The time on Magnus' pocket watch read three in the morning when he awoke in a sweat drenching his entire neck. He touched his pillow, only to find it soaked as well. Tossing the blanket off, he got out of bed to make his way to the kitchen for water, but paused in the hallway, feeling slightly guilty about his behavior towards Estera at dinner. Brushing his fingers against her door, he considered stepping inside to apologize, but decided against it.

The apartment was quiet as he glanced around while filling his glass. Moonlight filtered through the white flowy curtains, highlighting the beige couch against the wall and the coffee table that sat in front of it, with the patterned area rug underneath. His eyes followed rows of books on the built-in shelf behind the couch, where Samson often pulled novels to read. A bolder amassed in his throat when he glanced at the dining table. How many times had he wandered into the living room over the years, to find Samson sitting there having a midnight snack?

Water from the tap spilled onto his hand, and he looked down to see that his glass had overflowed. He tapped the faucet, shutting it off, and dried himself. A memorial service was scheduled to take place in the morning so that citizens could pay their respects, but his father was refusing to attend. He still believed that Samson would be found.

Feeling wide awake, he picked a book from the shelf, it's binding coming apart, the pages dog-eared and crinkled — one of Samson's favorites. He cracked it open and began reading, but next thing he knew, his eyes were rolling shut.

The next time he awoke, it was to the brush of Estera's fingers through his hair. He sat upright, rubbing his eyes, and checked his pocket watch. Almost two hours had passed, and as uncomfortable as the couch was, it was the best sleep he had in days.

"Did you go somewhere?" He scanned her from head to toe. "You've got your shoes on."

"I couldn't sleep. Went for a walk."

"Listen, I wanted to apologize..." He took her hand. "Earlier, I was rude, and you don't deserve that."

"It's ok."

"It's not."

"Magnus, it's ok." She brushed her fingers through his hair again, and he closed his eyes, savoring the tender touch. "We should get to bed."

He stood, her hand still in his, and began guiding her down the hallway to her room. Once inside, he climbed in bed after her and held her close. As he breathed in the slight scent of sweat on her skin, and pine in her hair, he recalled her smelling the same way a few days prior — when Samson fell. He remembered her being flustered that night as well. Shaken.

Then his eyes flashed open. Whenever he returned from a hunt, Mira and Zemora often complained that he smelled like the outside. What if Estera had been out in the forest that night? How else could she have gotten that smell?

Did she see when Samson tumbled to his doom?

Or worse. Did she cause it?

∆∆∆

That afternoon, during the memorial service, Magnus kept a hand in his pocket while the other held an umbrella to shield himself from the drizzle in the air. A sea of black expanded across the main road as every citizen paid their respects in front of a shrine of candles and flowers, set at the footsteps of the Great Hall. Every once in awhile, Magnus would steal glances at Estera from the corner of his eye. Zemora had loaned her an ebony dress for the occasion, and prior to everything that happened, he would've found her beautiful in it. Except now, his suspicions pulsed like living, breathing whispers, insisting Estera was guilty. He needed to talk to someone about it, but who could he trust with such delicate notions?

Everyone he knew who would want to rip her to shreds the moment he uttered his thoughts, but there was no way he could let that happen. Not with his conflicted emotions, and the little voice asking, what if she's innocent? Samson had told him to put his feelings aside to think more clearly, so he closed his eyes to concentrate while David, his father's closest friend, gave the memorial speech.

"Aren't you coming?" Estera said, and he flinched at her touch. When he glanced around, everyone was migrating into the Great Hall.

"It's over..." he whispered.

"No, David had the kitchen prepare a meal for the service. That's where everyone is going."

"That's not what I meant." He shook his head and motioned over the flowers and candles surrounding a drawing of Samson. "I mean, this is it. We couldn't find his body, so this is what's left of him. Flowers that will wilt, candles that will burn out, and a photo that will eventually fade."

"It's ok," Estera whispered while placing her hand on his arm. "These are just physical things, but he'll always be with you."

"No." He shrugged away and wiped his eyes. "It's not the same."

"I know, but-"

"I need to be alone," he cut her off and walked away.

The only place he knew where to find solace was inside the wall where Samson's work station was. He made his way there, and through the corridor in the dark with his feet knowing the way by heart. The columns of glass cylinders were empty, the leftover supply finally in the underground chambers. His eyes drifted to the table where Samson's gloves and worn notebook sat. He gathered them in his hands, examining the soft suede, and the bent pages that molded to his hand — to Samson's hand. A memory of his brother leaning against the masonry wall, a finger plugging one ear, the radio receiver up to the other, and his notebook sandwiched between his armpit and ribs.

An ache zipped its way through his heart, and he held the items to his chest as a sob erupted from his mouth. It echoed through the vacant wall, bringing him to his knees as his cries filled the lonely space.

