaring and he wanted nothing more than vengeance, he knew he would have to go about it another way. Simply striding up to either of the men and stabbing them was beyond foolish.

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He let out a long, hissing breath and found himself in front of the door he least wanted to see.

The room where his mother was murdered.

The burned study's dark door was ajar, but he dared not look inside. Not as unprepared as he was. The narrow gap taunted him, warned him, horrified him. He could neither leave nor stay.

He stood there trembling, hating his own weakness.

"It's the past," Fritz told himself. "It can't hurt you. It's already done. The worst has happened, and now it's over."

He grasped the handle before him, but couldn't bring himself to shut the door or swing it open fully.

Silently, he mocked himself. He had faced the Hound with less fear, had slain the Raider and fought his duels with more bravery than when met with this slab of wood. Yet he still couldn't move, despite all the admonishments he laid upon himself.

A minute passed. The sound of rain and distant footsteps rumbled in the hall. Another agonised minute crawled by.

"Fritz!" Bert cried. "There you are."

Fritz turned to see his blood brother approaching with a spring in his step and a small mote of worry in his amber eyes. George followed behind him, his face cast in concern.

"Bert," Fritz rasped.

"Are you alright?" Bert asked softly.

"Yes..." he replied weakly, then he cleared his throat with a cough. "Yes."

"Why are you just standing there? What's in the room?" Bert asked.

"I don't rightly know," Fritz said, his voice breaking on the last word. "It's where... it's where... You know."

Bert frowned, then nodded seriously. He strode right up to Fritz and wrapped his arms around him. It was a solid, inescapable embrace. Though Fritz never thought to escape it. He just took the comfort as it was offered, returning the hug.

"Need someone to scout it for you?" Bert whispered.

Fritz smiled. He was the Scout, and when Bert put it in those terms, the door and the room beyond seemed only as fearsome as a Spire's Door. Which, while perilous, wasn't nearly as bad as he had been dreading.

"No, you'd make a terrible Scout," Fritz replied. "You'd just try to fight all the beasts yourself."

"Untrue," Bert claimed. "I'd have Dale with me."

That had Fritz chuckling. They broke their hug. "Where is that little snail beast anyway?"

"Sleeping in his bowl," Bert said. "The move really took a toll on him."

Fritz nodded.

"So what do you say? Shall we face the room together?" Bert asked. "George can stand guard. Can't you, George?"

"I can," he replied stoically.

Fritz smiled gratefully to the both of them. "Very well. Let's go in together, Bert. Me and you."

"You and I," Bert corrected.

"I'm glad your lessons with Jess are showing their worth," Fritz said, smiling.

"They are! Dale can almost write his name," Bert boasted.

Fritz put on a mostly mock scowl. While the statement was humorous, it was also horrifying. Especially if it were true.

Bert laughed, and once he had stopped, he said, "Come on, lead the way."

Fritz nodded and turned back to the door. Bolstered by the presence of his best friend, he could face his old wound without falling. He pushed the door open.

The room was empty. It had no tables, no chairs, no shelves and no blood. He thought he caught the acrid scent of smoke on the air, but when he inhaled deeper, he found that it had only been his imagination. It was the same with the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. A hazy figment of his overactive, overstrained mind.

Fritz searched the room from where he stood, not entering. He scanned for any sign of the vile crime that had been performed here. Again, there was nothing to notice. The floors and the walls were clean, unblemished. Some of the boards were new, paler planks that could only just be picked out amongst the older wood.

He had heard already, from the foreman of the repairmen, that the charred or stained wood had been torn up and replaced. It did nothing to soothe him. He knew if he stepped across the threshold, he would remember everything in keenly cruel detail.

Fritz hesitated. Bert laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Breathe, Fritz."

He took the advice. It sounded wise.

Inhale, exhale.

There was nothing wrong.

But then there was. Something terrible. Monstrous.

Over and over, he could see his mother's fear and rage and madness. Again and again, the sickening thump and cracks of bludgeons breaking bone.

He remembered clearly, peeking from the closet. The closet that... wasn't there.

