I didn't say anything, staring at my father's eyes. They were a darker red than they had been at the party, but still weren't normal.

He lowered himself to the floor gingerly. "What are you doing here?"

I didn't break eye contact. "Uh, well, I was going to ask you some questions, but I think--" I swallowed. "I think that one of them has been answered already."

He chuckled lightly. "I can only guess which one that is." He tapped the ground beside him. "Are you going to ask about the others, or just stare?"

Just that one sentence sent chills down my spine. While my father would make smart comments or snap sometimes, he didn't say things in the tone he spoke in.

I went over to him and sat down. He moved his arm away slightly, which only made me grab his hand. I recoiled slightly at not being able to feel him, but then remembered.

I pulled his arm closer to me. Small specks of blood had dried near a few of the needle marks. "What happened to you?"

He sighed. "Muraes. They are trying to do something stupid."

"Like make you turn?"

Dad stiffened. He pulled away and touched his head. "Exactly like that. You know, since it's just the brightest idea anyone could have."

I couldn't help but giggle, even though the situation wasn't funny. Dad looked like he wanted to but just grinned instead.

My smile faded. A rat scurried from one end of the cell and between the bars. "So, what are the needle marks from?"

He took a deep breath. "The thing you--we--have is different, even though it goes by almost the same name. When someone is born with the capability for magic but never uses it, the magic can bottle up until it explodes. Once that happens, it's called--"

"Miralis," I interrupted. "I know, Nutcracker told me."

If Dad was bothered in the slightest by me calling someone "Nutcracker," he didn't show it. He nodded his head and continued.

"The other way for miralis to happen is with someone who doesn't have the capability for magic. Somehow, you can make magic a liquid form and inject it into someone. When enough of it is in them, then another person wakes up inside their head."

"Like the natural version?" I asked. "Because apparently, if it's natural, the miralis-person is you, just really, really mean and really, really creepy."

Dad clenched his fists. His knuckles turned whiter than his face, if that was possible. A thin trickle of blood ran down his fingertips and plipped into a puddle of water on the stone. His breath hitched, then sped up.

He closed his eyes. "Back up, Clair."

Like an idiot, I didn't move.

Dad grit his teeth together and slammed his hand against the wall. A loud crack echoed in the cell, but the crack wasn't from a bone of his breaking, it was from the wall breaking.

It did make me move, so plus side to that, I guess.

I grabbed onto a cell bar, squeezing it as tightly as I could. Wet from water dripped down it slowly, running down my hand.

My father froze. His body shook like he was cold, but the air was warm.

"Dad?" I whispered. "Are you..."

He pushed himself into a corner and fixed his eyes on a spot in the middle of the cell. "It's not the same," he said quickly. "If it comes naturally, it's a different version of you. If it comes through liquid magic, then it's an entirely different being."

"So you have another person inside your head."

He choked out a laugh." Yes, and he's not very happy at this moment. Or--maybe he is happy, but--" he let out a shaky breath, "--he's fighting. He hasn't existed in years."

I started to shuffle toward him, but Dad held up a hand. I stayed still in the corner. "You have had this before."

"Many, many years ago. Willingly. I thought that I couldn't get it again, but the world just loves proving me wrong recently."

His voice sent a shiver up my spine. There was something hidden under it, something that kept getting louder every time he spoke.

"Dad, when did you get it? I--I saw your first name in a book where I'm--"

"Don't finish your sentence. If it has anything to do with where you're staying, don't." He looked at me again. His eyes were bright scarlet. He lowered his voice. "He'll hear, and if he hears, then the muraes will know."

I shut my mouth.

His is a lot different than mine.

Dad sat down on the floor. His hands were still in fists and he still shook, but it had calmed down. "I--during the war," he lowered his voice, looking almost ashamed. "I saw no other option. One of my friends had been killed--murdered by a wielder. And I lost it. I went mad with anger. Every breath I took was one my friend would never get back. Every second that passed, I felt my hatred toward magic grow, " he said, staring at me. "Then, one day, I found it. The serum. It was in an old building in Arium. Like a fool, I took it upon myself to get revenge. So, I injected it into my bloodstream."

My eyes widened. "You just randomly stuck something you found into your arm. Bright move, Dad."

He half-smiled. "Clair," he whispered, "Revenge is a funny thing. It makes people do crazy stuff."

I can see that.

I cleared my throat. "So, you injected yourself and... it showed up? Your personal nutso?"

He nodded. "Yes. He showed up. He showed up powerful, ready to leech off my hate." Dad gulped. He fists tightened. "And he did. Before I knew it, I had ended the war."

