Rannok leaned against the back wall, trying to ignore the ache that still radiated down his wings and into his spine, and flipped the page of the little book. The faces of his brother and sister stared back at him, like a ghost of a memory. How long ago had he left now, two months, maybe three? It felt like a lifetime. He'd already looked at every drawing and read every word, but the constant fear that he would forget their faces kept him coming back.

Ittra opened the door to the apartment, but Rannok scarcely looked up at her. He scratched at his lip, where the sutures Wren had placed had started to flake and peel, and tried to ignore her presence. 

"Don't pick at that," she said, and he resisted the urge to glower at her over the top of the book. He knew it wouldn't do him any good. No amount of swearing at her or ignoring her or trying to talk sense into her made her do any different. He rubbed the healing cut on his lip. No amount of playing with it ever seemed to satisfy him, but it felt good, at any rate.

"I said don't pick at that, you'll make it scar."

"Lay off, would you," Rannok said as he flipped to the next page of the booklet. Ittra walked over, stuck her hands between the pages, and pulled it down below his face, where he'd be forced to make eye contact with her.

 "We need to talk," she said.

"Clearly." He rolled his eyes and put the book down and wondered if she remembered the last time they'd had a 'talk' and he'd agreed to do something for her. Maybe his sewn up lip and the bruises that still ringed his eyes would remind her. He'd already convinced himself to say no to whatever it was she would request this time.

"I'm sorry the sellswords beat you up. I truly didn't know it was going to happen, and if I had, I wouldn't have sent you out." 

"They almost killed me," Rannok said, arms folded, still leaning against the back wall. He wondered if he could make her head combust, if he stared at her for long enough, or if it was childish to think it. A sudden memory of Jonah's fist colliding like a boulder with his face made him flinch. 

"I apologize, it shouldn't have happened," Ittra said.

Her eyes were still hard, but the scowl had faded off her face, replaced by a look Rannok would almost call determination. His shoulders slumped a bit and he looked away.

"Alright," he said, as he reached to pick the book back up. She flicked it out of his reach. His hands clenched shut. He'd started to become uncomfortable with how often he got the urge to punch her, hard, right in the mouth. He glared at her.

"You should stop lying to that girl." Her mouth was set once more in a hard line. She folded her arms and sat on the crate-table, head above him. It made him feel like a child. 

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Oh, don't play stupid. I saw him, too. The longer you wait, the angrier she's going to be when she finds out."

"Who?"

"That boy," Ittra said. "The one she was with in the caravan. You can't possibly not know."

"You knew?" Rannok's eyes widened as he remembered the piece of paper. He'd torn it up and dumped it in a well to make sure she didn't see. At the time, he'd told himself he was doing it so he wouldn't need to carry it around anymore, but he always knew the real reason. 

"Of course I did." She shrugged. "You have information on him he doesn't want them to know. If I sent anyone else and they saw, do you think they would have stopped at just beating you?" She raised an eyebrow. "You should still tell her."

"Haven't you already gotten her in enough trouble?" he said. He could picture it now, what she had to put up with daily. It was only a matter of time before one of them got frustrated and ran a knife through her. 

Ittra laughed, the noise tinny and infuriating in Rannok's ears. His hands clenched into fists. A smile crept across one side of her face and tilted upward, just enough to make her look sly.

"She has nothing to worry about at the brothel. Do you know how many of those girls are armed? They're probably much better with a knife than you are. I sent her there for a reason, and it was to keep her safe. She's a hell of a lot safer there with people who know how to keep under cover than she is here with us. Besides, it keeps her busy and out of trouble."

"Then why did you have to send me out to follow those sellswords?" Rannok asked.

"Because one crude man isn't a problem. Five of them is another matter, and ten is enough to sack the whole place. And besides, if they're on Seltus' orders, I can't stop them. I just wanted to keep an eye on the situation." Ittra sighed. "I like that girl, Rannok. I like her just as much as you do. I don't want anything to happen to her."

Rannok watched her face fall and her eyes slide off him and onto the wall beside them. Her eyes were wistful, like she was recalling a far-off memory that was too painful for her to bear. His heart sank. He knew all too well that feeling.

"What happened?" he asked.

Ittra knitted her hands together and smiled in a way that was far too soft for her face. Her eyes were weary, like she'd put the weight of far too many others on her shoulders, and was no longer strong enough to carry them all.

"My daughter died in childbirth. Marlene. Michael's mother...there are so many things I would tell her, if she was here. When Elyn told me he had a friend...well, I didn't expect her to look like her and talk like her and act like her. It made me so angry I wanted to scream. I don't even know why. But I promised, so I helped her. And she grew on me, like a spot you can't get rid of."

"I know what you mean," Rannok said, as he shook his head and smiled. When they first met she'd pushed him in the dirt for stealing one of his toys back from her. He'd cried, and she'd told her mother. Somehow, by the end of that day they were friends. He to this day didn't have the faintest clue how.

"Tell her," Ittra said. "Make it easy on yourself, if you don't want to lose her again. The longer you wait, the angrier she's going to be."

"I'll think about it," Rannok said, as he tucked his finger into the spine of the little book and picked it up again. His back yowled in protest as he stood. He slunk back to the little room and shut the door behind him, then slumped back down onto the pile of furs in the corner. The light beamed into the room at a soft angle. Just after noon, then. That meant he had several hours to plan what exactly he was going to say to her.

He pulled his thumb out of the book and opened it again. Her face stared back at him, and with it another rush of memories. He remembered the first time he'd abandoned her, long before the fireworks, when he decided the local troublemakers were more interesting than her. They'd laughed at him for hanging out with a girl, and so he'd hidden from her. He wondered if she even remembered. 

He had to say something. He tried to think of something that wouldn't make her pissed, but deep down he knew it was inevitable. She was going to be pissed.