The Necromancer's Apprentice

Chapter 1: Son and Brother

Arthur hunched over his knees in the uncomfortably-contoured plastic chair. Hands clasped into one fist pressed against his lips, mentally blocking the noises filtering in from the hallway, and the less welcome ones from the equipment in the dimly-lit room. Eyes fixed on the man in the hospital bed as if he could hold spirit to body by the intensity of his gaze.

"Father," he said, as distinctly as he could around his white knuckles.

Heavy eyelids twitched, rose sluggishly. Irises gray as the motionless flesh of his face contracted, focused.

Heart attack. Third one this year, and it wasn't yet summer. Arthur considered it the failure of the medication his father had taken for the past decade and a half, though the doctors tried to assure him, the meds had given Uther Pendragon that time.

Time was up.

Arthur swallowed, the motion hurting, aching, down his throat. Controlling his voice as his father would prefer, he managed to say his piece evenly – though Uther wouldn't want to hear it again, he needed to hear it and Arthur needed to say it.

"She should be here."

For a moment, when those heavy lids closed the sheen of life from his father's eyes, Arthur thought the old man had retreated from consciousness again, and maybe without registering his son's plea. But Uther blinked aware, rolling his eyes as well as his head slightly on the pillow cushioning him from the raised head of the bed that lifted his face above the bedrail in Arthur's vision.

"No… Arthur," he rasped dryly. "Leave your sister be. She lives… her own life. Don't look for her. Promise… me."

"Father, she should know," Arthur tried one more time, squeezing his fingers so that pain would distract him from the clawing agony of helplessness in the face of impending loss. "Please tell me. Where she is. If you have – a phone number, an email address…"

Ten years since he'd seen Morgana. And he hadn't really said goodbye… He'd gone to school alone that day; she hadn't been feeling well, and by the time he got home after soccer practice, she was gone. Off to some private boarding school where she never answered her phone and sometimes went weeks without responding to his email messages. And then, a week before he expected to be going somewhere for her graduation, his father sat him down on the couch of the DC penthouse and explained how they were never going to see Morgana again. Her choice, to cut ties completely and irrevocably. Uther's eyes had been red that day, Arthur noticed, and that had been the last day their father had said Morgana's name, or discussed her voluntarily.

"We are dead to her," Uther wheezed. "And she to us. She's happy… wherever she is… leave her alone."

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek to keep his silence. He didn't agree, but he was deeply afraid, pushing the issue would provoke that final, fatal attack the doctors warned about, even as they expected it any day now.

His father was dying. And probably preferred to think the best of Morgana, rather than risk finding out her life these days was anything less than contented bliss.

If it was, Arthur would let her keep it awhile longer. But… she should know. She should be here…

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Nothing was as it should be. Mid-May, the sunshine was bright but not hot, the breeze gentle, so Arthur's black suit was not uncomfortable.

It should be cold enough to require him to huddle into an overcoat, or pouring down rain so the unrelenting spatter on umbrellas would drown out the words droned at the graveside service. Instead it was distant birdsong and noiselessly flitting butterflies and if the spirit of his father lingered, it was with impatience. Possibly the spirit of his mother – Ygraine Dubois Pendragon, the next headstone over – would keep a hold of his father there on the green lawn, a few more moments before they moved on together, for the sake of their son.

And she should be here.

Morgana, in spite of her wild ways and habitual defiance, had loved their father as much as he had. Arthur stared at his own distorted reflection in polished ebony, below the red-and-white-flowered wreath draped over the closed casket lid, and never felt more alone.

His last girlfriend – it's not you, it's me – had left him when the new year had been still winter, when his priorities had shifted away from paying her lavish attention, to his father and his father's business. And now, the restless shuffle of aging businessmen there to pay respects was unbearable to him, as the sole relative present.

He shifted his own weight back and to the right, turning his head toward Leon, his senior assistant, who was also a close enough friend to share beer and pizza with while watching ESPN.

"She should be here," he murmured, past the ache in his throat.

His tears had been shed days ago, in the hospital when the machines had been turned off and the sheet drawn over Uther's face. At home in the dark penthouse at the top of the city, the first night – self-pity and emotional exhaustion and regret for what hadn't been, and now never could be. There didn't seem to be any more tears left in him to overflow from his eyes, but there was a persistent ache in his chest that occasionally moved up to his throat to torment him with a dull misery.

