Feathers were flying everywhere.

The remaining workers—those who hadn't run away entirely, that is—were crowded at the back of the room, their gazes pinned on the rooster wreaking havoc in their kitchen.

I, however, was looking it in its beady little eyes. 

My left fist was full of some dried corn I'd snatched off the kitchen counter, and I was currently trying to talk the rooster out of maiming its newest victim. The red beast stood perched atop a human body, its malicious little claws digging into their chest threateningly.

"Hey, little guy," I said, strained. "Why don't you get off that human beneath you, and go find a nice chicken to play with instead?"

The rooster only screeched in response, its talons digging deeper into its victim's shirt. I watched him wince slightly, spread-eagled on the floor. 

I mirrored his expression, glaring down at the body beneath the creature's claws. "See, Rian? This is why you should never drink."

"Noted," he growled, keeping his eyes trained on the bird prowling across his torso.

Let me explain. In an attempt to keep the rooster from causing more trouble, Rian—in his drunk, hyper-aggressive state—had tried to tackle it. 

Yes, you read that correctly. Rian, master of all things logical, had attempted to tackle a rooster, a bird approximately five feet shorter than him.

How he expected that to work, I'd never know. All I knew was that now I was stuck trying to keep him from getting his eyes clawed out.

The rooster flapped its wings wildly, seemingly agitated by the silence. I quickly began talking in soothing tones again, trying to coax it off my dance partner's chest.

"Okay," I said gently. "You're lost, aren't you?" I wracked my brain, trying to figure out where it could have possibly come from. "You probably ran away from that farmers' fair down the street, huh?" I realized suddenly.

The bird crowed as if in assent, and I nodded slowly.

"Good." I said, edging closer to it. "Then maybe you wouldn't mind going back?"

Its feathers ruffled, and he squawked loudly. I cringed as Rian groaned through gritted teeth. Those claws were sharp, and I guessed from its reaction that it wasn't looking to go back to the fair anytime soon.

I blinked as something occurred to me. Was I learning to speak rooster?

Another frenzied crow dragged my attention back to the situation at hand. I extended my hands innocently. Maybe if I established a bond with it, it'd listen to me.

"Why don't we start with something simple," I paused, thinking of a way to create a bond between me and the bird. "Uh . . . Kevin."

A few workers at the back of the room scoffed. I looked up at them threateningly. "I don't see any of you trying to remove this rooster. From your own damn kitchen, might I add."

That shut them up. I eyed them for a couple moments longer until they started to shift uncomfortably. "Sorry," one muttered grudgingly.

"You should be. Now shut up and let me work."

I turned back to the bird, which had cocked its head almost inquisitively. "That's right," I reassured it, inching closer again. "I can call you Kevin, can't I?"

It tottered around, seeming to consider the name. I watched, a little in awe of myself—I was an honest-to-goodness rooster whisperer—as it squawked approvingly.

"Great!" I said. "Well then, Kevin, there's a bit of a problem here." I gestured to the toned body he was currently standing on. "See that guy down there? Yeah, I know it's easy to mistake him for a rock or something, but he's actually a real live person."

Rian scoffed, but soon shut up as Kevin turned his eyes on him in response to my words. As though he were performing an experiment, he slowly leaned forward and pecked Rian's chest, rocketing back up when his beak detected the heat of Rian's skin. 

Despite myself, I had to stifle a laugh at the pure discomfort on Rian's face as Kevin continued pecking him curiously. 

"See?" I continued, unable to keep a smile from slipping out. Beneath Kevin's tail feathers, I saw Rian scowl at me balefully. "He's human. Which means I kind of need him around."

Kevin stopped pecking and turned to examine me again. Rian also looked in my direction, a frown marring his rosy lips. I avoided his gaze, staring directly at the bird instead. "For some unfortunate reason, he's essential to my happiness," I confessed softly. "He says doesn't remember me, but I did something very bad to him once."

Inside, I was going off the wall. I can't believe I'm opening up to a freaking rooster.

Rian's eyes widened as I continued, shifting a little closer to the rooster in question. "In order to move on, I have to get him to forgive me," I said, beckoning Kevin forward with a couple corn kernels. "But how am I supposed to do that, Kevin, if you won't get off of him?"

