The tears came just before Gray opened the door.

It wasn't easy. Gray had to force them. Truthfully, they couldn't find much to be sad about in Smith's death—he'd been an irritating, incompetent, and generally useless man with an undeservedly large ego who'd thought too much of his own power. The type of man who generally veered towards jobs that required an undercurrent of cruelty but not the intelligence to match. And, ultimately, his death had been useful—didn't that make it less sad? To have died for something? Unlike the rest of the corpses who littered these halls, who'd died without a purpose. At least Smith was granted honour in death, the blessing of being able to lay down his life in sacrifice. Most weren't so lucky.

Gray could manage, though. They were a good actor. Salty tears cut slippery paths along the dried blood that crusted their features, and their breath was unsteady enough that forcing out hacking sobs wasn't too much of a stretch. When they were sure their grief would be convincing enough, they opened the arm and stumbled numbly towards Celia, taking a moment to register the brightly-lit streets before they let their eyes flutter shut, stinging from the saltwater.

Celia's arms opened wide to accept them. Gray cried into her shoulder, body heaving, limbs trembling, breathing in a heady combination of her floral perfume and sickly mouldering iron.

"He didn't make it out," Gray managed, the words warped and garbled. Celia's body was soft and familiar against theirs. They heard Leo's breath hitch somewhere to their left, but paid it no mind.

Somewhere in the distance, the clock chimed one, a single, unapologetic peal.

"Shit," Gray muttered, pulling away quickly. They started to pace back and forth. "Okay. Okay. The lights are on. We'll be safe—safe-ish—near the lights, I think. Probably. No, definitely, I'm not wrong about these things. Clock struck one means everywhere's fair game means if any of you hears clicking like we dad back at the precinct, we've all got to shut up—like, properly, completely shut the fuck up—or we'll be dead. You guys with me so far?"

Blue and ghostly between the flashlight's beam and the city lights, Celia and Leo nodded shakily.

"Good. Good. This is good. We need to go to... the university, first, so I can gather my notes. I'll have a better sense of what to do once I get my notes. From there, I can probably find you two somewhere safe—or as safe can be managed, under these circumstances, really, and I'll see what I can do to fix this."

"What do you mean "fix this?"" Leo asked, speaking as though he was afraid of the words that passed his lips. "It's all supposed to be over in twenty four hours, right? Dark Day, that's the deal?"

Gray blinked. "Well, I have to stop it from spreading, of course."

"What?" Celia spit out the question as though it tasted bitter.

"Did I not tell you about this part?" Gray started walking down the road. They knew the path to the university well. Under streetlight, quite a lot more bodies were visible, and the boy clung to Celia's side in a rather puppyish, pathetic way. "It'll spread. We're always isolated—slipping sheets, remember? And doubly so during the Dark Days. But an event like this will cause the borders of our town to creak and rupture and spill over until we live in a world of darkness and most everyone is gone. I mentioned this. Surely."

"You did... not... mention this," Celia replied shakily, one hand covering Leo's eyes as they passed a particularly grisly mound of flesh.

"Oh! Well. It'll get worse."

"So when you said we only needed to make it through a day—"

"You guys do. I have quite the night ahead of me." Gray took the flashlight from Celia. "I'll be alright, though. Really. I've prepared for this."

Celia frowned, lips pursed together tightly. She looked like she had more to add, and perhaps she would've spoken had Leo not cut in.

"How'd that cop die?" He asked, looking up at Gray with wide, watery eyes.

Gray's mouth went dry.

They could feel Celia's gaze on them, the weight of it, the expectation. They swallowed the lump in their throat and stared ahead at the road.

"There were... angels in the building," they said softly. Truth. That was truth. They could tell the truth, and just... leave out some parts. Gray didn't feel bad about what they'd done, didn't regret it. But Celia didn't need to know. Celia didn't deserve to learn that she loved a killer. Not on a night like this, at least. "Not-angels. Watchers, I suppose, is the easiest thing to call them? I could see them faintly, and they looked almost the same as they almost had, but they didn't attack us, didn't move, not until Smith got near the control station—"

Gray's voice broke. They allowed themself a moment to gather their thoughts. "While they were attacking him, I got the lights on. The lights scared the angels off. But by the time they were gone, it was too late, and—and he was dead."

There. A sufficient story, they supposed. All truth, at least, if a bit distorted. Good enough.

The three of them walked a long stretch in silence.

"I'm sorry you had to be there," Celia said eventually, quietly. Comforting. An attempt, at least.

"Me too," Gray said.

"How did you make it out?"

"What do you mean?"

"With Smith." Celia was choosing her words carefully. Gray could tell. And that was never a good sign. "He got attacked, and they just... ignored you?"

Feigned ignorance through a haze of feigned grief. "I...suppose so," they replied. "I think—he moved a lot more than I did. A lot more quickly. He was louder. He'd gone near one of the bodies in the room. They're triggered by sound and movement more than sight. I guess I just got lucky."

