For the next few weeks, Nyx returns to the alleys, hoping to cross paths with the feral boy again. Just to check up on him and make sure he was healing up.

Strangely, however, the boy is nowhere to be seen and Nyx wonders if perhaps the gangs had gotten to the kid upon his return. He'd left the boy's clean clothes right in the alley, but they have never been retrieved. Instead, hordes of local stray kittens turned the clothes into their new bed.

   The reality that Nyx might've failed to save a life, despite his best possible efforts, is most disheartening. He worries that the feral kid has either been incarcerated, euthanized, or brutally murdered. After all, the kid had gone "home" in a terrible state, and that night it had rained intensely. If nothing else, he probably died of hypothermia.
  
   "Chin up Nyx," Mia rolls her eyes, passing him a sandwich from her paper lunch sack. They are sitting in the treehouse.

    Nyx takes the sandwich, only to get a mouthful of paper, bread, and vegetables. Spitting the mess out into his hand, he cast a forlorn look at Mia and unwrapped the sandwich like he was initially supposed to. Mia covered her mouth to smother a giggle, but her eyes betrayed her.

    "Scatterbrained much?" she snickers.

    "Buzz off," he shoved her playfully.

     "No seriously dude, it's almost like you met the most unforgettable girl in the world. You're dazed." Unsmiling, her tone no longer playful, she trains her eyes on him.

     "Pff. As if," he scoffs, continuing to devour his lunch.

     "I'm just saying." A hint of worry softens her words, encouraging him to pause what he's doing and look up at her.

     "The truth? I can't find the little punk."

    "You mean the one we brought in illegally three weeks ago? The one that hit you?"

     "Yeah. Him."

     Hideous, a sneer contorts her features as she regards him in an air of disbelief. "Are you serious? That's what's got you all in a twist? And here I thought you'd found the one. But no. You're still worried about that little freak you scooped from an alley."

    "I'm just worried he didn't make it."

    "If he didn't, if he did, it doesn't matter, Nyx. He was plenty capable of taking care of himself. Also, need I remind you he could have paralyzed you with the venom?"

     "I know...but he needed help."

     "And we helped him as much as we could. End of discussion."

     Nyx swallows hard; sandwich sitting like a rock in his stomach. He knows Mimi often says things she doesn't mean but it seems harsh of her to not care about the kid...after all, he'd been beaten up pretty bad. Even if he could help himself to some degree it wasn't enough.

     "I think it does matter," he proposes, coming out of his thoughts. "What difference does it make that he's not a Wit? He's still a person. He still has a life. A soul."

    "Do his people have souls?" Mia continues to sneer. Clearly, she can't understand Nyx's position.

     "I would assume so. The fae do, and he's kind of like a fae... Don't you think?"

     "Ugh, don't even SPEAK of their kind," she gags at the mention of the fae. "You want to know what I think, Nyx? What I really think? I think that boy, or whatever the heck he is, is a threat to Wits. And I also think his venom not only messed with your body but also your mind, and that is why you feel sympathy for that horrid creature."

      "Mimi..." he looks at her, a pleading expression on his visage. "You know that's not how it works."

     "It could! We don't even know what he is! I'm glad he's gone, anyway. You should be too. This...obsession of yours is weird. And creepy."

     "Oh, I have an obsession, do I? What's wrong with a little sympathy and empathy? Isn't that how our parents raised us? To have compassion?" Nyx's voice raises a bit, his morals feeding the fire within him.

     Mia shifts uncomfortably at the words. She knows he's right, but how could anyone stand up for a creature like that boy they'd helped? Of course they didn't know what he was for sure but he certainly wasn't human. Didn't that make him dangerous? All speculations of the boy aside, Nyx was her primary concern. She knew how he was when it came to matters of heart and morals...an admirable quality, but worrisome in moments such as these.

    "I'm sorry Nyx. I just want you to be safe."

