void

Thomas Teach

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this is a book of revelation b-side story!

Dread crept in like the winter chill.

It started in small, unseen ways. The shutters stayed closed long after dawn, shrouding a worn-down house in darkness while a kettle hissed from being left to boil too long. Thomas rested on the big chair by the fire, color barely returning to his face. The cough came and went, and the fog in his mind hadn't quite faded. Yet, Thomas Teach was still alive, and that ought to have been enough.

But that morning, Eddie stood at the table with his satchel half-packed as his schoolbooks gathered dust. The kid stared at the front door as if the snow-covered street outside might swallow him whole. "I'm not going," Eddie said, his voice calmer than his expression. "Just in case."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "In case of what, surprise arithmetic?"

Eddie didn't laugh.

Thomas sighed, leaned back, and reached for the levity anyway. "You keep this up, you'll never make it to university, you know. They don't take kindly to truants."

That earned him a weak smile. "They don't take kindly to thieves, either," Eddie added, before his gaze drifted back toward the hearth. "Or changelings." The boy's smile vanished into the bog as he slung his bag onto a chair. "You know I can't leave you alone, Tommy. Someone's got to haul all the firewood we're keeping from the schoolmaster."

Thomas didn't ask why. They both knew who would come calling again. The one neither dared to name.

"Well." Thomas leaned back into the chair after a moment. "Can't argue with that. I could use a guard dog while I'm still half-useless."

Eddie's eyes flicked up, wavering with uncertainty.

Thomas smiled the kind of smile that was supposed to make everything okay.

It didn't. He'd learned long ago that saying the words was never enough. The boy was too sharp for that, too used to reading the air around him for cracks and veiled threats. Every lie Thomas had ever told to make Eddie feel better deepened the fissure of worry when he sensed the false note underneath.

So they let the lie hang between them like breath in frozen air. By mid-morning, the house had gone still again. Eddie drifted to his room while Thomas made his way to the table. The surface was cluttered with half-written letters, old ink stains, and the smell of sealing wax. Thomas spent his morning writing his way through every excuse he could think of.

A note for the schoolmaster, penned neatly in the name of a tired guardian:

Another for their friends, lighthearted and vague:

More documents piled on the table, forging smiles in script to keep people from asking the wrong kind of questions. Outside, the snow muffled the sound of footsteps and hoofbeats from nearby streets. Within the Teach house, Thomas's pen scratched like an animal trapped in glass. When he finished, the elder Teach leaned back and rubbed at the ache in his wrist. His eye wandered to the pantry shelves. They were mostly bare, save for a limp bag of flour and a single egg from their last trip to the market.

Thomas's words might hold up another week. The food certainly wouldn't. At the corner of the table sat a small stack of coins that hadn't been moved since yesterday. Eddie found them when he'd come home last night, pale and tight-lipped as he avoided the strange offering without a word.

Thomas picked one up and weighed it in his palm. The glittering metal was warm where his skin touched it; a mark of the hand that left it here. Thomas stared at that coin for a long time. A single one could buy enough bread for half the week, and only a few more could fill their pantry fuller than it ever had been before...

Thomas's jaw clenched tight as he set the coin down for now. He wouldn't owe that bastard any more than he had to.

---

Eddie sensed the acolyte's coming before anyone knocked. His eyes darted towards the door while the only sound from the street was howling wind and smothering snow. The kid's fingers twitched, his weight shifted restlessly, and his gaze drifted between the window and the door latch as though testing which one would betray them first.

"Hey," Thomas started, his tone halfway between questioning and warning.

Eddie said nothing. His breathing quickened as his eyes landed on the trap door leading into the cellar.

Thomas sighed. "Go on, then."

The kid bolted before Thomas could finish the sentence. Eddie slipped down the ladder and into the depths like the hounds of Hell were at their door.

Thomas waited until the hatch closed, letting the silence settle into the room. Four years of living under the same roof made Thomas grow used to the eerie details-- the way Eddie knew a storm was coming hours before the sky turned gray, or how he could track Thomas's own movements through a solid wall. Sabrina usually chalked it up to an alley-cat's instinct, the survival tricks of a child who had learned too young how to read the air for danger. But there were no footsteps outside to warn Eddie of the acolyte's presence. Just the howling wind and falling snow.

A cold knot tightened in Thomas's stomach, as old dockhand tales and firelight warnings crept into his mind. He shoved the thought down and turned toward the front of the house. Thomas remembered the acolyte of War's first visit all too well. He remembered the way Eddie ran to Thomas's side with wild eyes and the fervor of a man possessed. That same acolyte was at the door, and the last thing Thomas needed was his own mind playing tricks on him. It was better to keep Eddie safe and out of the way now, before he tried to hold a god's servant at bay with a sword again.