Leon hesitated before responding, enough to catch Arthur's attention away from the end of the ceremony. As attendees of his father's funeral began to lay roses on the casket and depart, he turned to face Leon fully.

"There's a reason why she isn't," Leon admitted carefully.

Arthur inhaled sharply. "The investigator you hired found something? Where is she?"

"The investigator you hired," Leon reminded him. Arthur's money, technically; he waved the detail aside.

"Well?"

Leon still hesitated. "How about I tell you in the car, Arthur?"

He looked down at the thornless stem in his hand, edged leaves and velvet red petals. That meant bad news. Not no news, and not good news, she's on her way. He turned to lay the rose at the top of the scatter, his the last one. Uther hadn't wanted Arthur to seek out his estranged sister, but Uther wasn't there anymore.

Arthur rarely drove anywhere alone. Parking in DC was as pleasant as any major city in the world, and as the owner and general manager of the Washington Marriott Georgetown, he could afford to be dropped off at the front door of his destination and pay a driver to find parking. If not Leon, then one of the extra security officers in his employ – some of whom were his good friends, like Leon. But he'd preferred for Percival and Gwaine to work today, rather than stand at Uther's gravesite and pretend they felt any grief for the hotel-chain mogul. Sympathy for Arthur in spades, of course, but he didn't want sympathy. Leon at least understood that.

"So," Arthur said, settling into the front passenger seat of the Chrysler.

Leon toyed with the keys and didn't insert them to start the engine, as fresh-grass scent drifted through the open windows on the lilting breeze. "Last week when you paid for top priority and exclusive time commitment, the investigator began with the private school in Virginia, the one you couldn't remember the name of? Bank records show your father made regular payments of a tuition size to Lone Oak Academy near Culpeper, four years in a row, ten years ago."

"Okay," Arthur said leadingly. "Where did Morgana go after graduation?"

"Arthur… she didn't graduate."

He frowned. It was very unlike Morgana to drop out; in elementary and middle school her grades had rivaled his best when she didn't study.

"She… passed away, the fall of her senior year."

For a moment he met Leon's gray eyes, uncomprehending, because… that was nearly ten years ago. That couldn't be right, she'd – gone to college on the West Coast, or… joined the Marines, or… something. Founded an environmentalist-survivalist group in Nevada or Montana, or… moved to Australia to study aboriginal history or… went to tag grizzlies in Alaska. Eloped to Italy or Greece. Amsterdam. Dublin.

His mouth said, "You mean she's…"

"She's gone, Arthur. She died ten years ago."

He heard his voice, though he was quite sure he was incapable of speech, or even formulating a thought. "When?"

"The end of October." Leon named the year again. Arthur's sophomore year in college. Where had he been for Halloween? Getting drunk at some stupid costume party, probably. He didn't even remember.

"How?" His throat was dry; he felt numb and… small, somehow.

"She was found several hours after calculated time of death. They did an autopsy, and combined with evidence found at the scene, it was concluded that she'd taken a fatal dose of benzodiazepines." Arthur stared at his friend, and Leon clarified, "Sleeping pills."

"Why would she –" Still his mouth was disconnected from his brain.

"It says in the police report that prescription medication is kept secured by the school nurse, but that an unopened bottle belonging to another student was discovered missing. Presumably she stole it, and..."

Arthur dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his skull absently, mussing his hair. Why. Why would she steal meds, why would she take sleeping pills… Part of his mind said, she wouldn't admit weakness, a Pendragon wouldn't ask for help – another part of his mind argued, Morgana was anything but weak, and never needed anyone…

"Did… my father…"

"He knew, Arthur. Paid for a plot and a headstone… shady little place in the countryside about half an hour from here. I'll give you the file. There's a photograph in it, or if you want to drive out there, I can go with you…"

Arthur turned his head to stare out the window at the rows of graves marking the gentle rise and fall of the land. Morgana was dead. It was unbelievable. All that energy, all that sass and fire… how could she be gone? And for so long… Uther hadn't told him, had lied to him – had buried his sister somewhere else, to keep him from finding out that she hadn't simply decided to turn her back on them.

"But why?" he whispered. And he was wrong when he thought, there were no more tears.

