Cain had been hard at work all morning cleaning up the aftermath of the night before. The first aid bag had been reorganized—with the addition of the new supplies they had brought back—and was back in the pantry beside the potatoes. Sam hadn't been much help, but no one seemed to mind. For the most part, Ada kept her company while the other two made themselves busy. No one seemed to want to dwell on the elephant. Ada and Sam discussed Dungeons & Dragons—Ada had never played, her siblings thought it was stupid. Sam was telling her about her gnome named Aripine (among six other names—she was still collecting) and how her character sheet worked, and how the gameplay loosely worked. She seemed interested, and Sam invited her to watch their first session to really get a feel for it.

Afternoon crept in, and with it came a thin mist in place of the steady rainfall that had started sometime before dawn. A gentle fog roiled across the glistening grass. The sliding door was open to carry the damp breeze inside and flush out the thick bleach in the air. They each had a steaming mug before them, and a plate of scones was untouched in the centre of the scrubbed dining table. The mist obscured the treetops beyond the vast windows. The fresh, dewy scent on the breeze was one of Sam's favourite things about spring.

Sam was endlessly grateful for her cozy clothes and tucked her hands further into the too-long sleeves. The night hadn't been long enough, and even having been left to sleep in, she was exhausted. She was sure if she had asked they would have let her sleep longer, but they had questions only she could answer. Sam had a few questions of her own to ask. Not to mention, it was hard to sleep into the afternoon when everyone was working.

Sam cleared her throat lightly, trying to remember the question as Ada gave her knee a soft squeeze. "Right, it was about four hours after you left, he found me in the clearing."

"What form was he in?" Aidan asked, voice hushed. He had been quiet all morning.

"This one, he came to talk."

Aidan frowned. "Was he on anything?"

Sam shrugged. "He said he wasn't, but I can't say for sure. He seemed sober, I think." She paused for a drink. Ada's warm palm cupped just above her right knee kept her grounded. "He wasn't hostile at first, but things got out of hand really quickly."

Cain finally put words to his troubled expression. "Did he say why he came here? I can't imagine what was going through his head taking such a risk."

"He was trying to convince me to leave him alone; you, too. We only touched on it for a second, so I'm not sure, but I got the impression he was tired of running." She took a moment to gather her thoughts. "He mentioned starting over at one point. He seemed to think he had to kill me for that to happen, though. It was a very strange conversation."

"I wonder who he was intending on seeing," said Cain after a time. They all turned to him, varying states of curiosity on their faces. "Well, he can't have known we were going away yesterday. If you think about it, he was taking a pretty big risk. He would have had to wait a while to get one of us alone or risk being overpowered and caught anyway; unless that itself was his plan. It's not like he could have stuck around waiting for long—we would have caught his scent as soon as we went outside."

"I hadn't thought of that," admitted Aidan, a troubled furrow forming on his brow. "What was he thinking?"

Sam shrugged, but then realized she had an answer. "Honestly, I don't think he was, not in great detail. Whatever is going on between him and his wolf, it's bad."

"You mentioned things got out of hand; what happened?" Aidan probed.

Sam finished her sip and went on. "I suggested we take him in,"—Aidan winced preemptively—"and yeah, he didn't take it well. He attacked me, we fought for a little bit, and I ran the first chance I got. The ground got higher and I couldn't see the cliff until it was behind me. I had my last memory as I fell. Well, actually, she spoke to me, and then the memory began. When I woke up we had already hit the ground. I stayed with him until he died—or at least I thought he did. Then I started to walk back and, well, you know the rest."

Sam didn't go on. What happened between her and Ada was no one's business. She sought her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as a wave of tension wracked her. Sam was eager to get to her question, which she had kept burning for nearly twenty-four hours. Though she knew theirs were more important just then, it didn't make waiting any easier.

