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joeymerenset · 4 months ago

Text

The Ash Scattered Over a Field

Book: PSI

Characters: Ivo Martin x Lou Reed

Word Count: 5566

Rating: M

Warnings: Death, Neck breaking, Nightmares, Strong language, Smoking

Tags: @rc-catalog @secret-fungi @mikaelsrose @agattthaa @liykaii @zumitry @scrubcapsg @sarahrosees @webanglikethat @annn-starrr @astarotha

Summary: Tomorrow, they set their emotions aside and fight for their goal. But tonight, they're just Lou, Ivo, and the city beyond.

Recommend music to read with: https://on.soundcloud.com/MorArg2uTjruUXRu7 on repeat

“Right now, the Assistance Corps have just taken out the Prior of the Inquisition,” a feminine voice announces.

Lou understands perfectly what is about to happen. She awaits frozen in dread as life relentlessly continues going on around her.

Faceless people surround her in a crowd as they watch the fateful event that will change the course of history.

They’re silent, faces void of any mouths to throw the usual insults thrown at such events, void of any eyes to throw any vicious or cutting glances…

Instead, they simply silently expressionlessly face him as he’s brought out. His face, unlike all others, is clear and distinct, his cold and ruthless expression precise.

He isn’t changed out of his immaculate well-kept uniform, the Inquisition badge shines brightly in spite of the cold and gloomy winter rain. His hair is in its usual impeccably neat ponytail, not a strand is out of place.

He doesn’t fit the image of a criminal about to be hanged. And yet,

He gives Lou a cold glance as he’s led past her, and in that split second it feels as though everything around them pauses and they’re in slow motion.

Lou immediately understands what is truly in his gaze. They both know what they want to say to each other, but unspoken words unite them one last time, as the world around them resumes, and he is ruthlessly led away.

“The higher ranks of the Inquisition have not given us an exact explanation for this situation so far,” a faceless woman on a hologram TV continues reporting her announcement, “however, from the information available to us, it has become clear–”

He reaches the stage and stands in perfect posture, exactly where he’s meant to stand. He shows no sign of resistance against his situation, but as he searches the crowd for where he’s just passed by, when his eyes land on her, she can see the hidden despair in them.

His impeccable appearance contrasts the gallows. The noose now being tied around his neck by an inquisitor in an identical uniform is out of place among his perfect attire.

“...the Prior was staging a coup,” the reporter mercilessly continues against the cold silence. Lou continues staring at the man, eyes wide with horror as the dreaded event comes closer and closer, chasing her like a predator chasing his disadvantaged prey. “Having learned about this, the Vicar Jean-Francois took immediate action to eliminate the traitor.”

She tries to breathe as her heart looses its rhythm. At the sight of the noose around her lover’s neck, her hands tremble and her legs grow weak. She doesn’t take her eyes off him.

She’s paralyzed by dread, too numb to cry and yet, as she becomes hyper-aware of herself and their now inescapable situation, she feels wet tears on her cheeks.

“...horrifying news pierced our hearts,” Lou’s panic crashes into her brain, it screams at her to do something, to act. To strangle the man who’s just tied the noose. It becomes so loud that it drowns out the sound of the TV, breaking phrases into jumbled sentences. “...Church will conduct a lengthy investigation… Who else is involved in…”

Her brain refuses to listen to the indifferent voice on stage that had just begun listing his crimes, as he stands, rigorously watching her, on that trapdoor.

She can only hear her own mind screaming for her to act no less vehemently than it did a moment ago. But, feeling as though her feet are physically glued to the floor, she stands frozen, withholding his penetrating gaze.

Voices without source begin speaking out amidst the brutal silence. Their questions each cut its own deep wound. “What will the Vicar say? How will they deal with the traitor?”

A stab to the gut. “Is the traitor also guilty of the recent crimes against the Church?”

A bullet to the heart. “Did the Prior’s personal guards know of his plans?”

The question that killed her, “Who will the next Prior be?”

And on that stage, standing on that trapdoor, moments away from his final breath, he coldly endures until the dreaded question is asked: “Your final words, Monsieur Martin?”

He shows no weakness or vulnerability, simply answers the question with a cold voice, a stern expression, and a single tear of despair that streams down his uncaring face. He says: “I promised I’d make the universe bigger. I’m sorry.”

