I think you're addicted to it, Santino had said. To the vengeance.

It was worse than that.

No wife, no life, no home. Vengeance; it's all you have.

Santino had been far more correct than he had, or would ever had known.

Winston knew, the moment he saw the empty death mask of John's face, that he wouldn't be able to convince him. It didn't stop him from trying to appeal to Wick's reason, but there was no reasoning with Jonathon when he was this far gone. It was one of his best and worst traits as a member of The Continental.

"I'll kill them. I'll kill them all," John had affirmed, an animal growl and a bottomless emptiness in his eyes.

"Of course, you will," Winston had replied, knowing and wishing otherwise. This outcome was inevitable in some ways. The ranks of the Continental would soon be thinning - hopefully the more intelligent operatives would leave well enough alone.

"I know what I did," The reverend said sadly, standing up from the ground, Manfred's jacket sliding down his shoulders as Olivia helped him into the church.

"It wasn't your fault. She opened the chains and trespassed."

"Normally a bull is enough to sate me. But last night... it wasn't. There was another. And that worries me."

"Another?"

"Out in the wilds. Body was gone when I went - I would have thought I'd imagined it if it wasn't for the smell. Someone died there."

Olivia did not know what to say to that - offering comfort in words was difficult for her. Instead, she stood next to Emilio, a silent sentinel by his side. She almost wished the sheriff's department bitch was still alive so she could kill her all over again.

There was a dog following Manfred home. Young and gangly, tongue flopping and tail wagging as it panted behind the psychic with soulful brown eyes.

"Whose are you, huh?" Manfred stooped, holding out a fist for the dog to sniff, slightly cautious. It sniffed his hand once, then slobbered all over his, tail whipping back and forth with joy. "Eurgh! Thanks for that."

The dog panted as it whuffled happily at him. Manfred shrugged, and continued home, stopping by his trailer to see if there was a dish or something he could use to pour out some water for the animal - the Texas heat could not be comfortable.

"Sonny, where did you find that," his Grandma called up, startling him as she appeared in his blind spot.

He dropped the plastic bowl with a clatter, spinning around with a hand against his heart. "You do that on purpose," he accused the ghost. "What do you mean?"

"The dog. It's got a big residue hanging around it. It hung around something very angry before he followed you home. Should get your new witchy friend to take a look at him."

"Oh?" Manfred narrowed his eyes, trying to see what Xylda was talking about. The dog had started chasing its own tail in front of the porch, spinning for a moment before flopping over onto his side, yapping once before rolling and shimmying around in the dust. And clinging to edges of his other senses he could see that his grandmother was correct. The dog's shadow was too dark and too long for the time of day. Staring at it for more than a few seconds brought a sour feeling to his throat and threatened to return the ache of a migraine.

"...Well, then. I'll water him up, then bring him 'round to Fiji."

Fiji takes one look at the dog, and drops her tea cup with a crash, breaking the pale-yellow porcelain. "That dog has been hanging around something awful," she confirms, wide-eyed. "Where did you find him?"

"He followed me home," Manfred deadpans, shrugging when Fiji admonishes his levity with a stern look. "Do you know if he belongs to anyone in town - I didn't see a collar."

Fiji shook her head, dark curls bouncing. "I don't think so. More of a cat-friendly town. Might be a stray or wandered over from Davy."

"I'll give them a call - see if anyone's reported a missing dog," Manfred decided, running a hand through his hair. "Sheriff will just love to hear from me again," he added sarcastically.

"Right," Fiji rolled her eyes, a smile pulling at her lips. "Well, let's get this little guy all cleansed. Whatever was hanging around him is gone now - we just need to give his aura a little scrub. I'll go get my things."

Night fell, and Manfred was sitting in front of his laptop, answering emails and typing up his online consultations with the dog at his feet. The call to the sheriff's office had turned up no leads on the furry fellow's owner, instead there seemed to be some sort of commotion going on at the station and the desk sergeant had gotten rid of him on the phone so quickly it was almost rude.

Leaning back, he took a look out his window and started. For a moment, he thought he saw a tall figure watching him from the shadows across the street, but when he blinked they were gone.