The knock came a moment later. Thomas took a breath, rolled his shoulders back, and put on his practiced grin. The smile that had gotten him through a dozen debt collectors and twice as many near-death scrapes greeted Sister Alta at the door. Esther's arms were bundled in her Cleric's robes as her hair fought the pins keeping it in place.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Teach." Esther scanned the space over Thomas's shoulder.

"Afternoon, Sister Alta." Thomas shifted his weight to block her view, even though nothing was there. "You've caught me between chores-- pardon the mess." The house wasn't messy at all, just bare, but the line came out too easily.

Esther stepped inside with the kind of grace that made her seem taller than she was, carrying a small parcel of bread and medicine in a basket instead of her caduceus staff. "I thought I'd check on your progress." The acolyte's tone was soft, but laced with the edge of something else-- expectation, maybe.

"I'm mending, slowly." Thomas nodded. "Still breathing. That's gotta be worth something."

Esther smiled at that, but her gaze shifted when a faint sound came from below.

Thomas moved before the acolyte could, crossing to the table and gesturing at the parcel Esther carried. "You brought half the market with you. We'll owe you for weeks."

The distraction worked. Esther laughed softly, if a little forced. "It's just part of the job. Everything's covered, I assure you. The faithful are never alone."

"Still, it's appreciated." Thomas ushered Esther towards the table, talking the whole time-- keeping her eyes up, keeping her busy. "Not everyone in Salem remembers their manners these days."

"I'm simply doing my part." The remaining softness in Esther's voice faded as she looked up at Thomas. "Shall we get started, then?"

"Lead the way." The fire had burned down to thin embers by the time Esther sat down to unpack her kit. The smell of herbs and oils mingled faintly with the wood smoke. The acolyte laid out her spread with practiced care, revealing glass vials, a narrow jar of tonic, and the same ledger of patient notes she'd used when she first arrived.

Thomas watched intently from the chair, his hands folded loosely in his lap. "Guessing the fancy staff was a one-time thing?"

"Something like that." Esther smiled without much humor. "It's not exactly convenient to drag it through the snow every week."

"A shame," Thomas chuckled. "I was hoping to see another light show."

Esther let out a real laugh that time. The sound lightened the air between them, and the acolyte used the opening to begin her questions. "How's your sleep been?" Esther began, her pen poised above the pages of her ledger.

"A bit restless, but we've been slowly getting our routine back in order." Thomas watched Esther's hand move.

"Your appetite?" Esther raised her eyebrow slightly, looking over her glasses at Thomas.

"Too good," Thomas gave a small laugh he hoped didn't sound too forced. "Not much worth eating, though."

Esther fidgeted with the quill for a moment. "Any lingering pain?"

Thomas opened and closed his left hand out of habit. "It comes and goes."

War's acolyte may have had all the appearance of gentleness, but her eyes were sharp. Thomas could tell Esther wasn't writing everything down. Still, she nodded. "You seem steady enough," Esther hummed while mixing a few drops of the tonic into a cup of water. "Still, you seem like you're carrying the weight of the parish on your shoulders. Stress will slow down your recovery."

This lady had no idea how right she was. "I'll keep that in mind." Thomas took the cup obediently, and the bitterness made his face twist. "You sure this isn't just pond water?"

Esther laughed a soft, posh laugh that sounded too much like Clef's. "I've been accused of worse." The acolyte moved with the kind of quiet efficiency that only came from years of practice. She squeezed Thomas's arm, tested the steadiness of his breath, and peered a little too intently into his eye. For a while, the only sound in the room came from the clink of glass and the pop of the nearby hearth.

As War's acolyte worked her magic, Thomas took another swig of tonic and watched her handle strange equipment like an extension of her arms. He imagined what it would be like, walking into a manor in broad daylight and pristine robes. On the edge of his imagination, he could hear the thousands of praises and unbroken attention she had certainly received all her life. Someone like her was likely praised as some miracle-worker before she was Eddie's age. "Can't imagine I fit in among your typical associates."

Esther glanced up from her tinctures. "I'm sorry?"

"You Clerics tend to deal with the fine folk, don't you? Guild merchants, officers, maybe a couple of blue bloods. The type who can afford not to cough through winter." Thomas gestured vaguely at the chipped cup on the table and the bare cupboards by the fire. "Not many come down here unless they're lost or looking for trouble."