Right next to them now, I waved the corn under Kevin's beak. "Come on, buddy. Don't you want me to finally get some closure?" He stared up at me quizzically, and I attempted a pained half-smile. I tilted my head in Rian's direction, whose shocked expression had morphed into a dark one. 

"I promise this guy's cold stone act gets old real quick. So would you mind finding another rock to walk all over?"

Slowly, Kevin took a step forward. I watched, half in disbelief, half in euphoria, as he lurched off Rian's body, opting instead to nibble on the corn in my palm. Silently, I set the rest on the floor for him to enjoy. 

It was a few moments before I heard the first claps ring out. The workers at the back looked amazed, watching as Rian carefully drew himself up and Kevin gorged himself on dried corn. 

Their applause grew, steadily getting louder and more enthusiastic. A slight blush reddened my cheeks, and I scratched my head awkwardly.

Until a demonic screech rent the room again. 

The workers flinched and instantly pasted themselves against the wall once more. I rolled my eyes and looked down at Kevin, who had finished all his corn. He was now rapidly advancing towards the door to the ballroom, and several people called out for me to stop him. 

I didn't move.

"Hanna," Rian said. "You're not going to try to keep him from getting out?"

I paused, considering my options. If a rooster escaped into one of the most esteemed culinary events of the year, what would happen?

People would talk.

In fact, people would be so busy talking about the rooster that they'd probably forget all about Rian and my transgressions during the evening. 

A wicked smile spread over my face, and Rian mirrored my expression. "Oh," he said in dark amusement. "You're going to let him out." 

It wasn't a question, and despite my embarrassment at my reluctant confession earlier, my evil grin widened.

"Yes, I am," I confirmed quietly, amid the cries of the other kitchen workers. "Fun way to end the night, don't you think?"

The door was slightly ajar from when we'd come in with Isaac. As he reached it, Kevin turned back to look at me, almost as though he was asking permission. 

Fully aware of what I was about to do, I gave him a nearly imperceptible nod.

With a loud, foreboding squawk, he raced into the adjoining room. I gave Rian one last smirk and turned to the others in the room, playing dumb when they asked why I did nothing. Eventually, they stopped asking and simply waited anxiously.

The first scream drifted in through the open door, and Rian and I shared demonic grins. More shrieks followed, and I caught a glimpse of Mr. Soo running like mad. 

Chaos had descended. Our work here was done.

"Wanna get out of here?" I asked Rian.

"I'd like nothing better," he responded. 

We snuck out the back door, and I shot off a text to Isaac saying to take cover and that we'd come back for him in a bit. He replied a minute later with a message that he was already in hiding, but thanks for the warning.

I grinned in relief. I was a little worried about setting Kevin off with Isaac still inside, but the kid was smart. He'd take care of himself.

"Where shall we go now?" I mused, strolling the empty road with Rian by my side.

He shrugged, looking up at the night sky. Now that the hectic atmosphere of the ball was behind us, that dark melancholy had overtaken him once more. 

"Anywhere I can get a drink," he responded coolly.

I nodded, feeling in need of a little alcohol myself. Again, I had to forcibly remind myself not to pry. I spied Rian staring at me from the corner of my eye, but I kept my gaze firmly on the stone path before us. 

"There's a bar called Mac's nearby," I said. "Rokim and I went there for drinks the day I came back from France." I chuckled, the noise echoing in the chilly air. "Remember that? When I ambushed you at your house?"

I turned to him, expecting a dry remark, maybe a sarcastic laugh. Instead, I noticed that he'd stiffened and his movements had become much more tense. He had a guarded look in his eyes, and I frowned.

"What is it now?" I asked, glancing around concernedly. "Is there another barnyard animal on the loose?"

He examined me intensely. "No. There's nothing."

I sighed in relief, turning the corner. "Good. I think my magical powers are tapped out, anyway. Or whatever the hell it was that got Kevin to listen to me."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, before letting out a chuckle. "You're still calling the rooster Kevin?"

"Well, I gave him the name," I said, shrugging. "Might as well use it." I spotted Mac's down the road—we were almost there.

Idly, I glanced over him and scowled. Despite having literally been taken down by a rooster, his appearance was still somehow impeccable.

"Is dust allergic to you or something?" I couldn't help but ask, eyeing his flawless attire. 

