Beatrice had a long day ahead of her. She had just finished buying the ticket for the next train out of the city, walking back to the inn to get ready and collect her things. Whilst she had wanted to linger in the city for a little while longer, with how things were developing in Harth, she didn't know if she could afford to.

In fact, up until the same morning, she had been ready to stay for a couple days more, enjoying the attraction of some place new. No longer was she locked up in business in Harth. Beatrice was a free woman with nothing holding her back, especially with how much coin she had managed to scrounge together from her stores. Of course, the world wasn't kind to her fantasy. It was the talk of everyone, so even if she hadn't bought a newspaper that morning, she would've caught it by wandering through the city.

Archmage Harrison Clarke was dead, murdered by the insidious Witch.

Against all odds, Amy had done it. Somehow, a village Mage like her had slain someone under the direct mentorship of a Monarch. Unfortunately, such news wasn't something she could exactly celebrate. Who knew how much attention such an event would bring down upon Harth, and with her case still an untouched thread, Beatrice didn't doubt that investigators would start pulling on it. And with the news published only now, she hadn't a clue how long ago the Archmage had actually died. For all she knew, his death had been kept under wraps for almost the entire week and only now were they announcing it. Regardless of Amy, Beatrice couldn't afford to wait for her any longer.

She made it back to her inn in plenty of time, leaving her a couple hours to pack everything away. Only, something caused her to stop still as she spotted something at the back of the room. Sitting there by the bar-table was a hauntingly familiar face. It had changed in small indescribable ways, yet all together, something didn't quite seem right about it when she compared it to the face in her memories. That face was just a bit more perfect, the skin smoother and paler, and small blemishes and creases had been wiped away.

Albeit different, it was unmistakably Amy Wachlund that sat on that barstool, waiting patiently. And, when the inn door swung open, that face whipped over to meet Beatrice's eyes with supernatural reflexes.

While Beatrice sweated, Amy grinned.

"Beatrice!" Amy yelled at her friend, leaping out of her seat and practically sprinting over to her. Before she could react, she had been enveloped in a warm hug, pulling the girl in close.

"Wha- What are you doing here?" Beatrice said, her voice muffled by the embrace.

"I got here as promised," Amy smiled as she leant back, looking down at Beatrice's face. She seemed conflicted, Amy had noted on her way over, stressed by some recent event that she could guess at with almost perfect certainty. Now, although she tried to hide it, she could spot the tension in her friend's face at the reunion, as well as the way she tried to hide a slight frown. Loathe am I to admit it, I imagine she's probably been spooked out of her mind, Amy thought. She was rushing so she was probably trying to get out of the city as fast as she could with the news of Harrison breaking. And now she's face to face with the lady who killed him and might've just made her life a living nightmare. Yeah, I wouldn't be too enthused about meeting me either.

"But- What about... you know?" Beatrice stammered, her eyes darting to the other people in the bar.

"I'll explain in time. How does going to your room sound? There we can catch up properly, and in private," She offered, breaking off the hug and gesturing towards the staircase beside them.

Beatrice hesitated for a moment, her eyes still dancing about. Then, she said, "Sure. I'll lead you up."

* * *

"How have you been?" Amy asked first, closing the door behind her. Beatrice's room was small, there being barely enough space to fit a bed and a couple of people in before it became too cramped. And with a lot of the space being occupied by her friend's things, Amy had to stay close to the door if she wanted to be comfortable.

"That's what I should be asking," Beatrice huffed, sitting down onto her bed and looking up at her expectantly. "What the fuck did you do in Harth?"

"I did what I set out to do," Amy answered happily.

"And killing-"

"Nuh-uh," Amy interrupted, wagging her finger. "This room isn't Scry-proof just yet. No spilling anything too incriminating."

"I know that!" She shouted back, exasperated. "I just- Why did you even-?"

"It's going to be fine, Beatrice," Amy tried to comfort her, crouching down to be at her level, meeting her shaky gaze. Almost effortlessly, a Concealing Shield sprang up around them, enveloping the pair in a similar way to when they had talked in that restaurant what felt like so long ago. "They have no way of knowing anything about you."

"And now you're talking about it," She pointed out, not noticing the Magick surrounding her.

"I made it so they can't listen in. Remember that trick?" Amy smirked playfully, trying to combat the gloomy mood.

"I- I don't get it Amy," Beatrice sighed greatly, her entire body deflating. "When I left, I thought you'd be right behind me. You were implicated in that heist just as much as me. I expected to see you day after day and when you didn't show up- Amy, I began to think you were captured or even dead. I lingered as much as I could but... I'm leaving in like an hour, Amy. I can't stay long."

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"Oh," Amy frowned, her eyes suddenly finding the corner of the room very interesting. Rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly, she said, "I... I suppose I'll have to explain how I got here."

"Are you on the run too?" Beatrice pressed her, leaning forward with a sudden tension.

"Nothing of the sort, at least... No, I'm not on the run," She repeated firmly, as much for herself as for her friend. "Well, I guess I'll have to start after you left. I imagine you got away well enough?"

"Your magic cloak dissappeared after I was a couple blocks away from the station. It scared the shit out of someone I was running by when I appeared next to them out of the blue," Beatrice chuckled. "It was easy enough getting some money and getting a train to Evyria though. I packed lightly and most of the things I have I've bought here in the city."

