The funeral is a quiet affair at her church. Most of the guests are family members, though the Naval Brigade is there as well, like a cluster of exotic birds. I'm wearing a starchy suit with a white rose tucked into the fabric, like a corsage. It's uncomfortable, though I could care less about the irritation the suit is causing me. My real anxiety surrounding the event comes down to the profound, immeasurable weight of letting go.

It doesn't help that Evan is there-- he's sitting in the pew across from me, alone. Deep within me, a more human, discarded version of myself begs to join him. It's the kind of sentimentality I didn't think I had in me until I'd already lost it. What turns me away, at last, is the way Will is looking at me. It's not just guilt, or even pity, both of which would be bad enough, but he almost looks inquisitive. It's borderline creepy, and I force my face back towards the altar. Discomfort floods my body, drives me to pull at the agenda. The last time I was at a church was my grandmother's death. That's what the air here smells like. Church air.

The event itself is all Megan, but it's not my Megan, not quite. I hear about her love of books five times over, her family's trip to a comic convention and all about her kindness... kind comes up as often as nice. Megan was such a nice girl. She did nice things for others. Nice nice nice. It is her behind a veil of white fabric, her, purified, her, diluted to the best, most docile moments of her life.

When there are humorous anecdotes, which are the most honest ones, it strikes me that I barely knew her, either. Amanda talks about their squabbles in middle school: "Megan was the kind of person who would keep at this kind of thing, too, she was serious", "She had a particular copy of a Wrinkle in Time she used to keep on hand for light reading and a melee weapon, if necessary,", and by the end, when she's relating a camp experience that lead them to become friends (clearly more than that, from what she's hinting), the girls in the front row are crying again.

I watch, detached, as the congregation rises, and the man who sings along with them, holding his brother's hand, that man owns my skin but isn't me. Adam Rosenbloom is grieving for a pretty girl he knew almost well enough, for a few months out of a dream, and so vague that 'dream' doesn't begin to cover it.

The suit clutches at my neck and I begin to feel claustrophobic in my own skin.

The reception downstairs offers fruit, chocolates, and a slideshow of her life. The six-year old who beams up from a boxy cardboard cosplay, that's her, and there are pictures of her at the beach, at dance events, and several full-group shots of her and the Naval Brigade at the National Book Festival. I half-watch from a table while staring down my brother from the side. Serena is across the room, next to an old piano that sparsely decorates the hall, and Harper holds her hand. Both of them are wearing stunning black dresses.

Will breaks from the crowd, then Amanda passes him and strides up to me, slamming a hand on the table. I narrow my eyes.

"Rosenbloom."

With all the hostility I can muster, I say, "Look, she asked to walk home alone. We'd done it a million times before, her house was two blocks away." Yeah, yet they couldn't find the accident on camera. Great excuse.

"What? I didn't ask about that, asshole." Amanda mutters. She drums her fingers on the plastic table- really not going away, then. "I don't know what relation you had with Megan, exactly, because she was super cagey about it, but I also know you two were close. In fact, all three of you were close, and that's why I really need to speak with you."

"...three?" I ask.

Amanda rolls her eyes. "Evan Drake's kind of a creep. I don't know why Megan would hang out with either of you, especially considering you're almost a stereotype of a stereotype of what people envision when they think 'bitchy white male'."

"Thanks." I say, taking another cantaloupe skewer. "Sorry your friend switched friend groups, sorry you feel obligated to take it out on me, and believe me when I say that no matter what I tell you, you're just not going to get it."

"I think I would, and that's exactly why I need to talk to you." she insists.

Evan slinks past out of the corner of my eye, towards the exit. I push my chair out and stand. "No, you really wouldn't. I'm sorry for your loss, loved your speech. Nice chat. Bye."

I barge past my parents, who are talking to Amanda's mom. Evan has all but disappeared, unsurprisingly. Serena and Harper are both still unaware of the situation... and it's going to stay that way. I center myself and push past scores of people I don't know, past one of her siblings, tenderly as I can breach a crowd, and I'm nearly to the door when Amanda grabs my arm. The malice in her eyes is inhuman.

"Leave me alone."

"Do you know anything about-" she pauses. "A man named Ignatius Faust?"