"You're incredibly lucky you landed where you did. I'm amazed you're not both dead." Cain sighed as he leaned onto his elbows. "I gave more thought to your question last night, on how he was alive for so long after his system seemingly shut down. I'm sorry I wasn't much help, I was quite tired. What I forgot to explain was that when he went unconscious like that, his body redirected all resources to healing the mortal injury before death. Because of that plug, his blood was able to clot and stop the worst of the blood-loss in time. Of course, lifting him reopened the injury. I packed it with gauze and hoped for the best, really. That boy wasn't ready to die just yet."

Sam couldn't imagine hanging on through such an ordeal. She didn't envy him the pain, but a small part of her felt she deserved it. It was hard to suppress that thought, as much as it sickened her, and when she couldn't she threw a sheet over it and pretended not to notice the obstruction. It was about as effective as stuffing her fingers in her ears and singing loudly to drown out something obnoxious.

"How is he this morning?" Sam enquired. She hadn't brought herself to go see Noah again just yet.

Cain shrugged. "Other than superficial healing, no obvious change."

Aidan scratched the stubble on his chin absently. "So, what do we do next?"

"I was rather hoping you could answer that." Cain smiled lightly in support.

"Me? Wh- oh, I don't think that applies right now. I can't make decisions for him, he's not loyal yet. I wouldn't feel comfortable doing so even if he was."

"We're not asking you to make decisions for him," Sam cut in. "We're just coming up with ideas. Nothing is set in stone." She glanced to Ada, who smiled reassuringly.

His face for a moment was an odd split between stoic mask and insecurity. "Well ... we first need to get Noah to agree with us on anything, anything at all. If he's not willing to hear us then any plan will be futile."

"What would he respond to?" asked Ada softly, drawing Aidan's attention.

"I haven't spoken with him in roughly three years. At this point, Sam knows his mind better than I do." Though he said it flatly, Sam could sense the hurt beneath it. Again, all eyes turned to her.

"Me? I don't know about that ..." she trailed off, but their expectant stares remained. "Okay, he did say something I think might be relevant, but Aidan, are you sure you don't want to discuss this privately?"

He seemed to understand her imploring stare. "No, I can handle whatever you have to say."

Reluctantly, she said, "Noah said something about how he felt you didn't protect him. That was when the conversation derailed. I think he feels like he came second to your responsibilities."

The mask became stone. Cain averted his gaze on the pretence of refilling his mug from the carafe. After a long moment, Aidan appeared to collect his thoughts enough to proceed.

"Yeah, that sounds like a viable lead. As much as I wish I could deny it, Noah absolutely came second to my title."

Cain and Sam shared a brief look, which made her think immediately of Cora's accident. In more ways than one Aidan had misplaced his priorities that day. If the date had worked out, perhaps it would have been a step in the right direction for their relationship. In either case, the gesture was wrong, as well intended as it was. She didn't know the other stories, but she didn't need to to understand their dynamic. Aidan did what he felt he had to do, and then did what he could to make it up to his brother. Lori and Sam weren't unalike from them. Granted, their squabbles were over grades and career paths, not the fate of a species versus a healthy relationship.

It concerned her a little how plainly Aidan could agree on this. He was either coming to terms with it, or covering his own conflict over the matter to deflect attention. She hoped for the former, and was inclined toward it by the absence of the jumping muscle in his jaw. Maybe he was making strides in the right direction, or maybe he was just saying what he needed to to make it through the conversation. The not knowing was bothering her more than she liked.

"I'll think about it." Aidan took a scone. He couldn't be too upset if he was managing to eat. Perhaps Sam was just seeing what she wanted to. "I'm not comfortable speculating when there are so many variables. Until he either wakes up or dies, we're in limbo."

None of them was inclined to debate. Limbo was an apt description of the cabin at that point. Four of them without purpose cooped up in a small space. Sam was too injured and exhausted to go for a run, and neither Cain nor Aidan wanted to be away from Noah, for different reasons; Cain wanted to be there in case of a medical emergency, while Aidan wanted to be there should Noah wake up swinging. Sam suspected he was also thinking of the persistent potential of Noah's demise. It was a tricky wound to heal, a lot of tissue to regrow or heal over. Cain gave her a rundown over breakfast not long after.

