Their situation goes back to static days and cold nights.

Mickey insisted on taking Flo on a walk. They needed to get her out of the cabin eventually, and after a week of moping, Mickey saw no other option.

They walk through the grass, avoiding the beach and the cliffs, and anywhere and everywhere with bad memories. They don't really get far, since terror surrounds them in all directions. Instead, they camp out in the grass, in front of the cabin.

The dewy grass wets her dress, and every time Flo feels damp, she feels herself back in that candle-lit room. Her head pulled underwater, the clang of a cough beside her, she feels her throat close in for more reasons then one.

"How do you handle it?" Flo asks.

Mickey doesn't know what she means. How does he handle anything these days? With silent lips and a head held high. Sometimes his mouth feels so dry that he wonders if he has somehow managed to swallow sand. "Handle what?"

Flo feels so far away from him. Since she never leaves her bed, she is used to being cradled by her sheets. Now, her whole body feels cold. She wishes Mickey would lean in and hold her, but he does not.

"Adwin told me about the war," Flo says. She can't be sure that anything is the same, but she hopes it is. She hopes he can help explain some of this madness without method. "He mentioned that you have moments where you panic. My father fought in the first war. He had moments like that too."

Then, Mickey leans back in the grass so that he is staring up at the sky. "How do I handle those moments?"

He doesn't want to say that he doesn't. It isn't productive and it certainly isn't reassuring. Instead, he scratches the stubble on his jaw, and turns to face Flo. He takes her hand on the ground and holds it.

"I don't handle them alone," he tells her, because it is the only thing that he has to offer.

She squeezes his hand back, and holds on until the feeling that she is sinking in a dark room passes.

~~~

Alvaro and Maverick are alone in the cabin. Maverick is awake, and feeling better, but he doesn't want to move. He worries that any twitch of his body is not going to be his, but a stranger's inhabitance.

It entered him without warning. Without light and without notice. Seamlessly. He can't tell if it's his body that is unique from Beverly's, or the abilities of the spectre are shifting. He is used to thinking his way through situations, but all he can do now is feel.

Alvaro watches him. Passively. He pretends to occupy himself by preparing a lunch, but he keeps glancing backwards.

When Maverick catches him, his face turns pink. He shuffles out of his bed and sits on the closest one to the kitchen. He scratches the back of his neck, unsure of what to say.

Thankfully, Alvaro speaks first. "You look good with scars."

Maverick traces the long stripe across his face. The blisters have faded, leaving a concave cavity across his face. It's maybe half a centimetre thin, deep enough to hit bone though none shows through. It is pink, and fleshy, and sticky to the touch.

"You look good with scars too," Maverick says, pointing to the one on Alvaro's upper lip.

Alvaro smiles. He touches the buttons on his shirt, but decides against peeling them back. Instead, he rolls up his sleeves, revealing a few long scars along his forearms. He then turns his head, displaying the scar that runs from his cheekbone down to his jawline. "You should see my chest. I'm covered."

"From what?" Maverick asks.

Alvaro smiles. "I got into a lot of knife fights. Some are from when I was a kid. I liked to climb trees and I would get it to some wrecks on skateboards," he pauses, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know what a skateboard is, right?"

When Maverick shakes his head, Alvaro smiles. "Just a board with wheels. People use them to do tricks. Not really that important."

"I never thought the future was very interesting," Maverick swallows the back half of the sentence (he never thought the future was very interesting until he met Alvaro). Instead, he frowns. "Knife fights though?"

"I told you I wasn't a chill dude," Alvaro shrugs. He wants to step closer to Maverick, but he doesn't want to make him any more uncomfortable. He wants to match him, like a reflection in the water, rather than like a tidal wave.

Maverick only understands Alvaro's words contextually, not literally. "I guess we are all bad."

The other man snorts out a laugh. "I believe that God forgives us for all sins. Do you?"

Once, Maverick believed in God. All of this kind of puts that into question. He stands up, his knees shaking, and he takes a step closer to Alvaro. "We are not men of the past. We are men of the present."

Maverick wonders if he has the same effect on Alvaro as Alvaro has on him. And he does. Alvaro stiffens. He breathes into a tight chest and bites his bottom lip, trying to forget anything too intense from tumbling out.

"What do you want, as a man of the present?" Alvaro asks. He straightens himself so he towers over Maverick.

Both of them lean in at the same time. Their mouths hunger, their hands intense. There is no sweetness between them, only stone and ice. Two men, spread through time, agreeing to live for the now, damned the consequences. Whoever they were, in this moment, they are new.

And they pull each other together, clawing and demanding. Their bodies rough, their souls hardened, they try to prevent their coarse yearnings from popping the bubble they have built in this room.

Somehow, everything stays intact.