"Glad to hear you got away safely then."

"Safely enough. I thought the station warden looked at me a bit too carefully when I was boarding but it turned out to be nothing."

"Well, I took a more... liberal route to Evyria. After you told me of some of the Archmage's capabilities, I did some digging around and found some things out. Do you know of the Pigeon?"

"Don't tell me you asked him?" Beatrice said, disgusted.

"It went as well as you could imagine, though I subdued him in short time. Still, I didn't learn as much as I would've liked from him other than that there was a ball being run by the Clarkes later that week. One that I was, of course, eager to attend."

"How the Hell did you get an invitation? Are you a noble, Amy?" Beatrice spat, recoiling from her slightly.

"Nothing of the sort," She laughed to put her at ease. "I just did some classic breaking and entering."

"And you actually succeeded? Stealing from a noble's estate? You?"

"You don't have to doubt me that much," Amy frowned. "I did get what I wanted though even if I was caught near the end. Unfortunately... That trouble chased me when I was finally leaving the city and landed me in a bit of an... altercation."

"With the police?"

"With the Archmage himself."

"How the Hell did you survive that?"

"Partly luck, partly because he wasn't actually an Archmage-"

"How can someone not be an archmage? I mean, everyone calls him that, right? I don't know much but can you even fake something like that?"

"No, it cannot be faked. Why he was still called an Archmage is a bit of a mystery even now, but it mattered little to me at the time and honestly still does. Either way, I imagined to get the better of him and, well, the rest is history. The papers tell the end of my story well enough."

"God, Amy. I mean, I assumed you did but..." Beatrice trailed off, as she slowly became aware that she was indeed in the same room as someone who had just killed an Archmage, and not the same Amy she had tried to intimidate in an alleyway. "Are... Are you here to deal with me too?"

"Beatrice," Amy sighed, shaking her head. "I'm not going to murder you for god's sake. Why would you even think that?"

"Amy, frankly, we don't know each other all that well," She said, stinging Amy a bit. "We were mates for, what, a month or so? So no, it doesn't surprise me if you turned around and killed me here and now. And honestly, I don't even know if I would fault you for it."

"Oh, Beatrice," Amy stood up, pacing about.

"It's just how business is done. And... I don't know anymore. I- I don't know."

Silence ruled the room for an uncomfortable amount of time, the pair too on edge to even look at each other for longer than a second. Occasionally, in that suffocating quiet, their eyes would meet and immediately break off. It wasn't until Beatrice felt a shadow recede from her vision that Amy finally broke through the awkwardness.

"You have places to be, right?"

"I... Yes, I do. I should probably start packing soon," Beatrice said guiltily. "I'm sorry I ruined this... I'm just- I've-"

"You never know when someone's out to get you, right?" Amy spoke for her. "I understand, Beatrice, and it's not your fault. I just... I had hoped our meeting would've been under better circumstances, but I get it."

"...It was nice meeting you again, Amy," Beatrice confessed. "It really was. To know- To know that you were safe and not... worse."

"Likewise. It was lovely," Amy smiled widely, approaching her friend cautiously. Offering out her arms, much to her surprise, her friend took them without hesitation, bringing her in for one last hug. Speaking from her perch on her shoulder, she said, "You can always send me letters. I'll give you an address for my home. Anytime you're feeling lonely or need a friend just- send one there and we can try and meet again."

"That'll be nice," Beatrice said. "Sorry I- I'm not good with words, not like this."

"That's okay," Amy smiled wider, patting her friends back and retreating to hold her at arm's length. "You should probably start packing, right?"

"Yes, I should."

Nodding slowly, Amy got back up and went for the door. She brought out a small notepad from her own things and quickly scrabbled her town's post office on it. Turning behind her, she saw Beatrice up and about, staring at her intently.

"Here," She held out her hand, holding a ripped piece of paper. "As I said before. Don't be a stranger."

"I would offer an address of my own but..."

"When or if you settle down somewhere, just make sure to let me know. That way I can even visit you if I have the time."

"Of course," Beatrice smiled, shaking her head as if what Amy had said was obvious. "Goodbye, Amy."

"Safe travels, Beatrice. I'll see you soon."

With that, Amy left.

While the Journeyman could hear her friend scramble about her room, already getting to work, Amy lingered in the corridor. Eventually, her face morphed into one of unbridled rage, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white. That burning anger wasn't for her friend or even for having their long-expected meeting cut short. No. It was for herself.

Throughout that all, Amy had tried so hard. At every word, she tried injecting even a modicum of emotion into her words, or even to muster a single tear at their short reunion. No. At every turn of the conversation, her face contorted into alien shapes, forced upon her not because it was natural but because it was 'right'. She tried to fight against it, to not act and to simply be. No. She could not. Not for lack of trying or lack of want. No. It was because her body didn't allow it.

Fae and Unknowable rampaged in her body, its corrupted essence crawling through every recess of her self, finding whatever she considered precious and turned it against her. And, for the first time, Amy genuinely felt that happening as she experienced it. For while she tried her hardest to feel, her affinities did not allow it and instead stole it away. An arbiter of her own justice, an unseen monster in the darkness, needn't feel or express herself. No.

Amy was to be impartial, unfeeling, and entirely infallible. Even if it caused her no end of suffering.

Without shedding even a single tear, Amy cried.

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