    "What's so unsafe about being worried for the little guy? I just hope no one got to him and took advantage of his injured state. I don't think I could live with myself knowing I could've prevented him being murdered."

    "Still...there's nothing you can do about it now."

    "Maybe," Nyx mutters. Hefting the sandwich that's been in his hands this whole time, he contemplates whether he even wants to finish it.

    After some debating, concluding he'll finish later, he wraps the brown paper back around it and rises from his place, "I think I'm gonna run. Thanks for lunch."

    "You didn't even finish—"

    "That's alright. I'll eat the rest later. Thanks again." And without another word, he takes his sandwich, leaving Mia and her frustrations high in the treehouse.

      It's one of those rare days where the rain has desisted for longer than an hour, making Nyx's emergency umbrella irrelevant. As he stands waiting for the train, he notices something small and dark lingering in the corner of his eye, only for it to disappear and be replaced by small objects pelting his back.

    Whipping around, he's both startled and relieved to see the feral boy standing behind him, all tensed and ready to bolt.

    "What're you doing here?" Nyx whispers, glancing around and taking a cautious step toward him. The boy's lip raises instinctively, a snarl emitting from his throat. Warning Nyx to stay where he is.

    Nyx puts his hands up defensively, then nods to the pieces of shot the boy had been throwing at him. "What's all this?"

     "I owe you for the food and clothes," the boy grunts, picking up the pieces of currency and holding them out to Nyx. He won't look Nyx in the eye, and his arm is out straight. A fistful of currency awaits Nyx's reception.

    "You—you don't need to do that," stammers Nyx. "You needed help, I wasn't expecting anything in return."

    "Take the damn money," growls the boy. He shoves it into Nyx's rough hands, pushing the older boy away from him.

    Nyx stumbles back, the currency now in his hands. He stares at the strange boy, who looks as though he can't decide whether to stick around or run away.

    "How'd you get here, mate?"

    Feral boy glares at Nyx, "None of your business."

     "I just—do they let you ride the trains alone?"

     The boy's glare fades into a dull look of incredulity. "Really? You think just because I'm one of those, I can't get around on my own? You don't strike me as someone that naïve."

    Blinking, Nyx struggles to excuse his stupidity, only to realize that this boy should be able to ride the trains. That's one of the things his bracelet was for. Right? Maybe?

    "Asinine Wit," the boy mocks, a playful smirk softening his expression.

     "Oh, shut up." Nyx rolls his eyes, turning back toward the boarding platform. "Glad to see you're alive though."

     The boy mutters something Nyx can't decipher, then takes timid steps to stand next to him. Nyx glances at him through the corner of his eye, so as not to appear obvious that he's staring at the kid. He seems much cleaner than the day he'd been found in the alley; his hair is clean and fluffy and his slightly pointed ears poke through it. Nyx notices that they wiggle and flick curiously, swiveling at the introductions of new sounds. Almost like a cat.

     The boy's large brown eyes are also quite distinctive. There is something about them, perhaps the dark patches surrounding them, that almost screams he is not human and never could be. Of course from far away, no one would really know. They would merely assume he was a human wearing eyeliner. He isn't actually, but from afar it might appear so.

    "So...whatcha doin out here?" Nyx queries, craning his neck to look for the train.

    Feral boy whips his head to look at him, his ears still flicking as they filter sounds. "What do you mean? Can I not be out?"

    "No. I mean..."

     "You mean to ask if I came looking for you? Just say it. Yes. I figured you'd probably be here. You're welcome."

    Nyx is speechless. While the feral boy is–albeit in his own strange manner–expressing gratitude, the delivery of such is very curt and aggressive. Hostile, even.

   Perhaps that is just his way.

    At last, the train pulls in. Nyx hesitates to board it, wondering if the boy will stay behind. He needn't have; the boy shoves him forward with surprising strength.

     "Get on the train or miss it, dumbass."