Celia's inquisitive expression softened into a kinder, more relieved smile. "I'm glad you did," she said. "But I don't—surely you don't have to save everything on your own. The burden of the world shouldn't rest on your shoulders."

But what if I want it to?

"I'll be okay. Promise." Gray matched her gentle smile with a more confident one. "I'm tough. And I've been preparing for this. I just need... my notes, and there should be somewhere safe for you and the kid at the university, and really, it won't be that dangerous for me."

"And you're sure I shouldn't go with you?"

"Heavens, no." Gray laughed. "I'll be fine because I know exactly what to do. But you don't. And I can't lose you to this. It's my fault that we're here in the first place. We should never have been here in the city to begin with. Keep yourself out of danger. Take Leo with you. It'll all be okay. Things will work out." Gray spotted the first roadside up ahead, indicating they'd entered the campus. The Faculty of the Metaphysical wouldn't be too far away.

Gray was a good few steps past Celia when they noticed she'd stopped walking.

"Gray?" She asked tentatively.

"Yeah?"

"What would happen to the world if you weren't here?"

Gray faltered. They looked back at Celia, that dreadful bitter knot of horror curling up in their stomach once again, steeped in bile and vitriol.

"What do you mean?"

"All of... this." Celia wasn't looking at them. Celia didn't seem to be looking at anything. "So... we were supposed to leave. We made plans. We weren't supposed to be here. But we are here, because you got arrested, and now that we're here you seem to have your own plans, and according to you if you don't do whatever you need to do to "fix the world" then everything will end. But. We weren't supposed to be here. So if we weren't here, if you weren't here, the apocalypse would be set in motion. But you knew. You wouldn't just... let this happen. Gray." The betrayal on Celia's face was so much worse than the final look Smith had given them. "Did you get arrested on purpose?"

Gray met Celia's gaze with astounding ease. They shrugged, as carefree as they could manage. It wasn't difficult to say: "Yes. I did."

Celia's mouth fell open. She started to shake. With one arm, she pushed Leo behind her. "Why?"

"Because I had to!" It seemed rather ridiculous that Celia didn't seem to understand. "Goodness, Celia—tell me where we planned to go. Tell me which state or province or territory we're in. Tell me which cities and towns we're bordering. Tell me where in the world we are. Except—you can't, because we aren't anywhere, because this town is not a solid, bound thing. This world is so much more than anyone else could even begin to understand. You wouldn't let me stay unless we had to. I was hoping you would leave. I never wanted to put you in danger. But this needs to happen. I need to be here. I'll keep you safe, I just. I just. We need to get to the university."

"You're not making sense."

Gray wanted to keep walking. They needed to keep walking. "I am making perfect sense and I swear to you that I will explain everything tomorrow, but for now we need to keep moving." As much as it pained them, they retraced their steps so they could rejoin Celia and the boy—both of whom were now eyeing them with matching distrust. "I had to do this. You'll understand. You weren't—you weren't supposed to—"

They cut themself off. What good would more words do? What were they supposed to say?

"Are you being honest about what happened with Smith?"

A shiver rippled across their skin. Goosebumps. The hair on their arms rose. Gray felt the shift once more, such a tender thing. Fear, real fear, pooled around their bones.

"Celia." Gray grabbed her arm and held her tightly, pressing every ounce of dead seriousness into their voice as they could muster. "My love. What I have done tonight is so much worse than you can possibly comprehend. But right now, if you and the boy want to live, I need you to run."

Celia ripped their arm away. "What?"

That clicking. Always the clicking.

Gray bared their teeth. Oh, they were here, clicking, whirring, shadowy metal rings undulating and spinning, eyes twisting and refocusing. Yes. They knew. Perhaps it was the faint electric smell, that scent of ozone. Maybe it was the strange static that prickled along their skin. It could have been that almost imperceptible metallic hiss, like blades on blades

"Run, Celia!" Gray shouted suddenly, breath quickening, adrenaline thudding in branching veins. "Run towards the university, run and run and run and don't look back—"

Celia pressed both hands to her mouth, and the shocked look of her just about broke Gray's heart. "But what about—"

Gray pressed the flashlight into Celia's hands frantically. They were here, they were, they were, angels notangels watchers wicked murderous things.

"Run. Be quiet. Hurry. Stick to the light. I'll be fine."

Celia shook her head, mouth shut, eyes wide.

"I will be." Gray smiled weakly. "These things won't hurt me."

"But how—"

"Because they know me." Their breaths were ragged, fraying fabric edges. "Now you need to—"

The streetlight bulbs burst. One by one, static sizzles crescendoing in broken glass that fell like confetti. Gray's stomach sank.

Two sets of footsteps sprinted down the road, a flashlight's beam wrapping them in safety, a pinprick of light fading away.

Only Gray stood alone in darkness.

Angels not-angels.

The clicking. It was a terrible sound.