~~~

The forest is eerily quiet. That's all that Bev thinks as she walks through it. She cradles her canteen (though she has forgotten to refill it) to ward off any oncoming danger. Before saving Maverick, Bev had pictured herself a target. Now though, the forest doesn't call her in deeper. Maybe now it understands that it should fear her.

Clara is unsettled. It has been days since she has spoken to both Hubert and Mickey, and the silence was initially what she needed. Now, it is a stone tied to her body as she is being thrown overboard. Now, it is the sinking feeling in one's stomach as a roller coaster clinks beneath them (not that either of us would know).

Just like the other two, Adwin feels nervous. It is the first time that he has left Flo alone with someone else in days. She has clung to his side like he was a mast in a storm. Now, he feels like he is stuck in the brig. Enlightened to the madness above, but incapable of stopping it.

The two watch as Beverly limps with them, struggling to keep up. She came along more for the adventure, since it was not her turn to clear the rot. Her longing has revealed her stiff body that hides beneath her clothing.

"How bad is it getting?" Clara asks, hiding her own rotting hand. She is beginning to lose movement in it, but not feeling just yet.

Beverly looks up at them and blows a strand of hair out of her face. "Oh, you mean the rot? It still hasn't advanced past my arm. I simply twisted my ankle running yesterday."

While they both have their doubts, neither of them argues with her. Better to simply let her live in bliss. Instead of protesting, they empty out their buckets on to the rot, and it wanes.

Adwin hopes it won't wax again.

As the group turn around, they see the spectre behind them.

Beverly goes to splash it, but her canteen is still empty.

It enters Adwin, flying right through his heart. He chokes for a split second. Beverly grabs his hand, wrapping her fist tightly around his. Light beams through the both of them, as the spectre connects with their combined power.

Clara watches on and isn't sure what to do. When Beverly and Adwin's feet lift off the ground, she reaches up for Beverly and grabs hold. She feels something trying to sprout inside of her, to push its way in through Bev's hand, and so Clara pushes back. She pushes until she grunts aloud, and the sound is the only sound that echoes through the forest.

The spectre bounces out of them, hoping over the rot. The others fall on to the ground and collapse.

~~~

Hubert paces back and forth in his house. There is something on his lips. A question. He wishes that he had kept better track of the events of the past, but everything blurs into itself. Élise, Frederique, Clara, and the others all seem to turn on themselves. He can't remember a time without Clara, yet he can't seem to remember a time with her either (I remember a time without her now).

He doubts that this time, the lighthouse keeper will be inclined to send him a polite letter. He is lucky that he received that, otherwise Clara might never forgive him for Flo's death. Not that she knows. Or ever has to know.

Eventually, he lies down in the spot of the couch where they once lie. Everything feels empty without her (not Clara, Élise). Maybe that's why his brain feels like mush. He begins to laugh to himself, a sputter of giggles so intense that they make him roll on to the floor.

Then he remembers what day it is.

He bolts upright, his stomach churning.

No one has survived it. Not yet.

~~~~~

Welp, I am excited. ThinGS ARE HAPPENING! Honestly, I love the secret of the narrator so much, and it is just so prominent this chapter. And like, finally Alvaro and Maverick. Everything is coming together. Finally.

I can't wait to see you all soon!