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A warm hand caressed Clementine's ice-cold skin. He wasn't sure where he was or if he was even alive. He lay in endless darkness, suspended in the still, silent air. He didn't feel any sort of worry or desperation. No, this relaxation...he had craved something like this for so long. Quiet. Calm. Nothing to care about. Nothing to worry about. Just him and the dark.

          But it wasn't over yet. It couldn't be. He still had a job to do—he hadn't finished what he'd sworn to do before he let the dark take him. But he just felt so tired. He'd done enough, right? He'd killed some of the Ravenblood; that was better than nothing, wasn't it?

          No, it wasn't. If he didn't kill them all, they'd grow up, have children, and the cycle would never end. More people would suffer the same fate as he and Anette did. Hundreds—thousands. And he wasn't going to let his sister have died for nothing.

          He couldn't give up. Not yet.

          Not yet.

          The warmth on his hand began to spread up his arm. He focused on that. The warmth, the feeling of belonging it gave him. He knew he had to go to wherever that warmth was coming from...and as it spread over his shoulders and through his chest, his struggling, stifled heart began to beat as it once had.

          An echo of a voice shuffled through the dark. He wasn't sure whose it was, but it was calling his name. So, he closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth, the voice, and his desperation to finish what he'd started.

          The comforting warmth spread throughout his entire, once-cold body; his stiff limbs started to respond to his desire to move, and when he gradually opened his eyes, he found himself staring up at the mural-covered ceiling of his academy bedroom.

          "Clem?"

          His sights shifted to the direction the voice came from, and that was where he found Sebastien sitting at his bedside. The white-haired kid stared down at him, his golden eyes gleaming in the dark. Sebastien then stood up, gazing at him with an expression Clementine had never seen on his face before: relief. And it was he who was grasping Clementine's hand, too.

          "Hey," Sebastien said, leaning closer.

          It took him a moment...but he found his voice. "What...what the hell happened?" But it was all coming back to him. The party, the drink...he was poisoned. How was he alive?

          "How do you feel?" Sebastien asked.

          Clementine grunted, trying to sit up, but his aching, throbbing body kept him where he was.

          "Don't try to move," Sebastien insisted, placing his hand on his chest.

          It was then that he noticed he was wrapped rather tightly in several blankets; the curtains were pinned shut with several hairclips, keeping any light from outside seeping in, and the only light that was within the room came from the lantern on his desk.

          He frowned, trying to pull his hand out of Sebastien's. "How did you...what did you do?"

          "I made you throw up again...but you were still frothing and shaking...and then that Elliot kid suggested we try charcoal. We kinda just shoved some of that down your throat," he explained. "We didn't think you were gonna wake up."

          Charcoal? Of course. Thank whatever god that Elliot knew what to do or he might have actually died.

          He sighed, closing his eyes as his head started to throb. He could hear birds outside, so he assumed he must have been out for the whole night. "What time is it?" he asked—he hoped he hadn't missed his medicine.

          Sebastien scratched the back of his head. "Uh...."

          Staring up at him, Clementine frowned. "What?"

          "Well...it's..." he looked down at his watch, "ten in the morning."

          He exhaled in relief. He still had an hour—

          "But it's been five days."

          If Clementine could spring up out of bed in horror, he would. But all his body could manage was a struggled flinch and mortified stare. Five days?!

          "The professors wanted to move you to the hospital wing, but I wasn't gonna let that happen—anyone could've found and killed you in there."

          Clementine stared up at the ceiling, his heart racing, his sore limbs trembling.

          "The nurse said you'd need to eat, so...I can send that Elliot kid—"

          "Five...days?"

          Sebastien frowned, looking down at him.

          "Did...did you give me my meds?" he asked, looking over at him.

          He nodded. "I gave you one every day."

          "Just one?" he exclaimed weakly.

          "I didn't know how many you take," Sebastien said, frowning. "Can you like...double up your doses to make up for what you missed?"

          "I can't ever miss a dose," he said with a pain grunt. He managed to lift his hand to his head, but as his fingers brushed his cheek, their tips scratched his skin. He frowned, lifting his hand, and when he saw his fingers were covered in grey, stone-like rot, his tired eyed widened, horror stuck his heart, and a throbbing wave of angst shot through his body. "This shouldn't be happening yet," he breathed. "This shouldn't be happening!"

          With a confused frown, Sebastien backed off a little. And for once, he seemed to not know what to say.

          Clementine stared at his hand, slowly turning it so he could see the extent of his decline. The rot spread over the majority of the back of his hand, creeping down past his thumb, nearing his wrist. He lifted his other hand to see there was just as much grey, cracked skin—his racing heart started aching, his breaths becoming harder to take. Panic and dismay enthralled him, and as he started panting, Sebastien moved back to his bedside.