Leon understood the question had shifted from Morgana's hypothetical motivation, to Uther's. He ventured, "Because…"

Arthur blinked and whipped his head around. The question had been rhetorical, he hadn't expected –

"The school," Leon added. "The academy. For gifted youth. Gifted, in this case meaning… magic."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

It was two days before Arthur was able to make the call, though the delay wasn't entirely intentional. He wanted to be sure he could be calm and controlled. To be sure it wasn't a grand nightmare.

Two mornings he woke in the second penthouse suite at the top of the Marriott Hotel – the first belonging to his father and empty now – and told Leon, yes please fill in for me today. His assistant was fully capable of running the hotel to Arthur's wishes; in the past months they'd discussed making it permanent, in the event of Uther's death, so Arthur could take over his father's financial empire, though he preferred a small and select domain – knowing his employees, handling any problems with a personal touch. That hadn't been finalized yet, though… just one more thing requiring his attention as the sole heir of the Pendragon hotel dynasty.

He struggled the first day more than the second, part of him fighting against accepting the truth and story of his sister's death, though the facts provided to him by the investigator through Leon were incontrovertible. In the end, when activity was exhausted, he succumbed to the headlong careen down memory lane – from the day of his father's funeral back to when the investigator's paperwork claimed, his sister's funeral had taken place.

Without ceremony, evidently. Arthur could see his father standing lone as they lowered the casket, knee-length black trench-coat, slacks and shined shoes.

Checking his watch.

Arthur couldn't remember if his father had even mentioned going out of town, that week.

Other memories, though. When Uther had refused to indulge Arthur's speculations and suggestions about his sister. Now he played those conversations back, knowing Uther had known, Morgana was dead. How? How could his father do that to him, to them?

Occasionally over the years, Arthur had imagined what she was doing, rare moments of introspection when a new friend – girlfriend – had asked about his family. Or on holidays, when Uther was busy and Arthur had no other family to spend time off with.

Don't know. Maybe she's some action heroine's stunt double out in Hollywood. Maybe she's a skydiving instructor. Maybe she's snorkeling with some Arab prince in the Mediterranean. Landing fighter jets on an aircraft carrier in the Pacific, or taking her last physical before her shuttle blasts off from Houston. Driving a sled dog team in the Iditarod.

Do they still run that, though.

Arthur always expected Morgana would be the one with the wildly exciting stories to tell, of daring risky endeavors, while he spent most of his days behind a desk, despairing of meeting a woman who didn't see dollar signs when she looked at him, dreaming of an impossible family of his own. Morgana would have had… three sets of sweet hellion twins by now. Or something. And still slim as a panther, likely as not.

Worse were the moments he remembered resenting her absence, hating her apparent apathy, cursing the burden of expectation that she'd shrugged out of to leave him to bear alone. College graduation. The purchase of this hotel. Uther's first heart attack – and each subsequent one.

The second day, struggle gave way to lethargy. Each memory a disappointment and a guilty embarrassment, pressed further down on his conscience, opened a widening and fathomless hole at the bottom of his soul. She was dead. She was gone. And he hadn't even known. His father hadn't wanted him to know, had taken from him the truth and a chance to say goodbye and grieve properly – and that screwed with his ability to grieve for his father, too.

4:30 the second afternoon, he stirred himself in his armchair, in front of the glass wall of the penthouse that looked toward Roosevelt Island in the Potomac River, and across to the hills of Arlington. Bypassing the tumbler of the hard stuff on the glass side-table, making water-rings on the manila file Leon had given him, he picked up his phone.

Contemplated the number he'd entered. Wondered when the last day of classes was for the school, and whether anyone of consequence would be available if the term was over. Probably not after 5:00, in any case.

He thumbed the green call button, and swallowed against a nervous nausea to hear the tones that indicated ringing on the other end. Reached for his board-room persona to help him through this interview, feeling his muscles tense in the chair, and his chin lift - though the man he was calling would not be able to see him.

It rang so long, he expected voicemail.

Then the gravelly voice of a middle-aged man said, "Hello, this is Dr. Gaius of Lone Oak Academy. What can I do for you?"

Dr. Gaius. Headmaster, he knew from the gathered intel and the perused website. A heavyset gentleman with long white hair loose on his shoulders, who peered at the world over half-specs in his photo on the homepage, before an indistinct background of red-brick buildings and green lawns and the school logo of a sprawling tree in flat profile.