That discrepancy, more than his resolve, had him step into the room. He was sure that there was meant to be a closet or some other adjoining space.

Fritz strode to where the door should have been and found nothing. He stared hard at the wall, then turned, recalling the layout of the room as it had once been. Assaulted by bloody memories, Fritz winced. He pushed down the sight with an effort of Focus and Control; the dress, soaked red, and the broken body beneath faded from his mind.

Fritz pulsed his Awareness. Nothing.

He knocked on the wall with his knuckles, checking for a hollow. Even with his Perception-enhanced ears, he heard nothing unusual.

"Fritz? What's wrong?" Bert asked. He was standing right where Fritz's mother's body was, or rather, had been.

"This room is wrong," Fritz explained, running a hand over his eyes.

Bert glanced around. "Looks fine to me."

"There should be a closet," Fritz said, his frustration mounting.

He pulsed his Awareness again. This time, though faint, he felt something from the wall. Something hidden, shrouded, secret. It was like there was a cloud of thin mist behind the wooden boards.

"Maybe it was a different room, or maybe you're misremembering," Bert suggested.

"No, there's something there," Fritz said fervently. He let loose another pulse; this last one left his Awareness strained and numb. That was the price he paid for using the Pattern in quick succession. That and a headache.

Nothing, then a slight haze. There was something there.

"Want me to knock the wall down?" Bert asked offhandedly. A mote of eager light flickered dimly over his head.

"I think not," Fritz said. "I just reclaimed my manor. I don't want you destroying it the very same day."

He grinned. "I'll wait for night then."

"What do you want to do?" George asked from the doorway.

Fritz considered. He could tear down the wall, but it might damage whatever was behind it, or disturb something that shouldn't be interfered with.

"I'll get Lauren to look at it with her mana sight. And if she can't see through it, I'll see if I can create one of the lenses from the Technique gem."

"Are you sure there's something there?" George asked.

Fritz nodded, then continued speaking, "For now, I'll lock the room. Come on, let's go. I don't want to stay here any longer. I've faced what I needed to face."

That claim was something of a falsehood. He'd squashed his pain with his Attributes, but there was always another time to deal with any old scars. He'd borne most of his memories' anguish; anything else would be wallowing.

With that, they left. The lock had only just clicked when Mr. Walker swiftly strode towards them.

"Lord Hightide," he said. "Daisy has seen the approach of a carriage. It has upon it the sigil of the Guides Guild. They wait at the gate for your permission to enter."

Fritz wondered what possible business the Guides Guild had with him. Perhaps they intended to search the estate again? Maybe they came for more blood?

How dare they!? If that's what they have come for, then they would taste Quicksilver's edge. Fritz fumed.

Mr. Walker stepped back abruptly, fear written plain on his average features. He could see the wraith of murderous vengeance behind Fritz's eyes.

Fritz strode down the hall, eager to mete out violence. Only when he was in the entrance hall did his head clear enough to hear a woman's smooth voice.

"Francis! Elliot and Amathea have arrived," Jess announced.

His head was so full of smoke and blood that it took a few moments for him to grasp the words and their meaning. He stopped.

"What?" he asked, still in a daze.

"Your brother and sister," she said, some worry crossing her face.

It occurred to him, then, that Eliot and Thea would have use of the Guides Guild's resources to help them relocate. That included a carriage.

He realised he probably looked insane. At some point, he had drawn his sword, and its glossy black blade gleamed in the light coming in from the windows. He swiftly sheathed his blade, feeling the fool.

Fritz took some deep breaths, calming himself, then smiling. His family were here, and they could be together once again. He made for the gate, though he had Bert and Mr. Walker do the actually hard work of opening it so the carriage could enter within the walls.

Thea and Elliot soon stepped out, then their luggage was unloaded by a dour coachman. They had a few trunks each, relatively little all told, but still more than Fritz himself had brought. Apart from the contents of the vault, that was. It was carried inside the manor quickly.

Without delay, the carriage was off.

Fritz didn't watch it leave. Instead, he was intent on making sure his sibling had a proper welcome. He led them into the entrance hall, then guided them through the manor. Surprisingly, of all the three siblings, Elliot showed the most emotion. He dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief while Thea comforted him.