Esther let out a surprised laugh, covering her mouth with her arm for a moment. "You're not wrong." Esther said after a moment, shaking her head. "But I know this side of town better than you think."

"Do you, now?"

The acolyte nodded. "I grew up not too far from here, actually. My sister and I lived on River Street before the flood."

Thomas blinked. "Huh." All the humor in his tone was gone. "Didn't think anyone made it out of that stretch in one piece."

"Most didn't. It's hard growing up in a place like this," Esther admitted. "It makes you mean, if you let it. I was lucky someone offered a way out."

Thomas nodded and set the empty cup down. "Guess that makes you the hometown success story."

Esther smiled a little. "I suppose one could say that. Seems like most around here forgot the tale, though." The words lingered in the air as the Cleric closed her ledger and placed her kit to the side. Esther leaned forward in her seat, glancing at the door to Eddie's room before her eyes landed back on Thomas. "How have you and Eddie been holding up?"

Thomas felt the shift the moment she said Eddie's name. "We've been keeping to ourselves," he said, smile still easy, voice still light, but every word was weighed and measured. "Eddie's been helping where we can. Things are fine, if a little cold sometimes." Even the laugh Thomas gave was a small, precise lie.

The elder Teach had gotten good at lies like that. They came easy when he smiled, and easier still when he believed part of what he said. In a way, they had been keeping to themselves. Eddie had been helping. Things were fine; if one ignored the boarded windows and half-empty shelves.

Esther nodded along, but her eyes lingered over Thomas's shoulder again. War's acolyte was dancing around it-- dancing around him-- and Thomas could tell she didn't like that something wasn't there.

He still wasn't sure what Esther's presence meant. War had shown his hand with the sudden "mercy" that saved his life. This wasn't a plot of murder, but Thomas couldn't make sense of the gold and the parcels and the Cleric at his door two weeks in a row. Was the acolyte War's way of apologizing? Was the healing a bribe or an olive branch? Thomas wasn't sure which would be worse.

Eddie was rubbing off on him.

War's acolyte tapped her pen against the ledger. "And how has Eddie been since I last saw him?" Esther's gaze looked strangely apologetic. "Hopefully he's doing a little better...?"

Thomas's grin faltered for half a breath-- barely noticeable, he hoped-- then regained its footing. "He's a bit of a worrier, you know."

"He seemed..." Esther paused, clearly weighing her words. "Eddie seemed frightened of something last week." She paused again, tilting her head as the gears turned inside. "Do either of you have history with the Church...?"

The room felt colder even as the fire popped in the hearth. "Eddie's just sensitive to strangers." Thomas's gaze went right over Esther's shoulder. "Never took well to unexpected guests."

The acolyte's eyes met his, searching for something the elder Teach wouldn't dare show. Thomas held the smile until the tension broke, and Esther finally looked away to make another note in her ledger.

She didn't press further. Thomas would have to count that as a victory.

"I'll come by again next week," War's acolyte hummed as she gathered her things. "Same time, if that's alright."

"We'll see how things go. You've done so much for us already." Thomas walked Esther a little too briskly to the door, noted the tension in her smile, and watched the pale shape of her robes disappear into the snow.

The room felt heavier once Esther was gone. The air was thick with the scent of burnt herbs and ash. Thomas closed the door softly enough that the snow muffled the sound of the latch, then looked back at the table across the room. The tonic War's acolyte left behind caught the light peeking from the window, right next to the glimmering coins her master placed last night.

---

A pained gasp tore through the dead of night.

Thomas strapped on his leg and ran before his mind was fully awake, boards creaking as he crossed the room, heart pounding with the sound of Eddie's ragged breaths. Each night that he'd been too weak to make the trip down the hall when Eddie woke like this plunged into Thomas's soul like daggers as he burst into his little cousin's room.

Thomas found Eddie sitting upright on his bed, emerald eyes wide and unfocused as he clutched a thin blanket so tightly his hands turned white. For a moment, the boy didn't see him at all-- his gaze skittered to the corners, to the doorway, to anywhere a person ought to be.

"Hey," Thomas said softly, crouching beside the bed right where the floorboards wouldn't creak. "It's me."

Eddie whipped around to face his older cousin. This was the first night where fever didn't keep Thomas shackled to his bed while Eddie struggled against the specter in his mind. That absence hurt them both more than Thomas could ever know, but being there now felt like tonic for the wounds in his soul.

