Nathan drops Veronika and Jinx off first, driving all the way back to the scholar's home in Olivera from the harbour. Somehow, Morales traffic still manages to suck even with midnight creeping closer and closer, but Nathan feels he gets to his destination fast. Too fast. Maybe his foot lies heavier on the gas pedal, maybe the ride just passes by in a surreal blur, or maybe he can't bring himself to feel bad about a little speeding while a gunshot still ricochets in his mind, while Derek McLaren's blood still stains him red.

It's a silent ride, though he isn't sure if it's a comfortable or a suffocating kind of silence. It could be neither; sometimes silence just is. Veronika, in the backseat, absent-mindedly strokes the bobcat draped across her lap. Nathan's lost in his thoughts and the road and so is Jamie, who sits a little slumped against the car door, staring through the window at neon lights and billboards and strangers in passing cars. Nathan keeps thinking she might turn on the radio, bouncing between channels until she finds the one with the right soundtrack for the occasion, but she never moves to touch the buttons. Perhaps that's for the best.

When Veronika and her cat remove themselves from his car in their driveway, Nathan rolls down the window so the woman can tell him to keep the book safe, for God's sake, don't let anybody take it from you, and her face really does look unblemished now, though still pale and gaunt and with that broken canine that might never fully heal. The book's magic erased the bruises and cuts left by Derek's fists and golden rings, Veronika's pained furrowing of her eyebrows the only indication she was ever hurt in the first place. Nathan can hardly bring himself to look at her regardless.

They promise to get together later once Jamie's set up the Iceland trip, once they can take their next step in getting rid of the book and putting Bishop Nikulasson's spirit to rest, and then he drives off again, allowing Veronika the rest she could desperately use. That only leaves one more passenger to get safely home.

Jamie said her goodbyes to Veronika, but she reverts to her quiet state while Nathan's car makes its way to her house—probably the shock of the night finally kicking in, subduing thoughts that normally scream so loud. Just this morning, Nathan would've driven himself crazy worrying about the implications of her silence (what is it, what did I do, do you hate me, what do you think of me?), but he's not too concerned now. Though he can only catch glimpses of her face when the streetlights briefly chase the shadows away, she doesn't look uncomfortable. She sits in his car like she belongs in it, like the shotgun seat's always been her spot and she's never been anywhere else. Nathan kind of likes it.

She didn't run away screaming before, he tells himself. She won't do it now.

"Are you okay?" Nathan asks her when he pulls up in her driveway and kills the engine, for once the first to speak. They're sitting in a dark car together after everything and it feels like the only right question to ask.

"Yeah," Jamie says, "yeah, I'm fine. I'm alive and I wasn't sure I'd still be around to say that by now, so that's—that's cool. But this is just... It's just weird."

They have a watery bag containing a magic book and stray bits of human flesh in the backseat. Jamie played poker with the mafia for reasons Nathan still doesn't quite understand. He sank a ship and killed his supplier. And it's just done now, and seriously, what part of the whole ordeal isn't weird?

"You're going to have to narrow that down for me, Jamie. Just a little."

Jamie gestures wildly at nothing in particular. "I mean this. Everything. Like, I was just getting some work done at home, okay? Then I get threatened and taken to this yacht where I'm told I get killed unless you show up with the book, and you do show up and sink the ship and now we're back here. But what the hell am I supposed to do after all that, Nathan? Just say thanks and goodbye and step out of the car and get back to business as usual like nothing ever happened? Maybe Veronika can do that, but I can't."

"I don't know what happens after an evening like this," Nathan mutters, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. "I figured I'd just go home and..."

He doesn't finish his sentence. Go home and do what? If Nathan's honest with himself, he has to admit he hadn't yet dedicated a single thought to what he'd do after bringing Jamie back to her place. He'd just go home, he supposes, to an empty, lonely place with half-burnt curtains and a neglected yard and designer drugs he won't sell to anyone stashed in a sock drawer. He'd just have to sit there in the dark and be alone with his thoughts, let them torture him until he manages to fall asleep.

"Do you want to come in for coffee?" Jamie asks, a little hopeful and a little frantic. "Because, you know, you didn't have to risk your life to come get me. You could've taken the book and hopped right on the next outbound flight to Alaska or wherever the fuck, but you didn't. So the least I can do is get you coffee."

"It's close to midnight," Nathan slowly points out, "and you're offering me coffee."

Even in the darkness, he can see Jamie rolling her eyes. "Or whatever other drink you'd like. I make damn good tea, too." She unbuckles her seatbelt, opens her car door. "Are you coming or not? It's okay if you just want to go home, but... If I were you, I don't think I'd want to be alone right now."