And then she hears the deafening sound of the crunch of his neck as the trapdoor opens beneath him. He’s staring directly at her when his eyes roll back into his skull and life leaves his body.

Lou jolted awake, wheezing for air as if she had run a great distance.

She frantically searched the darkness for any semblance of hope. She found it in the realization that she’d just been dreaming.

She slowed her breathing, inhaled for four seconds, held for four seconds, and exhaled for four seconds. Jonas had once taught her this breathing exercise when she got panicked at school one time.

She slowly turned herself over and sat herself up on her elbows. She sat frozen for a minute as her eyes worked to adjust to the darkness around her.

As her mind began to make sense of the shapes that surrounded her, Lou looked around the familiar room. It wasn’t hers. In her state of mind, she had just about forgotten where she was spending the night.

A quick scan of the room reminded her whose it is. It was confirmed when she looked down at red and gray sheets that covered her now.

And when she realized whose bed she was in, she absentmindedly turned to look to the other side of the bed. She let out a pained sigh of relief as she saw him laying next to her, soundly asleep with calm even breathing.

And as she sat mesmerized by the sight of his chest slowly rising and falling with every breath, the realization came crushing that the horrific sight she’d just seen has only yet to come.

Her pulse rang in her ear, her heart dropped to her stomach as she settled into that realization that her nightmare can easily become a reality. She took another deep breath.

He’d told her and Stone to “settle their affairs” before the day arrived. She knew what he meant by that. She knew anything could happen on the fated day, that they’re all in a dangerous position no matter what happens. That’s why she chose to spend the previous day with him, why she wished to wake up in his bed the next morning.

And now she had another reason: she was glad of all places, she was tormented by nightmares in his bed where she can wake up next to him, and simply be with him knowing that he's safe.

She stared at him as vehemently as she had in that dream, as though she could lose him at any second. And as she did, as if her nightmare hadn’t tormented her enough, visions of how the next day could go began playing in her head.

She imagined Jonas, barely alive from overusing his psi, being dragged away by the AC. She imagined the young Tina having to learn that she'd have to go on living alone as a result of everyone she knows having been killed. She couldn't bring herself to imagine the pyrokinetic dying, and still she imagined every outcome. Most didn’t seem ideal.

Her imagination led back to his death. She shook her head as her mind replayed the scene, almost as though she was shaking out the image of it.

When she zoned back in, she thoughtlessly watched him, almost fascinated by the way he breathed. The way he lived.

And amidst the silence that now lingered in her mind, one strained simple thought shattered through the wall of professional detachment she had built. Like how the moon stood out amidst the starless sky above the eternally alive and lit city outside the balcony door, her thought stood out from the quiet darkness of her mind, and it whispered to him: I don’t wanna lose you.

Her hand reached out on its own, as if it was reaching for something it had long yearned to hold, and now it gets to. It reached his face, and hovered over it, afraid to wake him.

She knew he wasn’t dreaming. At least, knowing the nature and purpose of his sedative, she doubted he was. And she knew that her wish to understand what’s going through his head right now was futile.

But Lou’s worry was slightly reassured as she realized that, after the next day’s events are over, he’d likely never have to take that sedative again.

What is happening to me, she thought, why does it matter to me that you’re sleeping soundly?

And yet, despite her deep reluctance to worry for him, her thought was followed up with: Sleeping soundly? …I really hope you are.

She found herself absentmindedly playing with his hair. She gently ran her fingers between his dark locks, as if, even when on auto-pilot, she knew exactly just how gentle to be so as to not wake him.

When she realized what she was doing, she paused, and just stared at her hand, now frozen with a lock of his hair between her fingers.

She took a deep inhale, which was somewhat surprisingly difficult for her at that moment, and then finally decided: No, I better not wake you up.

So her hand retreated, and with it, she did too. She sat herself back up and reached for the bedside table next to her. She had to tap the table a few times before landing on a small box, which she grabbed and took with her as she got up.

She didn’t bother to slip her feet into anything comfortable, so her bare footsteps hardly made any sound when she walked away and onto the balcony.

The floor was warm against her bare feet.

Despite it being the middle of summer, they’d heard it was going to rain that night. Yet, the sky was endlessly clear. Lou felt the warmth against her skin wash out her melancholy and replaced it with discomfort.

She watched the eternally awake city through clouded vision as she lit a cigarette and exhaled the first puff of smoke. Below her, she saw the light turn off from a building or two, but most, just like the Inquisition building, never really slept.