He arched a brow. "Not to my knowledge. But if it helps, I am allergic to b—"

"Bees, I remember," I said, waving dismissively. "You don't need to pretend all the time, you know. You can take a break every once in a while."

He didn't say anything at first. I glanced at him, but froze when I saw the agonized expression on his face. As soon as he saw me looking, though, it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"Good to know," he muttered simply, brushing past me. 

I shook myself back to life, mentally listing all the reasons not question him incessantly.

Don't pry. It's a waste of time and effort. It'll hurt when he refuses to tell you. You'll never get anything out of him anyway. Just don't pry.

"Is this the place?" Rian called, and I turned to him. He was pointing up at the building next to us. The sign at the storefront's head confirmed it.

"Yep," I agreed. "This is Mac's."

"Great," he said, swinging the door open and stepping inside. "I'm fucking dying for a drink right now."

I blinked at the profanity. Unusual, sure, but it was probably the residual alcohol in his system talking. There was no rule saying that Rian—cold, reserved, utterly composed Rian—couldn't swear if he felt like it.

Then again, he did seem . . . off all evening. It was bizarre. The mysterious blond in the shadows. The drinking. Even taking on an entire room full of entitled evaluators. The whole affair reminded me of a crumbling skyscraper, standing strong and isolated for ages until a sharp quake shakes it to the core. 

And Rian definitely seemed like he'd begun to crumble.

I walked in after him, easily finding his broad figure at a table in the corner, where we wouldn't be heard. 

A few wayward eyes followed me—I was dressed rather nicely for a bar, after all—but I ignored the attention. Instead, I strode straight over and sat across from Rian, staring in surprise at the array before me.

In the short time I'd been separated from him, he'd already ordered a strong bottle of scotch and had drained two glasses. 

He looked up at me as I sat down and groaned a little. "Why must you follow me everywhere I go?" he lamented lowly, slamming his empty cup down on the table.

Must be a really strong bottle of scotch.

I leaned forward. His eyes were a little unfocused, but still lucid enough to know what he was doing. I watched him refill his drink, and his hand neither trembled nor missed. He wasn't totally drunk yet.

"Uh, Rian?" I said, not understanding his sudden change in demeanor. "Are you . . . okay?"

He laughed, but it was nothing like his laughter from earlier. This laughter was harsh and self-deprecating, filled with a bitterness left brewing longer than any alcohol.

"Not really, no," he responded, bringing his glass to his lips. He took a long draught before lowering it again. "And now that you're here," he continued, his dark gaze as fathomless as ever, "I can't tell if I'm feeling better or worse."

I frowned. "Now that I'm here?" I echoed confusedly. "I've been with you all day, Rian."

He scoffed. "No, that's not what I meant. I mean here," he repeated, tapping the table emphatically. "In the country. Now that you're back from France."

I froze, suddenly unable to breathe correctly. Was this what I thought it was? 

"Rian," I said slowly, not quite able to believe it. "What are you saying, exactly?"

He drained the rest of his drink, shutting his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were filled with a sorrow I'd never seen in them before. 

"I think you know what I'm saying," he said wryly.

This time, when he re-poured his drink, there was a tremor in his hand. A little scotch sloshed over the side of the cup and onto the table. I watched the pool of alcohol widen with vacant eyes, trying to process the fact that this conversation was actually happening.

But then I felt a twinge of guilt. 

The tremble in his hand meant he was growing considerably intoxicated now, and questioning him like this almost felt like I was taking advantage. I didn't want him to say something now that he didn't mean to. That would only end badly for both of us.

"Rian," I said, taking a deep breath. "Don't say anything you wouldn't say while you were sober."

His brow furrowed, and those beautiful lips of his curled into a frown. "Why? Wasn't this what you were after all along?" He let out another one of those bitter, mirthless laughs. "The truth?"

I shook my head, feeling something inside me tear at the thought of what I was giving up. But if Rian were to tell me the truth today, and then pretend not to remember again tomorrow . . . I didn't think I could handle that.

"Don't."

"Don't what?" he repeated, his voice almost mocking. "Don't admit that you were right all along?"

"Stop," I said, trying to force myself not to analyze his words. 

He's drunk. He won't remember. It will hurt.

"No." His head lolled back a little, and his eyelashes cast long shadows across his cheeks. "You've been playing along long enough. Obviously I'm not as good an actor as I thought."

