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All that did was make his despair worse. It didn’t work on him as it should. That smell was once the only thing that could make things better, and it wasn’t working because Saren wasn’t whole.

They destroyed him. Ruined him beyond repair.

“Why did you leave me all alone?”

Patryn held him tighter. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Forgive me. I’m going to let you down again and again, Saren, and there’s nothing to be done about it.”

“You’re all I have,” Saren blubbered through wet hiccups. “You’re my family.”

“I know.”

“Why did you leave me? Why did you let them do this?”

Those strong arms kept him encased. Warm hands pet his hair. “Shhh. It’s alright. You did well. You’re such a good boy, Saren.”

Saren hated how the praise made him feel. His guardian should be locking him away for his crimes. By the first seer, if he were anyone else, he’d likely be killed for displaying such violence in New Grove. But damn it, he adored feeling his guardian’s love—was obsessed with hearing those words. Any compliment, no matter how small, shot Saren’s psyche straight to the moon. He was a good boy—a good son, even. And he clung to those words like they were the only words in the world that meant something.

He did well. It would be alright, once he managed to stop crying.

“Don’t let it consume you, Saren. Feel it and let it go.”

“I-I c-can’t.”

Patryn dropped his chin to the top of Saren’s head and stroked a gentle hand up his back. “You must,” he whispered.

It was easier said than done. Of all the things the council could’ve had him do, killing was so far from a possibility that he couldn’t fathom a reality where he had done so. Saren Ashford was a murderer now. He was going to vomit. Shoving out of Patryn’s arms and bolting into the kitchen, Saren barely managed to get the bulk of it into the sink. He gagged and choked, fingers gripping the counter for dear life. He briefly registered the new scent entering the space.

“See to him. I have to—” A sigh. “Just make sure he eats.” Patryn clearly wasn’t speaking to him.

Only a few moments passed before the shuffle of awkward feet hit Saren’s ears. He took a breath, then turned on the tap to rinse his mouth. When he was fairly sure he wouldn’t throw up again, he faced Ryx. The boy stared at him like he was a contagious disease. His eyes wide, hands stiff at his sides. Saren wasn’t in the mood for it. He wanted to go to his room, hide under his blankets, and suck his thumb until he passed out.

To his surprise, Ryx seemed to understand his suffering. Those dark eyebrows furrowed, his bottom lip rolled between his teeth, and he shrugged. “S-sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Saren asked.

The boy pointed. Eyes following the path of his finger, Saren grew faint. He hadn’t realized—had been too shocked. There was blood all over his navy shirt. So much that the color looked violet. Three exploded heads would create that much splatter; he'd blocked it out until that very moment. Bile charged up his esophagus, and his palm clapped over his lips. Fresh tears welled in his eyes.

“Don’t do that,” Ryx urged, inching closer, fingers spasming. That smokey scent snaked into Saren’s lungs, working overtime to calm him down.“We…” He struggled for words, grunting and growling under his breath. “We clean it. Soap it up, and it’s gone.”

Saren nodded silently.

“Clean it there,” Ryx said confidently, nodding toward the sink.

Saren was too tired to tell him they had a separate sink for clothing. Instead, he hauled the shirt off, refusing to look down, and held it out for Ryx. He didn’t know why he assumed Ryx would clean it or why he didn’t ask for help. Saren couldn’t handle the repercussions of what he’d done. And Patryn left him again. Fortunately, Ryx wasn’t offended and didn’t seem swayed by the blood. He plucked the shirt carefully, letting their fingers brush for a single moment. He met Saren’s blank eyes and offered a tiny smile, then got to cleaning.

Saren slumped into one of the four bar stools and watched the boy work. With his long black hair brushed as it was, his pointed ears were completely hidden. Most of his face was, too. Still, he stared.

“Where did you come from, Ryx? Before you came to New Grove?”

His hands clenched the sopping-wet shirt as his shoulders rose. “The dark.”

Snorting in disbelief, Saren folded his arms on the island counter and rested his cheek over them. “That’s hardly a location. I mean, what community? Or did you come from the Barens?”

“The dark.”

“That’s not an answer!” Saren snapped. He couldn’t help it. Patryn had abandoned him again, and he needed his friend to speak plainly and openly, to reassure him he wasn’t alone. Ryx had to show him it wasn’t all for nothing—that he wanted Saren too. “I need a name. That is how friends behave. We ask questions and give real answers.”

“No name,” Ryx growled, tossing the shirt and spinning to glare at Saren. “No name! Just dark! Always dark! I tell you, and you don’t listen, Saren!”