Just as it was clear of clouds, the sky also lacked stars. It was solely lit by the moon, lonely as she now was. Its light tried to console her as it shone down on her, barely reaching far enough to envelop her in its rays like the dreaded sun did.

And she truly dreaded the dawn of the first rays of sun. She didn’t want tomorrow to come. So she endlessly watched the moon, her heart sank deeper with each second the moon set lower.

Alone with the moon, she didn’t want to think of the next day anymore. Taking in another drag of smoke, she wondered what the sky would look like if only the harsh lights of the city didn’t outshine the stars.

She found herself rolling her eyes. She’d never cared about such things before.

But as her thoughts led back to him, it almost didn’t matter anymore. Her next thought as she hesitated to inhale again was: Beautiful, that’s how.

She breathed a pained exhale. I’m tormenting myself if I keep standing here waiting for the sun to rise. And as she turned back to return to the sleeping man behind that balcony door, just before she put out her cigarette, her eyes landed on his cello.

He'd left it there after he'd spent the night playing to her, sharing his soul through symphony after symphony, the only way he could.

Moon and sun and stars and the cello all led her to one thought, one memory that didn’t allow her to walk away anymore.

She remembered a melody among the cosmos, as she floated between planets and nebulae. She remembered standing on the moon as the music dissolved her, and it felt as though she and the music together were becoming the stars and the galaxies.

Her mysterious admirer didn’t accompany her there, yet she learned weeks later on the very balcony she now stood on that he was with her that night. He was the melody that carried her to the stars, the music that undid her. He was the color of the sky, the twinkle of the stars that generously bathed her in their light.

Their generosity came in the form of an outstretched hand holding out a pair of shades on an inconveniently sunny day, or a pack of ice for a runny broken nose. It came as music; a flash drive to keep her company while she was lonely off work, a sound system as some part of him in her home, an orchestra at a planetarium, a cello on the balcony. It came in the form of him.

And he was the main cellist playing that orchestra. He was her beautiful symphony, the chords and tones that tugged at her heart and lured it closer, pushed it deeper into the pool of his affection. And in a world that gave him their undivided attention, she was his only audience, the only one who mattered. She was his muse.

What stupid thoughts, she convinced herself, if Jonas heard all this he’d flick me between my brows and tell me to get my shit together.

She had no doubt the healer would have a colorful choice of words for her, had he known who she’s spending her nights with.

But she forgot Jonas’ name very easily when he was on her mind. She went back to the edge of the balcony, to the bustling city beyond it that had no idea how much it would change in a matter of hours.

And she took out another cigarette, despite knowing that standing there won’t do her any good, and lit it. She couldn’t turn her back on the moon, the only thing unchanged in her life, guaranteed to rise the next night and set the morning after.

Shit, she exhaled a stream of smoke, what’s happening to me?

She'd never worried about someone like that before, and worrying about Ivo scared her. She'd tried to break it off the previous day for that reason. It was her duty to protect him as his personal guard, it was her duty to worry. But her worry wasn't out of duty, it was personal.

And the idea of leaving him killed her, and having the Prior die may ruin her career, but it was easier to fail as his guard than it was to fail as his lover.

Moreover, he was the Prior. He was ash scattered over crops where life grew over the death he left behind. Who was she next to him?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet hoarse voice calling “Lou?” followed by the sound of a door clicking.

She turned to look back at the pale tired man who'd just walked onto the balcony. He looked more grim than peaceful and sound now that he was awake.

He approached her lazily, as if he'd hardly allowed himself to fully wake up before realizing she wasn't asleep in bed next to him.

Lou noted the worried look on his face. He seemed to understand what she was dreading. “I'm sorry,” her apology filled the silence as she flicked the ash off her cigarette.

When he reached her, he wordlessly held her by the waist and planted a kiss just where the sleeve of her shirt had fallen from her shoulder, in silent reassurance that she didn't have anything to apologize for.

And she didn't have it in her to say anything else, so they stood like that, silently taking in each other's presence, for a while. Her, listening to the sound of his breathing and savoring every decibel. Him, watching the smoke floating from her mouth into the air almost as if, in his tired state, he was utterly mesmerized by it.

When her cloud of smoke dissipated into the air, he turned back to look at her, allowing himself to admire the sight of her. Only after he took in every feature, he planted a long kiss on her cheek.