The recap went about as well as Sam had expected. She managed not to cry, so that was more than she could have asked. In fact, she felt rather flat about the whole thing. Probably because she was so tired, but it was like she had no more cares to give.

She hadn't forgotten her question, but she wanted to bring it up in private. Aidan had gone through a lot, and the last thing she wanted was to make him feel cornered if the answer was personal. So she waited. He never strayed from the room for long, and no time felt right to pull him aside. She decided to ask to speak with him when he finished the dishes, just to get it over with. When he finished, he followed her onto the deck, somewhere between expectant and wary. Her fingers laced awkwardly in front of her as she gathered the words and said them before she lost her nerve.

"Noah knows we have his journal." In her brief pause, his eyes widened infinitesimally. "Three months of entries are missing, according to him. Do you know anything about that?"

Sweat beaded on his upper lip. Sam expected him to lie, to shake his head, but he said softly, "I do." She waited for him to go on; it took a while for him to figure out what to say. "I want to make it clear that I didn't remove them because they mention me. They're disturbing. I lied to you the first time I was at your house, I did finish the journal while you were writing. I was horrified, and reading them would have just upset you. They weren't helpful; I wish I had never read them."

Sam floundered between indignant at being protected from her feelings, and grateful to have been given the choice instead of stumbling on whatever had made Aidan so uncomfortable. Well, not so much given the choice, but given time to gain perspective. She doubted Aidan would have told her of this if she hadn't found out on her own. On the other hand, had he have let her find the information herself, even with fair warning, she would have read the pages without hesitation. With her new perspective, she was at best unsure. Nothing good could be on those pages. She had never seen his eyes so wide.

"Are they about me?" she asked at last.

"Yes."

She had thought as much after all Noah had let spill in the moments before he fell unconscious. With absolute conviction, she said, "I want to read them."

"I'll get them," he said while nodding and began to head inside, but she caught his wrist lightly. He paused, easing back a step.

"One more thing." She smiled to reassure him it wasn't bad. "Thank you for the surprise. You don't know how much this means to me."

He returned the smile. "My pleasure. And I'm sorry for keeping those pages from you, I know I should have told you sooner."

Sam let go and followed him inside, then waited behind the couch as he slipped into his bedroom. Cain was just settling in, and Ada was already comfortable at one end of the couch. He passed her a bowl of popcorn and she started up a movie. Ada tilted around, seeking Sam's gaze, a little grin on her lips leading her silent invitation to join. Sam's heart skipped, and she held up one finger just as Aidan returned with a thin stack of off-white pages, all textured from exposure and handling.

"You don't have to read these." His voice was just above a whisper. "You won't be missing anything should you choose not to." Aidan gave her a hard look to make sure she understood.

"Thanks."

She only got a glimpse inside the room before he shut the door, and Noah was in the exact position they had left him, chest rising in a steady rhythm. Would she still feel concern for him at the end of the pages? They were a brick in her hand despite being only a couple dozen pages. She didn't notice how long she stood there staring at the raised bumps on the back of the last page until gunfire on the television jerked her to her senses, and she noticed the three of them had already settled in. Aidan's long legs were crossed off the end of the loveseat, while Cain made rare use of the recliner. Sam scaled the back of the long couch and, at Ada's urging, curled into her side. She let the pages rest on her thigh and watched the well choreographed gunfight with disinterest.

Ada's hand on her hip drew her focus. She traced distracting little patterns through Sam's shirt, seemingly an absent thought. Sam found herself melting into her embrace as Ada casually ate one popcorn kernel at a time with her free hand.

It was a long time before she brought herself to actually look at the words on the page. She was nervous. Aidan's reaction had been more than she expected. How bad could it be that he would feel the need to warn her so strongly? Her hands shook as she turned the stack over and took her first proper glance at the familiar penmanship. The left edges were all sliced uniformly.

Well, she did get around to reading them. The handwriting changed by the day. It seemed to depend on his mood, his state of mind, and whether or not he was sober. It turns out she did remember the day he first saw her, and she remembered a lot more after that. A chill sank deep into her bones. She could summarize the pages, but that would do Noah's expression a disservice. September 9th through January 7th read as follows: