Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word.

- George RR Martin, A Game of Thrones

The next morning, Leah woke clumsily. Her dreams had been disjointed and confusing, and she'd fought her body's urge to wake in hope that she might understand them better.

She'd been on the bridge again, only this time soaked to the bone with Danny hanging over her shoulder. His eyelids had been fluttering, his breaths dragged and gluey, as if coming from dead lungs.

"Please kill me," he moaned. "I need you to kill me."

His mantra had stuck on repeat, looping around her brain like a faulty record.

"It's okay, Danny," she whispered. "It's going to be okay."

But even as she spoke, her vision flickered, and something else was painted on her eyelids. Something that made her heart stop. Danny was lying on the ground, a knife in his chest and eyes blank.

And then it rewound and she was on the bridge with Danny again, his moans filling her ears once more.

The images repeated over and over until Leah felt herself waking, and try as she might, she couldn't keep herself there.

When her eyes eventually opened, she felt deflated.

If those visions had been memories, as she presumed they were, they'd confirmed something she'd avoided considering. She knew Danny had been shot, but she'd fallen off the bridge too quickly to know where he'd been hit. But a knife to the chest was pretty conclusive.

Danny was dead.

He was here, somewhere in this world.

Did he know what had happened to her? Had he tried to find her?

Her breathing was frantic, her cheeks stained with tears, and she brought her hands up to her face and rubbed roughly.

"Leah?"

She flinched and looked over to find Jared's eyes fixed on her, his forehead furrowed. Any hope that he wouldn't notice her breakdown vanished.

"What's wrong?"

Leah stared at him a moment longer before rolling away and wriggling out of her sleeping bag.

"Nothing," she muttered, and began to shove everything into her pack.

Before she'd finished Jared moved to her side and grabbed her arm. She glared up at him and found his face close. Too close. Near enough that she could see emotions in his eyes that threw her off balance. He looked panicked, almost fearful.

"Did you remember something?" he asked.

Leah blinked in surprise and then pulled her arm out of his grasp.

"That's none of your business."

"Why are you crying?" Jared pushed.

Leah turned away, packing her remaining things and hoisting the bag onto her back. Jared was still standing there, watching her with that confusing mix of muted panic and uncertainty. It was too searching and purposeful, too typically Jared, and it made her inexplicably furious. She needed time alone to process what Danny's death meant without him watching her.

"Look," Leah snapped. "I had a bad dream, but it wasn't anything new. I just don't want to talk about it."

Her words made something withdrawn and wary appear on his face.

"I don't believe that," he said. "I've woken up enough times to your screams to know when something has changed."

Leah's breath caught, the soft conviction in his voice startling. He was looking at her with an intensity that made her mind flash back to the roof of Churchies Pub, to the heat that'd been in his eyes.

"Nothing's changed," Leah said.

Jared's jaw clenched and he looked away, his gaze intent on the bush as Leah examined his profile. His brow was furrowed, his hair swept to the side and flicked up at the ends; chocolate brown streaked with gold and tan in the light.

"Right."

The doubt in his voice was undeniable, but Leah ignored it.

"We should probably get going," she said, picking up her pack and looking at him expectantly.

For a moment, he hovered, watching her, but then he cleared his throat and shifted away.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Whatever you want, Leah."

...

Leah spent the rest of the day in silence, powering ahead as the image of Danny's blank, lifeless eyes followed her over rocks and along dirt tracks, hovering over her head — bright and hot and demanding.

If she'd remembered Danny's death sooner, she probably would've called this journey off, managed to ditch Jared, and gone in search of him. But that wasn't an option anymore. A level of responsibility had settled in her gut that wouldn't allow it. There wasn't room to be selfish when you knew the things she did.

The thought was consuming enough to make the day pass quickly and before Leah knew it, the sun was bathing the trees around them in a deep orange glow and they began to settle down.

Leah had only just unrolled her sleeping bag and sat down when the last rays disappeared completely and everything slipped into the kind of darkness that didn't happen often — when the moon was blanketed from existence above a thick band of evening cloud.

She glanced around and shivered and Jared seemed to sense her unease.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Leah didn't reply straight away. There'd been a tense silence between them all day and she wasn't sure she wanted him to start asking questions again.

"Nothing," she said eventually. "I just don't like the dark."

Jared was silent for a moment and then a flashlight clicked on. She blinked as her eyes adjusted. When they did, she found his gaze on her.

"Thanks," she said.

Jared just nodded and rolled back onto his sleeping bag, his hands resting under his head and his eyes slipping closed.

Leah watched him as the quiet dragged on. Their argument was still bothering him, she could see it in the set of his shoulders, the way his forehead was furrowed into a slight frown. It made her uneasy, in a subtle way that brushed against her conscious as softly as sea foam.

"I'm sorry about this morning," Leah said. "I shouldn't have been so rude."

She hadn't been certain Jared was awake, but his eyes slid open anyway and he tilted his head to look at her.

"S'alright. I shouldn't have pushed you."

His voice was soft and it melted something inside her, dissolving the misgivings she'd had about sharing her dream with him. He wasn't someone she should trust, she knew that, but a small part of her wanted to anyway.

"I think one of my brothers is dead."

The words came out rushed and loud, and Jared turned to her.

"That's what I —" Leah swallowed. "That's why I was upset earlier. One of my dreams has gotten clearer. He's dead. I saw it."

Something passed through Jared's eyes that Leah couldn't identify and then he looked back up at the sky, his face shadowed.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually.

Leah didn't know what to say so she just looked away, but she could feel his head turning towards her, his gaze brushing her skin.

"Did you know that when stars die they completely lose their light?" Jared asked. "They just blink out of existence and turn into hunks of rock hurtling through space — they become Black Stars."

Leah listened to him quietly, her breathing shallow.

"It's not the same with people," he said. "When they come here they don't change much."

She glanced over at him and found his eyes bright in the darkness.

"You'll see your brother again. Eventually. You haven't lost him."

Leah gave him a tired smile. His words both reassured and bothered her.

"Is that how you justify it then?"

Jared sat up, leaning on his elbows. "Justify what?"

"Wanting to activate the Mors Mortis Device."

Jared's jaw clenched. "We're not talking about that, Leah."

"Why not?"

"Because we'll just end up arguing."

"But we're always arguing."

Jared smirked, his eyes glittering in the light. "That's true."

Leah's eyes were growing heavy and she lay down, shifting her hands under her head to prop it up.

"Do you like this world more?" she asked softly. "Is that it?"

Jared was silent for a moment. "No, not really."

"Why do you come here, then?"

Jared was quiet for long enough that Leah thought he wouldn't answer and her mind started drifting, thread of sleep weaving through her brain.

"I'm looking for someone."

Leah heard the words as if through water.

"Who?"

"My mum. She died when I was a baby."

Jared's words were grounding. All haziness was driven away as the weight of them settled into her stomach, accompanied by a creeping awareness. Alice's voice, from what felt like centuries ago, rang in Leah's ears.

I don't know if I've told you this before, but I had a child before you. My own child. But I lost him.

Leah sucked in a breath. If Brenton was Jared's father...

"I'm sorry," Leah murmured, unwilling to continue her previous train of thought.

Jared shifted. "It was a long time ago."

Leah raised one eyelid and squinted at him. The torch sat between them and cast shadows on his face that looked disturbingly like bruises. She could practically see the damage underneath his skin.

"Do you have any idea where she is?" Leah asked.

Jared swallowed, his eyes fixed on the darkness above them. "No."

There was something about Jared's confession that made Leah ache, that made her eyes squeeze shut to block it out. His words were jolted and broken, like they'd never been spoken before. She was beginning to wonder if there was a single person, alive or dead, who really knew Jared.

"We can look together then," Leah said, the words driven by an impulse she didn't fully understand.

There was a rustle and Leah suspected Jared had turned to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking about when I get back to the live world. Maybe I'll be able to do what you can. Maybe I'll be able to come back here when I want to."

She opened her eyes and found Jared watching her with an intensity that made her feel slightly self-conscious.

"No one else can do what I can, Leah."

Leah grinned sleepily. "Not yet."

Jared stared at her for a moment and then turned away and Leah started slipping towards sleep. Her limbs had become liquid when his voice echoed through her dreams. It was gentle and soothing and much closer than before.

"You don't want to be able to do what I can, Leah. But I'll help you find Danny. I owe you that much."

Leah listened to the words with guilty pleasure, because she was positive Jared would never offer to help her. This must be a dream Jared, one that she'd only gotten glimpses of while awake. There was a brush of something warm against her cheek and Leah smiled.

"Goodnight, Leah."