"Mag?" Rafi's voice called in the dark, before appearing with a lantern illuminating his face, and the tattoos on his neck. "Bro... You alright?"

"No, Rafi, I'm not."

"I know. Stupid question." He crouched beside him. "I didn't see you after the memorial service, and Estera said she saw you head this way. I wanted to make sure you're ok, and let you know I'm here if you want to talk. Or I can just sit with you."

Magnus nodded slowly and reached out, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "No sé qué haría sin ti."

"I don't know what I'd do without you either." He squeezed back.

"How's Izzy doing?" he cleared his throat. "How's she handling everything?"

"She's taking it really hard. According to Abel, Izzy and Sammy were kind of dating, so..."

"I didn't know that."

Rafi smiled softly and elbowed him. "We could've been in-laws."

"Imagine?" Magnus chuckled. "Our family gatherings would've been wild."

"Ah, man..." Rafi's voice cracked, so he scrubbed his face with a sigh, and then wiped his eyes. "Yesterday, during dinner, I kept staring at Izzy and thinking about how I would feel if I lost her. She's my only sibling. She's part of me, you know? And I wish I could do something to help you. Take your pain. Anything."

"Maybe you can help me."

"Whatever it is, I'll do it!"

"I need to tell you something."

"Then tell me." Rafi scooted to face him.

"Before Sammy..." Magnus swallowed. "Before he died, he told me that at the trading post he saw Estera talking to a southerner. He said it looked like they knew each other."

"Why would she be talking to-" Rafi's words fell short as his confused expression transitioned into realization. "He must've thought she was lying about where she's from! And knowing your brother, he probably confronted her about it. So are you saying that you think she pushed him off the cliff?"

"I don't know. But that night, she came to me in the Weather Room, and she seemed frazzled. When I held her close, she smelled like the woods."

"And you only smell like that if you've been out there. I know because Izzy smells like that sometimes after her little night hunts with Sammy and Abel."

"So you see where I'm going with this? Or am I being paranoid?"

"No. Your skepticism is valid."

"But, Rafi, what do I do about it?"

"You mean, what do we do about it." He motioned between them. "We tell Zemora and Mira."

"No!" Magnus waves his hands. "No way. They'll beat her to a pulp. You know how protective they are, and we can't jump to conclusions yet because what if she's innocent?"

"Well, sounds like we have to confront her and get her to confess."

∆∆∆

The memorial service bled into the evening hour as citizens came and went from the Great Hall, eating and drinking. The commemoration spilled to the outside, where more people ambled about the main street under twilight, chatting with wine and warming their hands by the fire pits David set up. So far, his father's friend had done a great job honoring Samson's memory, and there were a few whispers of people wondering if Jupiter would show up.

Meanwhile, Magnus tried keeping a neutral face as he interacted with Estera. They were gathered at a table with Rafi, Mira, and Zemora, taking in the scene around them. Every once in a while, a citizen would share a memory about Samson, and they all stopped to listen.

Each time Magnus looked at Estera, he could see her sinking further and further into the bench as if the guilt was melting her down.

"Are you ok?" He placed his hand on her back.

"Fine. Maybe just a little tired. Too much wine, I suppose."

"Maybe you should go lay down?"

"Yes, maybe, I should."

"I'll walk you home." He stood from the table to help her up, and as he escorted her away, he glanced at Rafi. His friend nodded while holding up two fingers, and time began ticking as their plan went into motion.

Once outside, he guided her down the main road and began weaving her through the maze of alleyways leading to the apartment. The voices from people out in the street, faded the deeper they went. Above them, only the twinkle from lanterns lit their path, and every few feet, Magnus would look up to see someone walking across the rope-bridges. His palms were dowsed in sweat from worry that someone might see what was about to happen.

When they reached the spot that he and Rafi agreed upon, he stopped to tie his shoe. The alleyway was completely quiet with the echo of voices, gone, and the bridges, clear. Then, from the corner of his eye, his friend appeared from the shadows. Estera began shifting in his direction, but Rafi was quick as he wrapped his arms around her and covered her mouth with cloth. She struggled at first until her eyes rolled back, and her legs gave from beneath her. Magnus stood, catching her before she fell, and together they hauled her into the Weather Room.

Back when his grandfather ran the community, he built a dungeon underneath the very place that Magnus worked, day in and day out. A hidden door in the office floor led deep into the ground with a short tunnel that housed jail cells. As a boy, his father explained how there had been a time when his grandfather had to take drastic measures to ensure peace. In those days, territory borders didn't exist, and outsiders were free to come and go. And sometimes, those outsiders needed to learns lessons after causing trouble.

Unfortunately for Magnus, his hands were forced to resort to those measures again.