"Dr. Gaius," he said. "Good afternoon. My name is Arthur Pendragon. I'm the brother of a former student of yours. Morgana Pendragon – though you had her recorded as Morgana Dubois." Their mother's maiden name.

Silence. Then a long exhalation, and a gentle tone. "Morgana's brother. I see. How may I be of service?"

"You remember her, then?" He kept his tone even, though he wanted to shout. Bellow. Scream.

"Impossible to forget such a tragedy." And if the compassion was feigned, it was very well done.

"My father – our father – is recently deceased." Arthur rolled right over the academy headmaster's condolences. "And I discovered that my sister, whom I had believed separated from us by choice, has in fact been deceased herself for nearly a decade."

"Ah." Delicately suggested, "Your father didn't tell you..."

"No, he did not." That even tone was getting harder to maintain, and maybe partly because the older man sounded so much more human than any of Arthur's high school teachers and principals; it was hard to maintain the hard chill he'd learned from his father. "Not about her death – not about her magic. A secret, it seems, she was content to keep from me also." Now even he could hear the tremble, and he cursed the weakness.

"Mr. Pendragon, I am so sorry for your compounded loss, and the shock you must feel in the situation, but perhaps… this is a conversation best conducted in person? I could drive up this weekend and –"

"No, that won't be necessary," Arthur said, making a blindly impulsive decision. "I'm going to be coming to Virginia myself quite soon. I'd like to see her school. Her room. Her grave. Where you found her – you found her, is that right."

"Mr. Pendragon –"

That was still his father's name. "Arthur, please, we might as well be on first-name basis."

"Arthur, then. And to be quite correct, it was our school nurse who found your sister, though I remained with her... as long as I was allowed."

Scene photos taken by the official investigation team burned into his brain. His lovely young – lifeless – sister sprawled in the dead-leaf detritus of late fall forest. Arthur relented, minutely. But only til the older man spoke again.

"But I'm afraid it won't be possible for you to come here. School is in session for another week yet, and even after that, Lone Oak abides by rather strict regulations forbidding folk such as yourself, on school grounds. Current or prospective students and immediate family, only."

Arthur gripped his phone and breathed hard through his nose.

"I appreciate the turmoil you must be experiencing…" Gaius ventured, sounding far from offended and not the least bit impatient to hang up.

"I can't –" Arthur cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and tried again. "My sister was lively. Fiery – defiant… I have a very hard time believing she'd take an entire bottle of any sort of pills, by herself in the woods. I can't accept that. I don't understand."

Silence, that allowed for two more calming breaths, on his end.

"Arthur, you didn't know your sister had the ability to do magic –"

"No, I didn't."

"Forgive me then, but… how can you possibly understand the pressures and heartaches a young woman like your sister – like all our students – can face in our world?"

Arthur opened his eyes and swiped hastily at the tears that were released, the windows of his home a light blue blur of sky.

Officially, magic-users were an accepted minority of society. Unofficially, there were still people who harbored extreme or violent prejudice, and there were occasionally fatal clashes reported on the news, in addition to other non-fatal unpleasantness.

Unsurprising that Uther would cover and hide such a revelation in a child of his – and expect to keep doing so, even after Morgana's graduation from the Academy. And of course Morgana could have seen and guessed at least that much. As much stress as Arthur had been under, graduating high school and majoring in Business in college, exactly as Uther demanded, how much more and different pressure would she have felt, in her unique and lonely situation? Personally Arthur could believe, their father had loved her no differently after finding that out – but as a businessman in the public eye, he'd have avoided even the rumor of magic in his family like a plague. To the point of perpetrating the permanent lie of her voluntary disavowal of them to Arthur, both son and brother.

"No," he whispered. "No, I guess I can't."

Had he failed Morgana, then. Attributing the long pauses between sarcastic emails to her jealousy of him as eldest and father's favored, and spite – when he should have been an ear to listen to her true problems, and a shoulder to cry on?

"Mr. Pendragon – Arthur… forgive me one more liberty. I've just now looked you up – your degrees, your business acumen is quite impressive. But it sounds to me like you might be in need of a sabbatical, after this upheaval of your personal life. It sounds to me like you might be seeking closure in both relationships you've lost… and I hope I'm not entirely out of line in making you an offer."

"An offer?" Arthur said blankly. "You mean, to come onto your campus in spite of the rules?"