As his lips lingered on her skin, without thinking, she mouthed “mine.” Her voice came out in more of a strangled whisper.

She felt his lips form a smile on her cheek. “That's right, Lou. Yours.”

When she realized he was about to kiss her lips, Lou abruptly moved away, swiftly remarking: “Ivo, my breath reeks of tobacco, you don't wanna taste that.”

Endearing as her concern was for him, he didn't push her any further. He simply went back to admiring her as he absentmindedly stroked her shoulder. She turned back to face the city.

After a moment, he allowed himself to break the silence and gently asked: “Why are you awake at this hour?”

She took a second to consider her response before she exhaled it along with another puff of smoke. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He was in no hurry to answer.

Lou decided not to wait for one anyway. “I keep playing scenarios in my head.”

“Scenarios?”

“Of the possibilities of tomorrow,” she clarified. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m prepared to put my emotions aside and serve my duty, but I don’t know that I wanna face the damage we’ll leave behind.”

He stared at her attentively, waiting for her to elaborate, or to decide that she wasn't going to.

“The other day, while I was… hm. I went to see Jonas and I could hardly hold a conversation. I kept imagining his fate after tomorrow,” a deep inhale as she took in another drag, “it wasn't a pretty picture.”

Ivo's eyes narrowed. Though he'd heard of Jonas before, he had no idea who the healer was or what any of this had to do with him.

“A few days ago, I dreamed about Tina. After I dropped her off at work, I just stopped to think about her future. My dream that night didn’t keep me wondering for too long.”

Ivo clearly had something he wanted to say, but refrained until she’d finished speaking.

“Tonight, I dreamed about you.”

He knew there would be no more elaborating on her part.

“I see,” he sighed as he seemed to understand the gravity of what’s been on her mind. She didn’t phrase it exactly how she’d wanted, but he understood exactly what she meant. He didn’t need any more explanation. “First of all, as for your tobacco breath,” he left a brief kiss on her lips, then brazenly stated: “I don’t care.”

She smiled at him briefly, took in his face, and suddenly saw his eyes roll back into his head again the way it did when he died at the gallows.

Something inside her shivered at the unexpected vision, she abruptly turned away. She refused to look at him any longer.

He felt the strange sense of anxiety that just suddenly came over her. Realizing she probably wasn’t up for it, he didn’t ask any questions. Instead he simply offered her a place in his arms.

She took it, settled her back into his chest, and stood there, held by him. Loved by him. Loved.

“You died,” she lamented, “in this dream.”

His attentive gaze on her became penetrating. His expression confused her. She wasn’t sure whether his furrowed brows expressed anger or concern.

“Our coup hadn’t gone according to plan. We’d doomed people to those godforsaken psionic farms, doomed humanity to a horrific fate, and you were brought to the gallows to be executed. Publicly.”

Ivo silently took in her words. He didn’t answer right away. “Lou, I have everything planned out perfectly. Every moment of every event counted toward our goal, everything that led us here was done strategically and under my complete control. I have several backup plans in the case that things don’t work out. Even in the event of my death, humanity–”

“Ivo! This isn’t about humanity dammit, this is about you!” She raised her voice for the first time in the conversation. “I don’t want you to die! I want you to assure me that you won’t die!”

Panic settled into her stomach as he paused in uncertainty. He couldn’t promise her that.

“Lie to me.”

He was only silent for a moment before lethargically responding, “...I won’t die.”

“You’re a politician, is that the best lie you could come up with?”

“It’s 2 AM.” He sluggishly refuted.

She wanted to look back at him with an unamused expression but it came out more desperate. More despaired. “Goddammit, Ivo…” She almost whimpered the words out of frustration.

And as she uttered them, flashes of that dream replayed before her mind’s eye.

She watched again at how he didn’t take his eyes off her once as he stood on the gallows. She’d never forget the way he was looking at her before life left him as abruptly as a gut-wrenchingly beautiful song being interrupted, the cruel silence that comes after.

And she’d never forget the horrific sound of his neck crunching, it didn’t feel like a distant memory from a dream.

She was reluctant to inhale another drag as she struggled to breathe. The crushing realization that came next came against her will, that if she lost him, she suddenly would no longer know how to keep living

He was no empath but he almost felt what she was thinking. The weight of the images on her mind were perceptible on her face, in the way she refused to take in another drag of smoke.