     "Okay, geez." Nyx finds a place on the train and stands there, holding a strap that hangs from a bar above them. Feral boy joins him, his wide eyes darting around cautiously. He does not hold a strap; opting instead to put his hands in the pockets of his battered bomber jacket.

     Nyx takes some earpieces from his cargos and puts them in his ears, connecting them to a little device which stores music files. Feral boy watches him curiously, his left ear flicking. Listening.

     Uncomfortable, Nyx tries to ignore the kid. But it's hard to ignore someone who seems to be staring into your soul, or into your being. Finally he can't take it and gives the boy a gentle shove.

     "Cut it out, will ya mate?"

     A mistake.

    The boy flies into defense mode, preparing to sink his teeth into Nyx's arm. Nyx pulls back, remembering he has a height and muscle advantage. "Don't even try, pal. You want to cause a scene?"

    Hiss.

    "Yeah, that's what I thought." Stepping one space to the left, Nyx throws a cautionary look at the boy, who continues watching  him in a calculated manner; ears twitching, tiptoeing to peer at the music player in Nyx's left hand.

     He glances up at Nyx several times before doing the unthinkable and snatching the device from Nyx's grasp, inspecting it in his own languid fingers; turning it over, hefting it from one palm to the next; feeling its weight and even sniffing it.

    "What–what is this?" Uncertainty gives a shakiness to his edgy voice as he seems to realize his actions were startling and uncalled for.

   "A music player," Nyx replies simply, raising his eyebrows in surprise as the boy seems to perk up at the mention of music.

   "I've...never held one before," the boy admits, turning the thing over in his hands with such reverence like Nyx has never seen in regards to a mere piece of technology. And old technology, at that.

   "It's okay." Nyx pulls an earbud out and offers it to the boy, who takes it hesitantly. "What sorta music do you like?"

   Feral kid responds with a tentative shrug, cautious about putting the piece in his ear. "That's not gonna blow up is it?"

   "No," Nyx tries not to laugh, "Here. Put it in and I'll play some music."

   The boy puts the earpiece in, still holding the music player in one hand. He touches the buttons and the screen of the player, figuring out the controls on his own time. Nyx merely watches patiently, glancing up momentarily to ensure they're not missing their stop.

   After some time the boy makes a selection, keeping the volume low as he listens to the music. He's chosen a song that begins with rich melodies and soothing orchestral elements. Feral kid shuts his eyes peacefully and starts to hum along in low tones, harmonizing with the music. Nyx pays close attention and is astonished how quickly the boy catches on to the lyrics when it's obvious he has never heard this song before.

   As the song plays on, growing heavier on the guitars and deeper in the lyrics, it becomes quite apparent to Nyx that this boy possesses musical skill like he has never witnessed in any individual ever.

   Not only that, but his taste in music is pretty good. Acoustic songs, rapid pop-punk numbers, blazing rock ballads, sad melodies, classical pieces...the feral boy favors an eclectic mix. As each song plays, Nyx watches the boy's reaction to them, noting how deeply and intensely the boy connects with the music.

   All too soon, the train pulls into the station and passengers begin to get off. Nyx looks at the feral boy beside him and gives him a nudge, gently taking the music player from his hands and gesturing for him to surrender the earbud. Kid glances up, startled from his auditory reverie.

   The two teens get off the train, wandering into the depot and up the cracked mossy steps into the gloominess of their hometown.

   "I know I've asked before, but you got a name? Any name at all?" Nyx queries as he keeps pace with the scrawny punk beside him. Feral boy shrugs, hands in his pockets.

   "Emory I guess," he mutters. The faintest trace of disdain poisons his words. "Or whatever you want. It doesn't matter."

   Nyx's only response is a somber, sympathetic nod, mouth set in a grim line. He and the boy continue deeper into town in complete wordlessness, accompanied by only the sound of Nyx's combat boots. Emory's feet can barely be heard, his high top sneakers truly living up to their name.