"In a way. You see, I've been speaking to our Board for quite some time about the integration of our school with the community of non-magic-users. The way I see it, we might be protecting our youngsters from the effects of popular bigotry, but we are also tacitly sanctioning the segregation and practicing a reverse form of discrimination, ourselves. Our curriculum covers core subjects, of course, in addition to our peculiar electives – so why should young people who are interested in magic not be allowed to study here also, just because they are unable to practice it? If the children of both worlds can earn their education peacefully as friends, side by side, would that not benefit them, and the community – the state – the nation, dare I presume."

Arthur's head ached a bit. "Yes, I suppose so," he said, feeling that his business seemed rather simple in comparison.

"The question, of course, carries over into the faculty. Parents of ordinary children might not feel comfortable enrolling them in a school where every teacher is a practitioner. Which brings us to the position we will have open this fall. You are ridiculously overqualified, of course – but as a faculty member, you would be welcomed anywhere on campus, and have ample opportunity to get to know and understand young people just like your sister. It may be that in helping them – even if it is just to pass Algebra Two – you will feel the peace of helping her."

"Dr. Gaius, right?" Arthur said, reverting to sarcasm to cover his reaction. "Not Dr. Freud?"

His equilibrium was tumbled by the offer. To teach high school classes? In an academy of magic? He hadn't been head-hunted in years, and never with such patently absurd results.

"A measure of understanding in the field of psychology has been my lifeline to sanity more than once, in my calling," the old man said wryly. "I do wish you would consider the opportunity. Might I send you more information on the position and the school itself – and my offer to drive into the city to meet you remains open as well."

Craziness. The whole week. His life upside-down already… the Marriott in Leon's capable hands, and no girlfriend to leave behind.

But this smoldering need to understand. To do something for Morgana, even too late, to show her… I miss you. I love you. Still, and always.

"Yes, thank you," he said into the phone. "Do send the information… and I'll think about it."

"I'll hope to hear good news," Gaius responded. "Sooner, rather than later… We might help you just as much as you help us."

Arthur grunted.

"I look forward to speaking to you again."

His cell phone registered the disconnect with a melodious little beep.

Magic.

A little shiver played over the nerves in Arthur's body, and it wasn't fear so much as… anticipation of possibilities.

He had a feeling that when he went to Virginia, he'd be staying.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Freya was aware of Merlin as soon as he touched the handle of the door of the faculty room, ten paces behind her as she sat curled in the corner of the big couch watching HGTV reruns with only the light above the stove in the kitchenette to her left, and the smell of cooling pasta and tomato-base sauce for company.

Every nerve came immediately, involuntarily alert, telling her of his scent, the pattern of his gait and his breathing as he crossed the carpet. Past the pool table that could serve for ping-pong and air hockey at the whim of a handful of teachers – and probably students, were they ever allowed in this room – who could perform that sort of magic. He was one of them. But he hadn't come looking for a game to pass the late summer evening.

He bent to lean his forearms on the back of the couch; she glanced to see that his eyes were on the big-screen, and was glad that he missed the little shiver she couldn't help.

Her pleasure and her pain.

"Hey," she said. Not anything more proprietary like, Where've you been, or I made dinner but it's cold. She probably wouldn't say those things even if she had a right to. Which she didn't.

"Hey," he answered absently.

But she wasn't fooled. He had no interest in the pizza-chain commercial; there was something else on his mind.

"Hungry?" she teased. "Lasagna still warm on the stove and tossed salad in the fridge…"

"You cooked?"

"Nope, it's from a freezer box." A ridiculous amount to make for only herself, but eating in here was better than the cafeteria, nearly-deserted in the summer except for the remaining handful of student-boarders. But she didn't mind heating leftovers for a week – and usually shared with other staff members, though they were down to a skeleton crew for the off-season.

He didn't move, and for a moment she watched the way the television's blue flickers lit the angular planes of his profile. Then reached for the remote and held the volume down-arrow several seconds. His smile quirked – not as wide as it could go, but enough to tell her that his mood was thoughtful, rather than worried, and he turned his head to meet her eyes.

"I was talking to Gaius," he said, taking her unspoken invitation to confidence. Because if he wasn't interested in food, she knew he'd come in here to speak with her, in spite of initial reticence. "He's got a new teacher to replace Sefa."