She didn’t pay attention to the taste when she absentmindedly inhaled the smoke again.

She was dragged out of her flashback by his quiet voice, silent as if she was asleep and he was reluctant to wake her. “Lou, come back to me.”

She suddenly became extremely aware of herself and the world around her. As all their problems began to feel tangible, she became hypersensitive to his cold hand on her arm. He hadn’t stopped stroking it once. At this moment, it grounded her.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. Though he wasn’t one to usually have such a reaction, he mentally cussed at himself for his inability to convincingly lie to her. After all, he was able to deceive a stage one psionic empath.

“I’m sorry, Lou,” he sincerely apologized again. “In the beginning, I didn’t think that we…”

“I know, Ivo,” a stream of smoke came out alongside her words. “And it’s not your fault. I’m glad I… got to know you,” she wasn’t sure how to phrase it, but they both knew what she was saying. “I knew what I was getting myself into when I became your guard,” she considered everything she’d been through so far that led her to this moment. “It wasn’t to walk in the garden.”

At first, this all started as an attempt to earn enough for a comfortable living. She understood the dangerous nature of her job, and she was prepared to do what it takes.

She wasn’t eager to protect the head of the Inquisition when she’d first heard about the job offer, but the pay was so generous, she could hardly refuse. She fought hard for that comfortable life in Termitairy she was hoping to have, even if it meant protecting some high-ranking prick.

She never expected that one day, she’d be standing in said high-ranking prick’s arms, as if enveloped by a blanket of love and comfort, as he gently rubbed her shoulders in an attempt to dispel her worries about their upcoming dangerous mission.

And as she realized how her bitterness towards the Inquisition and its leader was once just barely enough to dissuade her chance to earn decent money, she marveled at her eagerness to risk her life to make a difference, to risk her life for him.

“And now we’re changing the world,” her next words were uttered silently without any context, “How could I walk away from that?”

“Of course,” Ivo agreed, “But I’m sure you hardly expected to be in this much danger either.”

“It’s easier for you isn’t it? That’s why they call you Ash,” she wasn’t really asking. “And you’ve been planning this for a while. —Well, not this but you’ve at least known some of Jean-Fracnois’ secrets for a long time, haven’t you?” After a silent pause as he considered his answer, Lou spoke up again first and added: “Plus, with the sedative-”

“That’s not the purpose of the sedative.” He hardly intended to interrupt her. It was just an objective fact he felt the need to state.

“I know, but it still helps,” she reasoned.

“To be sure. But either way, Lou, I’ve always had to put my emotions aside for my goal. The ash scattered over a field has no weakness or emotion, it is just ash, and it must fulfill its function– to be useful.”

“You are not ash.”

“I am the Prior. I endure, I do my job, I achieve my goal. Only after that am I a human being, and that’s reserved for you.”

He knew before hiring her that she was someone he’d become fond of, but he didn’t expect to become this fond of her. Too much to lose her.

He’d told her before that he wished he could be the one to protect her, and along with the upcoming dawn, that statement rises more and more and threatens to drown him with its truth as how the dawn threatens to drown the world with its light.

He knew where his fate would lead, that it might lead to his death. He knew he was risking the death of his team. He had come to terms with that, he was prepared for it.

He had to put his feelings aside time and time again for the sake of his goals, since the beginning of his career. He understood that emotions had no place at work.

Before her, emotions had hardly any place in his personal life either.

But now as they stood together facing the rest of the world, holding each other in an attempt to comfort one another, she’d become a person he never wanted to know what it’s like to live without.

“What exactly is gonna happen tomorrow,” she asked, and suddenly they both became acutely aware of the silence that had been lingering between them for minutes before she uttered her question. She looked up at the moon, and realized: “Well, today.” She turned again to face him, a look in her eyes he’d never seen before: desperation. “What are the steps of your plan? Tell me every detail.”

Her tone was cold and determined, it sounded as though she was commanding him, but she was asking for reassurance.

Ivo paused in silence for a moment, then let out a grim sigh. That was the first time in the entire conversation he’d stopped stroking her arm.

He nudged her lightly to have her turn to a position where she’s facing him, their faces inches apart. And when she complied, he took a long attentive look at her face, memorizing every feature as if it was the most important exam he was ever going to take.

Then, he took her hand with his and pressed it onto his chest. He held it there.