This was too hard. All the signs were there, he wasn't hiding them. In fact, it seemed like he'd done all but flaunt his admission at me. 

If this was a test, then I was about to fail miserably—I couldn't keep myself from blurting out my next words. 

"So you admit you remember me?"

His eyes snapped to mine, filling with the same black fire he'd displayed at the ball. "Of course I remember you!" he exclaimed angrily. "How could I not? You were there, every single day of my life, and then you were gone." His eyes cut away from mine, the anger in them dissolving. "Just like everyone else."

I stared at him, unable to describe the rush of emotion that surged through me. This never happened, not even in my dreams. Or nightmares, for that matter.

He said it. He said he remembered me. Finally.

But he also said . . .

The memory of his other confession dampened my euphoria. My impending relief fell flat, and I felt a jagged pain rip through my right side. 

He was right. I had left, three years ago, for France. And I stayed away, leaving him behind.

The guilt from before began to pool in my gut—I had done it, I'd taken advantage of him, I shouldn't have—and I cast my eyes away from him and to the table.

"Just . . . let me go call a cab for you," I murmured, getting up from my seat. I made to move past him, but he groaned and caught my hand.

"No," he muttered. "I'm sorry. Don't leave again. Please."

I paused, feeling another sharp pang in my right side. I could already tell what would happen if I stayed here—the memories would become too much, and I'd end up in the hospital.

But then I looked down at his tortured expression, his gaze burning holes in the table, and slowly returned to my seat. If I had an episode, it would be the worst one yet. I knew that. And yet I couldn't bring myself to walk away.

I'd made my choice. Now I was essentially at his mercy. 

Despite my return, his hand didn't leave my its place on my wrist. Instead, he wrapped his other hand around mine as well, holding it in front of him.

He traced a pattern on my palm, the drink forgotten. My only guess was that it must have worked fast, because I'd never seen him like this, ever. So clearly . . . broken. 

It was jarring, and I could only watch as his dark hair fell over his forehead, casting his eyes into shadow.

"You know," he began, looking up at me with a rueful smile. "You really are tiny."

I didn't even have the heart to get mad, since the next thing he did was fit our hands together like puzzle pieces. 

"Look," he said, nodding at our intertwined fingers. "Your hand is so small compared to mine. So unbelievably delicate," he mused, his obsidian eyes enchanting. "It's a wonder someone hasn't accidentally broken you."

"Depends what you mean," I responded wryly. "Physically, I've been told I'm fine. More than once, actually."

He still held my hand in his as he rested his forehead on his knuckles, his elbows propped up on the table beneath him. My fingers were very close to his mouth, and with every passing second I found it harder to breathe.  

"What did you mean, earlier?" he said suddenly.

"When?"

"When you were talking to . . . Kevin." He frowned, but his thumb brushed over my knuckles, which I found difficult to reconcile with the devil I'd gotten used to. "You said that you needed me to forgive you."

I caught my breath. 

This was it. It was happening.

"Forgive you for what?" he asked, searching my eyes for once, instead of the other way around. 

I inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to fidget. Or bolt.

This is what you've been wanting to do for three years. Get a hold of yourself.

"Actually," I said slowly. "It's about the—the incident, around three years ago now."

His gaze darkened, but it wasn't with the usual malice or displeasure. Instead, it filled with something I recognized well, but couldn't understand on him: self-loathing.

"A single moment can change a life forever," he murmured bleakly. "Or in this case, two lives." 

He averted his eyes and released my hand, letting his own drop onto the table. I watched with an increasing sense of foreboding as his fingers began to tap on the hard surface.

"Why do you want to talk about that?" he asked, but the way he'd look at anything but me betrayed that he already knew the answer.

I straightened in my chair, trying not to lose my nerve. It was strange to be able to talk with him like this, so openly, without pretending. It was new.

"Because I need to apologize," I continued.

"To who?"

"To you."

He chuckled harshly. "Not to the dead people?" 

The words cut into me. I flinched, hard. 

Seeing my reaction, Rian's eyes filled with guilty regret. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

I held up a hand to stop him. "No," I breathed shakily. "It's fine. I deserved that."

His brow furrowed in angry confusion. "What? Of course you didn't, Hanna." He dropped his head into his hands, his fingers digging into his hair. "I'm just . . . drunk, and I'm being irrational. Incoherent. Don't listen to me."