Mere days ago, that thought of Jamie's would've been dead wrong. Nathan would've chosen solitude, the safety of his own home where he doesn't need to interact with anyone and nobody can see or hear or judge him. He was content with that loneliness for years. But now, after everything, it feels bleak and depressing and like an existence in monochrome, a life belonging to some other dude. And he still sees a bullet splitting Derek's head open each time he blinks and yeah, he decides he doesn't want to be all by himself tonight.

Drinks is nice. Drinks is very nice.

"I'll take any beverage that doesn't have caffeine in it," Nathan states, unbuckling his own seatbelt and exiting his car.

"That's fair," Jamie concedes, sounding almost relieved. Nathan suspects her hospitality isn't entirely selfless, that she loathes the idea of being alone with all these thoughts and memories as much as he does. Jamie makes her way to her front door, searching for her keys. "And maybe I could find us something to eat, too, because I don't know about you, but your friends the Bookers showed up before I was even thinking about dinner, so I'm basically starving here."

Nathan recalls Veronika having pizza when he came thundering down her stairs raving about murder. She didn't even offer him a slice, but she did help him beat Derek for the last time, so Nathan won't hold it against her. He supposes he did stress-eat through the rest of his bag of toffee while driving to the harbour and devising a plan, but that's hardly dinner. "I didn't eat anything substantial. Won't say no to food."

Once inside, Nathan unceremoniously drops his sea-soaked, bloody bag on the doormat, desperate to not have to think about its wicked contents anymore. Nobody will come for the book now, anyway, and he can afford to leave it unattended for a while. Too late, he realises Jamie may not appreciate him dumping this gross little heap on a doormat that's probably more expensive than Nathan's entire wardrobe; it may be ruined forever, may reek of salt and death and black magic until the end of time. Nathan instinctively braces himself for an earful about it when Jamie turns back to him, but she barely glances at the mess, looking him over instead.

"Actually, you might want to get yourself cleaned up while I look for refreshments," she points out. "Because you're kind of... covered in blood? And it's not the greatest look. I mean, I doubt you brought clean clothes you could change into, so too bad about the t-shirt and the jacket, but you could at least wash it off your face and out of your hair."

Nathan can get behind that idea wholeheartedly. "Yeah, I'll do that."

Jamie's eyes drift to the twisty staircase that still gives Nathan brain damage if he stares at it for too long. "There's two bathrooms on the second floor, but you should take the one on the left, third door." She smiles a little awkwardly. "Because I, uh... I tried to DIY the other one with a friend. And subsequently learned that I shouldn't ever be trying to DIY things."

And Nathan laughs at that a little too loudly, because apparently he's a stress-laugher as well as a stress-eater and the comment just strikes him as very Jamie. For a moment, he genuinely does feel a bit better.

"Okay, come on, it's not that funny," Jamie comments halfheartedly, though her smile only grows. "It's actually a little pathetic. Mutilating a perfectly good house."

Nathan hesitates to call this miscarriage of real estate perfectly good, but he isn't about to ruin the moment. "Never change," he says, shaking his head with a slight smile of his own. "Just never change."

"Well, I'll try." Jamie turns, shoos him in the direction of the staircase. "Go get yourself clean."

Nathan obliges, finding the non-ruined bathroom without any trouble. It's a rather normal bathroom, too, TikTok-style LED strip lights aside. Not too bad for an aesthetic. When he finds himself alone with his reflection, however, his previously improving mood sours again. He sees blood in messy blond hair, something haunted in dull grey eyes, and though it's been years since he last went around clean-shaven, it's a little too evident his facial hair hasn't encountered a razor in days. He washes the blood from his face and out of his hair to the best of his ability and recognises the stranger in the mirror a little better, but he isn't sure if he likes the guy. He never really was.

His head pounds, something he can't blame Jamie's staircase for no matter how hard he tries. He takes the liberty of snooping around the bathroom in search of painkillers, ultimately finding them in a cabinet near the shower—a red box of Tylenol behind some stray COVID tests. He also notes a dusty bottle of Ritalin in a half-forgotten corner, which makes quite a bit of sense to him if he's honest. He doesn't know much, but he knows his pills, and the fact Jamie has ADHD meds prescribed doesn't surprise him. The fact she apparently neglects to take them surprises him even less.

Somewhat more refreshed than before, Nathan makes his way to Jamie's kitchen. When he gets there, he sees she's actually sitting at her table instead of on top of it this time. There are two cups of tea in front of her, as well as a bowl of Doritos and a salsa dip to go with it.

Jamie looks up from a sleek high-end laptop and closes it. "I usually have somewhat healthier dinner habits," she says a little guiltily, gesturing at the bowl. "You know, when I'm not spending my evenings getting kidnapped by criminals."

Nathan gets it. He sits down opposite her, touching his teacup to get a sense of how hot the beverage is. It occurs to him he could've requested a drink with alcohol in it, but that might've made him feel worse instead of better, so tea is a pretty safe bet. At least it's not coffee.

"You, uh... This didn't tramautise you or anything, did it?"

"Traumatise?" Jamie blinks. "Nah. I guess as far as abductions go, I don't have much to complain about. Derek was only interested in trading me for the book, so he just ordered Eva to watch me and that was that. It was actually pretty fun for a while once I'd convinced her to let me play poker." Her gaze darkens, wanders away from him and towards the dorito bowl. "But when you and Veronika showed up, I really did think I was going to die. Because once Derek would have the book, I'd just be a liability to him. I didn't believe he'd keep his word and let me go."

"Such faith you had in us and our plan," Nathan says, trying to go for a joking tone, but the words come out vaguely and unintentionally accusatory. He regrets them right away and stuffs a few doritos into his mouth so he can't make any more tactless remarks.

"Yeah, well, I didn't know you had a plan. And it's kind of hard to think happy thoughts when somebody's holding a gun to your head." Jamie crosses her arms on the table. "Look, about Derek..."

Nathan's skin crawls whenever she says his name. "What about him?"

"I suppose it just doesn't click for me. How a guy like you ends up working for a guy like him. How do you find yourself in a situation like that? And at what point do you decide you've had enough and get to where it ends?" Jamie pauses briefly. "You don't have to tell me unless you want to. I'd just like to know. I'm honestly better at talking than listening, but I'll do my very best."

Make me understand why you had to kill him, is what Nathan hears in her request, and make yourself understand it, too. He hasn't ever truly shared the story of his sorry life with anyone and remembers thinking, just the previous morning, that he wouldn't share it with Jamie, that she wouldn't understand. The tale doesn't fill him with pride and he never has been much of a talker. If he tells it here and now, he might never tell it again.

But if that's how it is, he realises, if he's only going to share this with one person in the whole world, he's actually quite happy that that person is Jamie Carrera.

So Nathan talks.

He tells her that his father died of leukemia when he was eight, that debt and ill-timed job loss chased him and his mother off to the worst parts of Morales, dirt-poor and with little hope for improvement. That he spent most of his teenage years angry at the injustice of it all, getting into fights and barely scraping by in school. That he wanted money more than anything, got in contact with Derek McLaren through a friend's brother, dropped out of school and rolled into a life of crime. That he had cash to spend for the first time in his life, cash that would end up causing his mother's death, leaving a lifeless body on the kitchen floor. That a part of him had wanted to get out ever since, but that he'd just never known how and had given up on trying.

He doesn't think he's ever spoken so many words in one go. When he's finally done, his tea is long finished and he and Jamie have made their way through half the Doritos in the bowl. Miraculously, Jamie did manage to listen with an unusual level of attention for her, nodding along and only sometimes looking away distractedly or interrupting to ask a question. She's silent now, pondering every miserable sin she just heard be confessed. Nathan looks at her expectantly, seized by the need to know what her verdict will be. He won't ever go on trial for Derek's murder, but this is as close to one as it's going to get.

"That's... I'm sorry. To hear you had to go through that." Jamie takes a sip of her tea, which went untouched throughout Nathan's story. It must've gone cold by now. "I don't... I don't want to say murder's right. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes and I doubt I could've done what you had to do. But based on what you told me, I think I'm glad Derek's dead."

"Me too," Nathan mutters, though a part of him still feels it's sacrilege to admit it.

"I won't say anything about this to anyone. And it doesn't change what I told you before. You're not a horrible person, Nathan. You just aren't."

"Thank you. I... appreciate that." It's true, and he means it more than he's ever meant anything before, but he's not sure what to do with compassion no matter how much he needed it. And it's past midnight and his cup is empty and he's all out of words to say. "But it's, um... It's getting late. I should head home. I should leave."

"Oh, yeah, right. Sure. I guess it is late."

Now this is the part where he's supposed to rise, say his goodbyes, let himself out. Drive home to that empty place. And he intends to get up, he genuinely does, but his legs won't do what he wants them to and his brain fails to compel him to move. He just sits there statue-still, blinking like an idiot. His body just won't listen.

Jamie leans back in her seat with a sly little grin. "You have a really funny way of leaving, did you know that?"

Nathan shakes his head. "Sorry. Sorry. I'm trying, I just... I don't know what this is. It's—it's a weird night. Like you said."

"Hey, it's cool, it's whatever. If you don't want to go, you stay. I've got a guest bedroom, though I have kind of been using it as a storage room, so sorry about that, but if you move some boxes out of the way, you're all set." Jamie shrugs, reaches for her laptop and opens it. "Just know that I'm going to be a very bad host starting now, because I was working on an important script before that I really should finish tonight. So you either sleep or keep yourself entertained. I'm subscribed to all the major streaming services, so feel free to use the TV if you want."

Apparently, all the new women in Nathan's life have houses too big for them and bedrooms to spare. Nathan, just happy he won't have to go home yet, won't complain about that. "Thanks," he says, feeling like he should say something more meaningful, but not quite sure what. "I can live with boxes. And I won't get in the way of your writing."

Jamie nods in approval and turns her attention to her laptop. Nathan wants to ask her what exactly this script she's talking about is, why it's so important, but she never offered an explanation of her own accord and Nathan suspects she would have if she'd wanted him to know. He trusts she'll tell him eventually if it matters.

He doesn't feel like he can sleep just yet, fears he still needs a little more time to process all of the day's events, so he takes up Jamie's suggestion of perusing her streaming services. He starts up a movie without reading what it's about, but it looks short and easy to digest and he can allow it to become nothing but background noise without missing anything important. But though he tries his damnedest to pay at least a little attention to the TV, his thoughts keep wandering to magic and blood, and his eyes wander to Jamie a little more often than he cares to admit.

It's peculiar, the way she works, because now she doesn't seem to get distracted once, zeroing in on her screen and whatever is happening on the page in front of her. She's mostly typing fast and perpetually frowning at what's written, occasionally sighing in frustration, and then appears to hit the backspace button just a little too aggressively, restarting from scratch. This cycle repeats itself over and over with minor variations. If she ever looks away from her work, Nathan doesn't see it, and Jamie herself doesn't even seem to notice him observing from the corner of his eye—or anything happening around her at all, for that matter. It's an impressive laser-focus Nathan hasn't seen her employ before.

When his movie is finished, Nathan still doesn't know what it was actually about, but he does know it's past 2 AM and he's ready to sleep. So he takes the liberty of briefly interrupting Jamie's workflow.

"I'm going to bed," he informs her, because if he doesn't, he doubts she'd even notice he went upstairs to find the guest bedroom. "How's your script progressing?"

Initially, he thinks Jamie hasn't heard, for she doesn't react in any way, but after about ten seconds, she looks up at him as if she got snapped out of a hypnotic trance. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"That I'm going to bed," Nathan repeats, "and I asked how your script is progressing."

"It's not." Jamie's fingers tap a restless rhythm on the table. "You got bored of your movie pretty quickly. It's been twenty minutes."

"I finished the movie," Nathan points out with a frown. "It's been an hour and a half."

"For real?" Jamie briefly glances at her wrist before remembering her Rolex isn't there anymore and checking the corner of her laptop's screen instead. "Oh. You're right."

"Do you... still plan to finish that script tonight?"

"The world needs answers, so yeah. By the way, the guest bedroom is at the end of the hall if you take a right turn upstairs. Goodnight."

That's Nathan's cue to leave, and maybe he should, but he stays rooted in place, though this time he knows why. It's because this girl's going to sit there all night typing and backspacing and glaring at blank pages right until the sun rises, and she's been through a lot and she could use some actual rest.

"You know, maybe you should just get some sleep," Nathan says. "It's been a long day, you literally got kidnapped by criminals and the writing isn't really working out for you right now. You can finish your script tomorrow."

"I said the world needs answers–"

And what does Nathan even care about the world?

"The world can wait. It can damn well wait for you. It's done nothing but wait since you uploaded our video, so what's one more night? Look, I'm not sure what you want to say about the book, and I'll respect it if you don't want to tell me yet, but I do know it's not worth losing sleep over. It's not."

Jamie blinks, a little dumbfounded, tapping fingers stilling as she ponders those words. "I'll... I'll think about that." She turns to her screen again, to a script refusing to write itself. "Just... Goodnight, Nathan."

Nathan understands that that's the best he's going to get, understands any further words wouldn't get him anywhere, but he said what he wanted to say—what he had to say—and that's enough. Whatever Jamie wants to do with it now is on her. She'll probably disregard his advice, stubbornly continuing her work through sheer force of will, but Nathan tried his best. He hopes she'll listen, though, he thinks while making his way through the mess of the guest bedroom, because he meant what he said wholeheartedly. That script won't run away.

When he closes his eyes, he hears noise outside his room—doors opening and closing, the sound of someone shuffling through the hall. Seems like Jamie listened to him, after all, that the world's going to have to wait another night. And Nathan sleeps better with that thought in mind.