He looked up. His face was blank, but his eyes screamed in pain. "I killed so many people on both sides, everyone called truce. It was too late for me--he had taken over. But I wanted out, so I fought him."

With my voice no more than a breath, I grabbed Dad's hand and said: "And it nearly killed you."

He didn't answer me, but I knew it was true.

"Dad," I mumbled. "The stories you and Mom tell us-- are they all real? All true?"

Dad shook his head. "All stories have to come from somewhere. Why?"

"We found out information about where the muraes came from. I just want a little more help in deciphering the puzzle."

We both fell silent. My mind raced with everything my father told me. Instead of letting the pile of emotions that came crawling over to the floodgates loose, I half-laughed. "I feel like I'm interrogating you, Dad."

He let himself smile. "If you'd like it to be more realistic, I can summon a table and a few chairs for us. I have enough magic now."

"Nah." I shook my head. Then, a thought came to me. "The scar on your chest," I blurted. "Where did that come from?"

His eyes hardened. "It had to be stopped, and death was the only way I knew how. I allowed it to get me into a fight I couldn't hope to win. I was right. The man I fought stabbed me in my chest." He pressed his fingers against his breast bone. "I very nearly died that day. The wound was enough to kill my cling-on, but before it killed me, I was healed."

A smile flickered over Dad's pale lips. "Your mother saved my life that day. When I woke, I thought it all a dream."

I didn't want to change the subject, but I could feel myself starting to pull away. "Speaking of 'dreams', do you ever dream about it? Like, actually see him and talk to him in your dream?"

Way to be subtle, Clair. Good job.

My father's eyes widened. "Clair," he said slowly, "did you see her?"

A loud clang made me shut my mouth. Dad's shoulders tensed up and he motioned for me to be quiet. Scratchy voices echoed in the narrow hallway. Metal scraped against the floor, then struck something soft. A voice cried out in pain, then the metal hit them again, putting a silence to the sound.

Another metal piece slid against the ground, then I heard a grunt as someone lifted it. It clanged down onto the stone with a slight squish.

There was a soft thump, then the shuffling of footsteps as they exited.

Then it was silent.

Did someone just die?

My stomach dropped. The realization of what I just heard sank in further the more time went by.

I stared at my father, who had a blank look on his face. Tears pricked my eyes. I ran across the room and buried myself in his arms, all thoughts of him trying to rip my head off vanishing.

He held me close to him and ruffled my hair. There were no "it's okay"s or him trying to calm me down.

Because it wasn't okay.

Dad's heart pounded next to my ear like a drum. "I don't dream him, Clair," he breathed into my hair. "He tries to take over. If he takes over, then I'm shoved to the back of my mind and silenced, or my body dies in the struggle between us. Either way, I die. I'm no longer me when he takes over, I'm someone else."

He held me out at arms length and brushed a curl out of my eye. "There is no coming back if the other takes over. There can be a war, but there is no winning."

This is getting depressing.

A tear ran down my cheek. "I don't want to die, Dad." My breaths shook."I don't want you to, I don't want Mom to, or Raoul. I'm--I'm trying to be brave and not break down, but I..."

He wiped away my tears and cupped my face in his hands. "Isgnst achleen an wat meider azelf vanamh maklinn é. Do you know what that means?"

My Zelgwyn needed much more work for me to be able to understand that.

I shook my head, unable to speak.

"It means 'Fear is only what we make of it.'" Dad brushed my hair back again, then pulled me close.

"Clair, you're fourteen. You are much braver than I was at your age. I thought the world was a silver platter, and it was only when I hit--" he wrinkled his nose in thought "--sixteen that I got the truth shoved in my face. Honestly, if you weren't afraid, I'd be very, very worried."

Dad pushed my hair back. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "You need to remember, no matter what is going to happen, I love you. I will always love you."

I sniffled. "I love you, too, Dad."

The corners of his mouth twitched into a grin. "You need to leave," he mumbled. "You've been here to long."

I nodded. I didn't really want to leave, but he was right. It had been to long.

Old guy? I need to go back.

My fingertips started to tingle like they'd been shocked. It spread out to my arms, then chest. My vision started to blur.

"Ah!"

I jumped. My father doubled over, clutching his head. His nails raked through strands of his hair. A low growl forced its way out of his throat.

Wait, stop!

Dad groaned. His knees hit the floor with an audible thud. He started to shake again, that time harder than ever before. A choked laugh twisted its way from his throat, strangling itself in the air.

It was when his arms hit the ground with such force that it sent a needle across the cell that I realized what happened.

The muraes used me as a distraction.