"Then you listen to me," I said, my voice a bit firmer now. "I owe you this."

His eyes flicked to mine momentarily, still consumed by that clear self-hatred. "You owe me nothing. Least of all an apology."

I shook my head vehemently. "No," I said, gulping down my fear, and forcing the words out. "It was my fault. I can't—I can't live with myself. And I need to apologize to you."

He groaned, grabbing the case of scotch again. This time, he forewent the glass entirely and simply drank straight from the bottle. When he eventually came up for air, he only looked at me and smirked. 

"Fine," he drawled. "Go ahead. Apologize to me."

I took another deep breath, finally ready. "Rian, I'm sor—"

The slamming of his bottle back on the table interrupted me. He leaned forward, his gaze suddenly filled with a dark depravity that I didn't understand. 

"Apology," he murmured softly, looking deep into my eyes, "not accepted."

It was like my world fell apart. Those words were worse than any nightmare. 

I shook my head, not comprehending why he'd denied my sincerity. I'd thought he didn't hate me anymore, but maybe—I had to be wrong. He wouldn't have said that if it wasn't true.

"I—why?" I asked helplessly.

"Because you have nothing to apologize for," he said simply, echoing his words from earlier. He leaned back into his chair, watching me darkly. "I've told you before that I don't like repeating myself."

I could only stare for a moment, in pure disbelief. Then I looked down at the table, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. He'd let me come so close, and then he'd ripped away the possibility of redemption. 

It was funny. I was the one who'd made the calamitous mistake three years ago, and yet between the two of us he was the more cruel.

The pangs in my chest began again, growing more and more severe. I knew it was only a matter of time before I collapsed from the pain, and I still wasn't carrying around any of those emergency syringes. There was a chance I could die.

Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. 

I flicked my eyes to Rian, subtly shifting my hand to clutch my right side. The burning was almost unbearable now. 

"Okay," I agreed emptily, the searing inferno steadily creeping across my body. "If that's how you feel, there's nothing I can do."

"Good." He trailed his finger over the rim of his now empty bottle. "I think I'm done for the night, anyway."

"Good choice," I rejoined, trying to hide the hoarseness in my voice. "Can you—"

I stopped to cough, ignoring the taste of copper in my mouth. Soon.

"Are you alright?" Rian asked, frowning. He leaned forward, examining me. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," I insisted, picking up where I left off. "Can you call Adrian? We forgot about Isaac. We promised to come back for him."

He frowned, but complied anyways. He withdrew his phone and pressed a button, bringing it to his ear. My vision was beginning to go dark. But despite the haziness overwhelming me, I noted that for some reason, Rian had Adrian on speed dial.

I foggily recalled the mysterious blond figure from the ball. Suddenly, I realized why he'd seemed so familiar. What I couldn't understand was why on earth Adrian had shown up to talk to Rian, or how they'd gotten so close, for that matter. 

But the murkiness was closing in, and I cast the thought away. 

Rian finished the call. "Adrian said he's on his way to Isaac." He frowned again, looking at me closely, before his eyes widened. 

"What the hell, Hanna? Are you—" he swallowed, that dark gaze suddenly filled with terror. "Are you having an episode?"

I smiled ruefully at him as the flames consumed me. I hurt all over, and I knew I was about to pass out. "Sorry," I mumbled, and his mouth dropped open in horror.

At least I got to apologize.

I was dimly aware of Rian scrambling for something in his coat pockets, but my attention was fading. This was by far the worst episode I'd had yet, but I'd stopped feeling the pain a little while ago. I felt a moment's regret for Rokim, who didn't deserve this. And Prof, and Adrian, and Lisa. For some reason, they'd cared.

"Sorry," I murmured again, this time to no one in particular. My head hit the table, and I felt like I was careening into oblivion. Rian was speaking, yelling maybe—was he calling for an ambulance? It didn't matter, I couldn't hear him anymore. I was losing sensation entirely, and my breaths came in difficult pants.

But just before I blacked out, I felt a sharp jab piercing the skin of my thigh. I shifted my eyes downward, just enough to see the tip of a syringe sticking out of my leg.

A slow smile spread over my lips. "Well played, Haltie," I muttered, my words probably incoherent.

And then I succumbed to the darkness.