"Oh?" she said, interested now herself. The goodbye-party for the Academy's arithmetic instructor had doubled as an engagement party, and Sefa had made the final move to the Gulf side of Florida with her fiancé last week. "All the math classes, then?"

"Both Algebras and Calculus, if you can take Geometry. And he'll be teaching the Government class instead of Gaius, too."

She considered. "Only two periods of Geometry, right?" He gave a single nod, watching her, and she shrugged. "Come with a pay raise?"

His eyes twinkled, even in the almost-dark, and he smelled proud, but… that wasn't all.

"What else?" she added.

He twitched around to scratch his hair behind his ear without lifting his arm from its supportive position on the couch-back, his gaze drifting past her. "The new teacher… isn't magic."

"What?" she said, her eyebrows lifting.

"Gaius said he had a sister who was, but she died. So he wants to learn more about us, and Gaius can kick-start his pet plan for eventual integration at the same time."

She couldn't help another shiver, and he probably couldn't help seeing and understanding. He shifted closer, reaching down to touch her hand in her lap, briefly. "It will be fine. So what if he's ordinary – Gwen's ordinary, and she's your best friend."

Freya smiled at his attempt to reassure her, not bothering to correct him. Gwen wasn't her best friend.

"And with magic in his family – and agreeing to come teach here – he'll be fine, you'll see." His grin spread sly, as he retreated his hand. "It's me I'm worried about," he claimed, "I'll have to make sure the kids don't eat him alive – there are a few who might try, actually."

She rolled her eyes. "My shape-shifters are perfectly well-behaved, thank you very much."

"We'll have the summer to get used to the idea, anyway," he said, going a bit vague as he chased another train of thought. "I'll have to make some changes to the security magic…"

She hummed agreement and consideration. Only the self-important asses on staff would deny that Merlin had the hardest job of any of them, excepting Gaius himself and maybe Alice, at times.

"Are you not going home this summer at all, then?" she asked as he straightened.

"Um. Maybe for a week at the end of this month? My mom will be upset if I don't show at all, but…"

She gave him a grimace of commiseration, stifling that small and irrational – but persistent – wish that he'd ask her to come along, even as friends. He never did, even though she had nowhere else to call home, since the death of her whole family in the coastal storm up north when she was thirteen. She gathered his hometown – way up the Valley in West Virginia – could be pretty rough for someone with magic. Though she could definitely handle herself, he wouldn't want her to have to. And his mother would never move; Freya intuited it had do to with staying close to his father's grave.

"I'm off to bed," he said, referring to his apartment on the second floor of the teachers' wing; hers was on this floor, two down from the faculty lounge. "Are you staying up?"

"I think I'll finish this episode," she said, glancing back at the tv. It was an international special, and she doubted she'd ever see Tel Aviv in person. "Finish cleaning up after myself." He glanced toward the stove, hood light on, in the kitchenette, and she added, "You sure you don't want to eat?"

"You sound like my mother," he joked. "Always telling me how skinny I am, need to eat more."

"Well, it's true," she told him.

He gave her a look that was pure affection, and swayed close enough to spread the fingers of one hand gentle over her hair.

She inhaled, and for a moment nuzzled up into his touch, as she did in her Bas form; he'd always been much more uninhibited about physical contact when she was a giant winged cat.

And that was her pleasure, and that was her pain. Because she was his – and he didn't realize – and if he didn't say anything to make them more than siblings in magic, then she wouldn't either. Best friends was good enough. There would never be anyone else for her, she accepted that, and there had never been anyone else for him, even when he'd been a moody teenager a year ahead of her at this very school. It had to do with the darkness inside him, that he knew and she knew, but she didn't think he knew, she knew. Darkness she still hoped to love away; they were young yet.

And he pulled his hand away, turning to leave. "G'night."

"Sweet dreams," she managed lightly. And took a deep breath when the door closed behind him.

Pleasure and pain.

A/N: There's extensive backstory for this fic, already written, which will be interspersed throughout the current action, from differing pov's, hopefully self-explanatory as a slow reveal of past events for the reader.

Also, I'm going to be moving on the 31st, but I don't have a place yet, apartment or house idk. My work is done from home, so that won't change, but rl will be in upheaval for awhile, so updates might be delayed and/or sporadic, just sayin'… This chapter isn't very long, but I didn't want to wait two more weeks or more to start posting the story…