Fritz himself felt drained, though his old melancholy was trampled by his new joy.

He'd been wishing for this day since before he was exiled. And now it had come. It was everything he had hoped for, well, except that he was given less gratitude and praise than he thought he deserved. Deciding that was neither here nor there, Fritz embraced both his triumph and his siblings, sweeping them into a hug.

Elliot put up a flimsy defence, while Thea didn't resist at all. It was then that she began to sniffle, then weep.

"We're home," she said.

"We are," Elliot agreed.

"And this is just the beginning," Fritz declared. "We'll be wealthy again before you know it."

"I don't care about that," Thea said. "It's just wonderful to be together again."

"Gold spends, blood mends," Elliot provided.

"Another poet in the family?" Fritz asked, finally breaking their hug.

"Not really, just something I heard," Elliot said, dusting himself off.

"Well, now that you're here, I'll tell Cal to cook up a feast," Fritz stated. "We need to celebrate."

"Will you invite Sir Needle?" Elliot asked.

"I'll make the attempt," Fritz said. "But don't you have friends you'd like to invite?"

"None that could make it past the Palace Ring gate," Elliot said with a touch of gloom.

Fritz nodded sympathetically. "I know how you feel. I have many friends who couldn't even make it into the Upper Ring, let alone all the way up here. Alas."

"Thea, did you want to invite anyone?" Elliot asked.

She shook her head. "I'd like for it to be just us."

"Well, it will be just us. And my team," Fritz said.

Both of them wore expressions of apprehension, though they didn't speak.

"Don't fret, you'll come to be fond of them soon enough," Fritz chuckled. "And they of you. I'm sure of it."

They smiled politely.

"Fritz!" Rosie shrieked.

It caused all three to flinch and Fritz to curse.

"Francis!" Elliot chided. "That's no language for a Lord to be using. Especially as you are Head of House Hightide."

"My apologies," Fritz drawled. "I'll remedy that in due time. As for-"

"Fritz!" Rosie yelled again.

"I'll just go see what she wants," Fritz said.

With that, he left the two standing there, somewhat bewildered.

He found Rosie in the east wing by a clear, rain-spotted window.

"Rosie, it is rather improper for you to call me in such a way," Fritz reproached.

"Sorry," she said, with a shrug. "Thought you would want to see this, though and I didn't want to search the whole house. This place is really big, you know."

"It is of quite modest size compared to other estates," Fritz said humbly.

"Yeah, well, it's huge for a girl like me," Rosie said. She winked aggressively.

"Wonderful," Fritz said blandly. "What did you want me to see?"

"All sorts," she said, smiling her shark's grin. "But mostly this bird."

"Bird?" Fritz peered through the window, and there, sitting on the sill, was a stormhawk. It tapped its silver beak on the glass, chiming like a tiny bell.

"Bastard?" Fritz asked.

"Don't know, he might be one," Rosie said. "But I don't hate him. He's pretty."

Fritz made to open the window, though he first stopped to check the wards. They were dead and dull, and had been for some time. With a small sigh, he pushed the pane open and the bird hopped in on bright taloned feet. It held something spherical in its beak. It chirped, bobbing its head.

Fritz had the impression it wanted to give him whatever it held. He offered it his hand. The stormhawk dropped a stone right into his upheld palm. Then, the blue-black feathered beast let out an earsplitting cry and flew away.

Fritz wanted to curse, but held his tongue. He really did have to learn to be polite company again. Closing the window, he stared down at what the stormhawk had given him. It was a smooth stone, unblemished save a dark fang and the words 'FOLLOW NOW' carved onto it.

"Follow?" he muttered.

"What did he give you?" Rosie asked, shuffling close and peering into his hand.

"A stone," Fritz said, perplexed.

Then the stone trembled, pulled as if by an invisible string.

Fritz sighed. Of all the times to receive a summons from the Nightshark, it had to be today. His good fortune really had no longevity.

He clenched his fist around the stone, and reluctantly, ruefully obeyed.

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