          "Clem, I—"

          "Stop calling me Clem!" he yelled—he coughed and stuttered, what little strength he had leaving his body with his words. His hands fell onto his chest; he closed his eyes, trying to calm his frantic breaths.

          "I'm sorry," came Sebastien's voice.

          He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to say. What was he supposed to do? His life was draining away faster than it should be, he'd missed ten of his pills, and he felt so weak that he wondered if he might ever get out of his bed.

          But of course this had happened. He'd evaded death far too many times in a place where it was inevitable. He'd narrowly escaped being strangled—twice. He'd escaped Ian's beating, he had managed to hide from those leathery-footed creatures in the conservatory garden, he'd survived that dog-like beast's hunt by the skin of his teeth and lived through yet another beating issued by Ian's goons. It was probably about time his luck ran out, wasn't it?

          He wasn't dead, though. Not yet. His allies had saved his life...but at what price? He shakily lifted his right hand, staring at his greyed, cracked skin. How long did he have left?

          "Do you want me to go?" Sebastien asked quietly.

          Slowly, he looked over at him. Once again, Sebastien had saved his life, and by the looks of it, he'd been taking care of him for the past five days, too. There were cushions and blankets on the floor beside his bed, soda cans and empty food packets. It looked almost as if he'd been living here.

          "Have you...been here the whole time?"

          Sebastien nodded. "I didn't wanna leave you alone. Since the party, this place had gone mad. Well...madder than usual," he said, his smirk twitching across his pale face.

          Then, he remembered. "Ian? Did it work?"

          "Well...."

          Sebastien's expression didn't make him feel hopeful.

          "He was puking and shitting himself in class the other day. Ran off with his little friends and hung out in the medical wing for a while. He seems fine now—I'm sorry."

          But a smile made its way onto his face—he didn't care that his cracked lips were stinging. And for a moment, he didn't care that he'd probably lost weeks of his remaining life expectancy.

          "What?" Sebastien asked.

          "It worked."

          "What? I just said he seems fine—"

          Clementine shook his head. "That's exactly what happens. His organs are gonna shut down any day now. He's finished."

          Sebastien smirked. "That'll eleven Ravenblood."

          His moment of triumph faded. Eleven Ravenblood left. But the question was, how much time did he have left to kill them? "Help me up, please," he requested, looking over at Sebastien.

          "I think you should rest—"

          "I wanna sit up," he grumbled.

          Sebastien sighed and reluctantly helped him to sit up.

          As he leaned his back against the bed's headboard, he sighed shakily. His body was aching, but he tried to ignore it. He stared down at his hands, refusing to let his despair consume him. He didn't have time to sulk—now even more so. Ian was going to die and now he had to work out how to kill the rest of the Ravenblood. That was what he needed to focus on. He still had his medicine; the pills would still slow his decline. He'd just need to be much more careful with himself now.

          He exhaled deeply, waiting for the swirling angst in his stomach to wane. "Where are the others?"

          Sebastien sat on the side of his bed. "Class."

          Of course classes would still be running as usual. Why wouldn't they be? And he didn't really expect his allies to miss them, either. They actually wanted to pass and head to the New World.

          "Don't you have classes?"

          "I got Hux to let me off for a few days to stay in here with you."

          "He let you skip lessons?"

          "Yeah."

          "Why?"

          "Because I asked."

          "Why?"

          He scoffed. "What do you mean, why? I had to make sure you didn't kick it. We have a deal, remember?"

          Clementine sighed and tried to roll his eyes, but the action sent pain surging through his head. He grimaced and shook his head. "Thanks," he mumbled. "You didn't have to."

          Sebastien shrugged. Then, he looked down at Clementine's hands. "That's a side effect of the colligo-interitus, isn't it?"

          He looked down at his hands and nodded. "It's the final stage."

          "Final stage?"

          "I saw it happening to my sister. She had it on her hands and her waist."

          "What...is it?"

          He lifted his head to look at him. Sebastien adorned a curious stare, but Clementine didn't want to talk about it. "Is it anywhere else?" he mumbled, looking at his arms. Then, he pulled his blanket down and lifted his shirt, checking his stomach.

          "What happened there?" Sebastien asked, pointing to the raised scar that cut across the right side of Clementine's waist.

          He pulled his shirt back down. "I got too cocky one night in Ulrora," he muttered. "Guy I was stealing from came home early and got me with a carpet knife."

          "Damn."

          "Do you know who poisoned the drinks at the ball?" he asked, and before Sebastien could answer, he said, "I think it was Ian."