"He's like... a book character or something? This is the worst possible time for you to be interrogating me about nerd shit." I say, completely candid. My eyebrows furrow. Is this a code? Something more sinister? An idea begins to stir in my head and I shut it down. Not my problem, not my world.

Amanda's glare lifts, and she lets go. "Sorry, Adam."

"Grief makes you do stupid things," I say, with a shrug. "No hard feelings." Once I'm certain she's off my tail, I press through to the door and into the open air, the March chill a relief from the tepid body of the mourning church. I could breathe this in forever, and it makes me feel dizzily alive. Reality sinks its teeth into my skin as I see him there, hands hastily shoved into his pockets. He has Onyx's braced shoulders, the lithe but fatal tilt of his limbs, but he's small and his hair is messed up in a way more familiar to Evan, the old one. The expression is all new, though- there is no life in it at all. He looks possessed.

We share a moment of silence, our own personal funeral, and his gaze rolls from the street to me.

"I'm not programmed to attack you in my civilian form," he whispers, at last. The voice is not entirely his, graced by a smooth cruelty, like a polished knife, "but I'm going to warn you right now that the noise is kicking in, and I will do so anyways."

A cab pulls up, driving old rain from the sides of the streets and slicking the wheels. I stand breathless as he files in and pulls away; I remain there until my parents come out to look for me with Will in tow.

---

I fight Evan for the second time the next morning. I didn't expect to get into the plant alone, but I didn't expect to get jumped in the forest, either. There he is, throwing himself through the air and feinting out to the side of my blade, and soon we're locked in battle, claws on sword. He's fast enough that I can't dodge, so I fall back several times, swinging the blade a few seconds too late, unsure if I'd be able to hit him if I wanted to. I'm unsurprised when the sword flies out of my hands and lands, cooling on my command, into the ground. My body hurts all over from burn blisters that penetrate the fabric. Evan lifts a hand to my face.

"Make it quick." I say.

His hand twitches and wild, furious instinct takes over, the kind that is still afraid of dying. I push him off me, surprised that it works at all, but he falls like he's been hit by a train. I grab my sword and lower it to his neck. It seethes with white light, causing him to squint.

"Say something." I say. "Fucking say something. Beg for mercy, apologize, just give me anything to hold onto."

A smile twitches across his face, wild and inhuman. "They get out of my head a little when we fight, you know." He grabs the sword with his bare hands, heat and all, and drags himself upwards.

"How many people have they turned?" I ask.

He gives me a sad smile. "Close to what they had before we got the shards. Hundred by the end of the week." Every word is a struggle. "Move fast."

I hear the metallic creak of Walkers and a portal opens behind me. I duck back into the Veins, and he follows, a second too late for Anthem to close the portal. A quick swing into the lair brings me to safety and out of his reach, though I'm still shaking all over, imagining his hand at my neck. HIs hands are still on my shoulders, my back, the familiar brush of hair on all my exposed skin, I'm drowning in noise I can't heart. He's never gone. Neither is she.

Serena waits inside, with Anthem curled on one of the chairs. I swallow the urge to hurt either of them.

"No luck?" asks Serena, tentatively.

Rage boiling over in my awful, confining body, I throw the sword at a shelf, which clatters to the ground, leaving the books unhurt. "What do you think?!"

"Adam. Calm. Evan knows where our houses are."

"Are you trying to make me feel better? Because you suck at it." I snarl.

She steps back, as if she has any right to be offended. "He knows our names, he knows everything about us... but I haven't seen the Delegation bust down our doors yet. Do you think there's a chance..."

"Of course he's still fighting. It's Evan." I snap. "Evan would never stop fighting. Not in a thousand years."

Silence holds between us. She's got my face. It's unnerving, sometimes, and I can't tell if she reminds me of what I am or what I was. It's hard to decide how much I resent her.

"You're still in love with him."

"I still love both of them, Ser." I say, holding back tears. "Why do you think I'm still here?"

(A/N: Adam is agnostic, as is Evan, though they're both from different religious backgrounds. Any presented views on religion are not my own.  I thought that there really WERE no issues in this one but it never hurts to have content warnings. I guess.)