Bobo Winthrop was glad to be out of police custody, but still bitter about the lies Audrey had lived under. He was rattled by the experience - the Sons of Lucifer were not known for letting things like this lie now that one of their own had been confirmed the killer by the local police. It was only a matter of time before they showed up to make a point of it with his blood - or at least they would try. While sorting through the thoughts in his head, he was moving things around the pawn shop, going through the inventory and letting the familiarity of the cluttered space calm him. So absorbed in the shop, he didn't notice the stranger standing behind him until they cleared their throat.

"Jesus, make some noise when you walk, willya?! ...You alright there, man," he added, stepping back to get a better look.

"Sorry," the stranger rasped. He was a tall man, pale and bearded with dark hair that hung lankly around his face to his jaw. His eyes were dark and hawkish, watching Bobo with a disconcerting intensity. He was wearing a business suit that had seen better days - it was ripped and torn and stained with dust and grime and what looked like blood. The man looked like he had lost more than one fight, bruised and scraped on his face and neck and what flesh was visible through the tears in his coat. "...I'm looking for Miss Charity," he added. Each word was measured and deliberate as if speaking more than one word at a time took added concentration.

"No offense, man, but you look like you got shat out of a meat-grinder set to high - and I don't know you. I'm not one to give other people's information out to smelly folks that I never met before."

The stranger blinked slowly, considering. "Makes sense. ...I'll wait." And he sat down on one of the overstuffed armchairs dotting the store, the change in posture throwing his face into shadow.

Bobo had to bite back a frustrated groan. Was this guy an idiot? "Better place to wait would be the diner - you should get some food into you." And the hell away from my shop and into a public place where Lem can keep a creepy blue eye on you, he added silently.

"...Too public."

And that sent the mental alarm bells ringing. "Okay then... You just sit there... And I'll go and see..."

The stranger nodded once, but said nothing. The hair on the nape of Bobo's neck stood straight up as the stranger's gaze followed him out of the shop. Hopefully Olivia and Lem would both be at the diner at this time of night. The sooner McCreepy got removed from the pawn shop, the better.

In the back of the diner, Olivia is eating a plated dinner while Lem watches in fascination. At their table, Manfred and Fiji also sit, regaling them with what happened with the dog earlier in the day, and how something seemed up at the sheriff's office.

"I heard about it from one of the people at the store," Creek chimes in as she plunks a fresh beer in front of Manfred with a smile that quickly turns somber at the new topic. "There was a car bomb at the station in Davy - Sheriff was inside."

The table falls silent. While none of the Midnighters could say they liked the Sheriff, the man had been open-minded enough to follow through on Manfred's psychic help and confirm Bobo's innocence of Audrey's murder. He hadn't deserved an ending like that.

Olivia's frown turned pensive as she chewed her asparagus, Lem leaning into her space with a concerned look. "Not many to gain from something like that. But there are those who will," he adds solemnly, fangs flashing between his lips. He nods across the floor to where a few Sons of Lucifer are seat, guzzling beers and greasy wings with an almost repulsive fervour.

Manfred can't help but gulp slightly at the implications.

The quiet moment is broken by Bobo practically barrelling through the door and making a bee-line for their table, taking a wide berth around the bikers. Olivia sits up straight in her seat, posture almost military - it's not like Bobo to shy from a confrontation, but it seems he's got something more important on his mind than jeering at biker-Nazis. Lem's nostrils flare at the man's approach, and Fiji sneezes - there is a subtle stench hanging around Bobo. It's a smell Manfred has learned to associate with the dead, and more recently, with the dark shadow clinging to the dog.

"Olivia," Bobo says in a rush as soon as he reaches the table, not bothering to take a seat. "There's some creepy guy in my shop - looking for you. He looks like hell spat him out - and smells like it, too. So, if you could..." He trails off, wiggling his fingers.

Olivia trades a look with Lem, eyebrows raised. "The smell is an accurate summation," the vampire agrees, unsmiling. "I will accompany you."

"Right," Olivia replies shortly, nodding towards Bobo and the others before standing and checking her sidearm is holstered securely. "Lem and I will take care of it."

Olivia enters the pawn shop first, Lemuel her shadow and backup in reserve if things go south. It's dim and slightly musty as usual, the dark stripe of the stranger hunched over in one of the chairs standing out from the rest of the room. She steps deliberately loud, and the man looks up through a curtain of dark hair.

"Miss Charity," he says slowly. "I'm collecting your favor."

"Holy fuck- John?!"

He barks a humorless laugh, but says nothing.

"Lem, it's fine." She re-holsters her gun, drawn when she had stepped into the store proper. "Just an old friend."