          Sebastien waited.

          "He was watching me when we got in the hall and then I saw him smiling before I passed out. I think...I don't know, but when I was in his room, I saw some stuff on his table. Like crumbs and pieces of bay leaf. I've not heard of a poison being made with bay leaves, so I didn't think anything of it when I was up there, but...maybe he made something."

          "What did the crumbs look like?"

          "Uh...I don't know. Maybe white or kinda off-white. They looked like really fine breadcrumbs."

          Sebastien seemed to be pondering.

          "What? Do you know what it was?"

          "I haven't been back over to my side of the academy, but there's no. doubt the other kids are looking into it. Do you remember anything else?"

          Clementine frowned, thinking back to when he'd sipped his cinnamon cocoa. "There was this sort of earthy flavour in the drink."

          "Like soil or bark-like?"

          "Uh...bark, I think."

          He made that pondering face again.

          "What?"

          "I think he used basilisk venom," he said, an almost surprised look on his face.

          "Basilisk venom?"

          "Yeah. It's super rare but I'm sure it wasn't hard for someone from his background to get a hold of. It has an earthy taste and smells a lot like cinnamon. That stuff kills you within minutes of being ingested—it should have killed you."

          Clementine's frown thickened. "So why didn't it? You made me sick it up, right? And the charcoal—"

          "Neither of those things would have really made a difference unless they were done literally the moment they threw up the first time. All the other kids that drank that stuff are dead."

          "Really?"

          "Yeah. Dead and gone before anyone could even try to help. But for some reason, you lasted long enough for us to help. You take medicine, right? For the sickness."

          "Yeah...."

          "Do you know what's in them?"

          "No, not really. What...do you think they somehow helped slow down whatever the poison was doing to me?"

          "Maybe. Isn't that what they do for you? Don't they slow down the illness's progression?"

          "I mean...yeah, but—"

          "It makes sense."

          "I guess so."

          Sebastien grinned.

          Clementine scowled sceptically. "What?"

          "You're gonna testify."

          "What?" he uttered.

          "You're gonna stand up in the trial hall and tell the jury exactly what we just talked about."

          He shook his head. "Uh, no?"

          "Why not?"

          "If I stand up there and tell the whole academy all of this, I'd be pretty much telling the rest of the Ravenblood, 'hey, I've got the sickness your family caused and I'm the one that's been killing you all!'" he exclaimed. "They'll connect the dots, you idiot!"

          Sebastien glowered at him but he didn't snap back. Clearly, he knew he was right.

          "Why do you want me to testify? So you can be the one that found out who killed the kids at the party?"

          He shrugged, a stubborn pout on his face.

          "That'll be nothing compared to when you hand me in for the Ravenblood murders, right? Besides, that'll probably be happening sooner than we think. I don't know how much of my time this poison stole, so we need to get back to it—asap."

          "Shouldn't you take it easy for a few days? You need to eat something, too," he said, a hint of concern in his voice.

          He didn't want to stay in his bed any longer than he had to, but he was hungry and he'd need to take his medicine soon. So, he nodded. "I am kinda hungry."

          Sebastien looked down at his watch again. "Well, it's coming up to eleven. I dunno if there'll be anything left in the lunch hall from breakfast, but I could go and check. Will you be okay for a few minutes up here?"

          Clementine nodded. "Could you grab me some water before you go though, please?"

          "Yeah," he said. Then, he got up and headed out of Clementine's bedroom.

          He waited...and when Sebastien returned with a glass, he watched the kid head into the bathroom. He filled the glass with tap water and made his way back over to Clementine.

          "Here."

          "Thanks," he mumbled, taking it from him.

          Sebastien nodded. "I'll be right back."

          As Sebastien left, Clementine sighed quietly and reached into his nightstand's drawer. He pulled out the glasses case he kept his pills in, opened it, took one out, and put the case back in his drawer. He placed the medication on his tongue and took a few sips of water, swallowing it. And then, he relaxed.

          He could feel his anxiety creeping up on him, though. He had less time, he felt like crap, and he was going to have to be much more careful. But he wasn't going to give up—he couldn't. What mattered was the fact he was still alive and still had time to finish what he'd started. He had a very helpful ally, as well as Elliot, Mathew, and Mavis; he'd have to involve them all at some point, and after what had happened at the ball, he was more than sure they'd be willing to help him. And even if they weren't, he still had Sebastien.

          With a deep exhale, he closed his eyes, trying to silence his angst. He wasn't sure what his next move was—maybe he should wait until Ian died. It would happen any day now, and when it did, he'd work out who his next target was. Until then, he'd recover from what he hoped would be his last near-death.

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