“Ivo, what are you doing-” she was interrupted by the murmur of a thud. Then another, and another.

He was silent for a minute as he let her listen. He simply watched her face take in the sound, and pay attention to it.

“You’re listening to the heartbeat of the Prior of the Inquisition,” he finally spoke. His chest rumbled lightly beneath her palm as his words came out. “Many have tried to stop it from sounding. Many wanted to cease its beating.” His lips were so close, they almost whispered into her temple. “You saw first hand how close they were to succeeding.”

And as he watched her attentively, her eyes were fixated on his hand on hers, holding hers to his chest. She soaked in the sound.

“Listen to it now, Lou.”

“Oh…” she felt as though she was physically holding in her hand the beating heart of the man who truly belonged to her.

Belonged to her? What right did she have to think so?

But tonight, those thoughts of doubt were drowned out by a lud, lud, lud,

A sound she now realized that, alongside the roar of her motorcycle’s engine and the music from her headphones, had just become among her favorite sounds in the world.

And just like how she cannot imagine living without music, and how she’d sooner die than give up her motorbike, she realized she never wanted to stop listening to the sound of his life whispering reassuring promises to her through his heart.

It whispered to her what he wanted her to know, because he survived and he endured for his goal because of her, but he lived for her.

He was silent again for another few minutes, she stood mesmerized again as she listened. When his voice sounded again,it almost startled Lou out of a shell she seemed to have retreated to. “First thing in the morning, we’ll meet with the Vicar,” a fact she already knew, “he will agree to my proposal–”

Lou couldn’t stand it anymore. “Yes, Ivo, but what proposal? What are you going to tell him?”

He didn’t give her an answer. Instead, he simply slowly shook his head in a silent plea to listen to his words. “Everything will go according to plan at the synod. Exactly every guest we need will show up. Every person who is taking part in our plan, whether they know it, intend to, or they don’t, will be exactly where we need them to be.”

His vagueness frustrated Lou. His words told her nothing of his plans, as always.

His words often spoke a vague truth, one that cut. But the continued sound that trembled under her palm told Lou all she needed to hear.

“We will gain control over the city so that we can prevent as many deaths as possible….”

As he kept speaking, he didn’t take his hand off hers, he didn’t allow her to let go of his heart. And why should she, when it beats because of her? When it beats for her.

He wanted her to own it, as if he trusts her not only to protect it from metaphorical heartbreak, but he trusts her to keep it beating.

She no longer listened to his words, she lost herself in the sound of his heartbeat that drowned out his cruel lies, sweet reassurance that was more cruel than threats and insults.

She settled into the sound that swaddled her like the comforting darkness of the night, the steady rhythm of his heart assured her more than his sorry attempts at deciet. It didn’t have his tone, the uncertainty with which he spoke, that slight unsureness, a hesitancy in promises.

No, his heart only kept sounding, each beat a promise that it would fight for the next one.

She didn’t realize how long she’d been standing there listening to the sound of his heartbeat after he let her hand go and stopped speaking. He didn’t try to remove her hand from his chest.

He only planted a kiss on her temple, which promised more than his words ever could.

“Sorry,” she apologized half-heartedly.

If he couldn’t tell from the reluctant tone in her apology that it wasn’t true, he knew it from the way his hand lingered on his chest, refusing to pull away.

She tried again. Only this time, she tried the truth: “I love you.”

Silence was his reply. It wasn’t that he hesitated to respond, no. He was silent as her words settled in. He understood that she did, and he knew exactly how he felt, but only when her words reached his heart and caressed it like sunlight’s rays caressed all that it dawned upon, he responded: “I love you too.”

Lou understood that tonight would be their last as human beings before they’d have to put their own humanity aside for the sake of the rest of humanity.

She understood she’d have to forget her emotions and serve. She knew she could. But tonight, that wasn’t what she worried about.

Tonight, humanity disappeared and summarized in one person, in the form of him. Tonight, nobody else mattered to her, only him.

Maybe during her days when she sat in his office, when she went on missions to dangerous clubs to find shady people, or beyond the perimeter for evidence of dangerous crimes against the Inquisition or the Church, Lou’s only goal, which she fought for sincerely, was for humanity. For people.

But tonight, as sleep came and sucked her into its comforting darkness easily despite the terrifying reality of tomorrow, none of it mattered to her. Only him.