In the aftermath of waking, Eddie reached forward, stammering a name and flinching at the sound of a footstep. As the boy's fingers fumbled at the air and closed on Thomas's sleeve, realization turned the elder Teach's bones to ice. Eddie didn't like to talk about the dreams, but Thomas pieced together enough to know the shape of this one. He sat with his little cousin until the trembling eased and Eddie's eyes found the real face at his side.

When the silence stretched for too long, Thomas stood and offered a hand. "Come on. You'll rest easier in my room."

Eddie froze for a moment, then slowly nodded. The kid moved like a ghost through worn floorboards and distant embers, slipping silently ahead of Thomas to reach the safety of his room.

The candle Thomas lit that night had burned down to a pinprick glow by the time he returned. Eddie curled under a blanket while Thomas relit the candle and leaned against the wall. "Did I ever tell you about the time I stole from a sea witch?"

For the first time in weeks, Eddie's eyes caught the light-- not wide with fear this time, but with the faint, forgotten gleam of excitement. "You haven't told me a bedtime story since I was nine."

Thomas flashed a mischievous grin. "Then I'm long overdue."

The story moved easily until the pause. Eddie's thoughts tangled just enough that the scripted beat stretched into a missed note. When the kid finally noticed, he blinked and looked up, scrambling with his words. "And what if Aunt Joanna said no?"

Thomas kept up his smile through the grit in his teeth. "Then the witch takes what you won't give. That's what witches do."

Eddie covered his mouth and snickered. "A pearl that big? That's ridiculous."

Thomas just smiled, his eye half-lidded in the firelight. He could still make Eddie laugh, despite everything. The sound of it hung in the air and warmed the edges of the room. Eddie leaned closer, threadbare blanket pulled up to his chin, still half-grinning as his eyes began to droop.

Thomas didn't have the heart to move. The weight of his little cousin tipped against his shoulder was a comfort Thomas didn't know he missed.

---

Thomas awoke to a room that had gone gray with slits of light from the window. The candle was a ghost of itself, nothing but a wisp of smoke and the faint scent of ash.

Eddie wasn't at his side anymore. He had left behind a slice of toast and their last egg of the week, fried lopsided and cooling on the plate. Thomas let out a small chuckle and quickly ate his breakfast. The kid always found little ways to look after him. It should mean Eddie's getting ready for school now, likely muttering about being late again.

Except the house didn't sound right. There was a rhythm coming from the other side of the wall, so quiet Thomas almost thought he was imagining it. He sat still and listened again. A low whistle through the air, soft and steady, followed by the faint scrape of metal on wood.

Eddie definitely wasn't on his way to school. Thomas sighed, running a hand through his hair as he pulled on his leg and pushed himself out of bed. The strange rhythm of something being swung through the air grew clearer with every step.

The door to Eddie's room creaked open halfway before Thomas stopped dead.

He'd known Eddie was swiping weapons. They were both thieves, after all. A few lifted trinkets, a pilfered blade or two, that was just life in the slums of Salem. It kept food on the table and a bit of coin in their pockets through the cold months.

What shocked Thomas stiff was the volume. Eddie's room looked less like a boy's bedroom and more like a weapons cache. Every spare pocket of space was swallowed by iron and wood. Swords were stacked against the wall, knives spread like playing cards across the desk, a bow hung crooked from the bedpost with a quiver full of arrows nestled underneath. A thin stack of papers inked in bright red script sat neatly wedged between the stolen goods. Crude, homemade things filled the leftover space; and Thomas's eye lingered too long on a broken chair leg that had been shaved into a club with nails hammered through the thick end.

In the middle of it all stood Eddie, methodically working through a motion with a rapier. The blade whispered through the air, stopping, turning, and thrusting again. Thomas wasn't sure if it was the same one he saw the day the Cleric first arrived at their door. He was too busy taking in the sheer number of weapons the kid must have built up while Thomas was sick in bed.

The atmosphere was too heavy for the joke Thomas had prepared. When Eddie looked up, his face was blank in that unsettling way he hadn't seen since the cousins first found each other. It looked like a mask of calm, every emotion neatly folded and hidden away so Eddie wouldn't crack.

Thomas stepped forward with a mask of his own. "Hey, kiddo. Let's get some fresh air."

"Are you sure?" Eddie lowered the rapier, but still clutched it tightly behind his back. "You're still sick and it's really cold, going out might make it--"

"I'll be fine." Thomas forced a smile that felt more like a wince. "Go on, get dressed."

A pause. Eddie glanced back at the blade, then at his older cousin, weighing them both in his mind. "Okay." Eddie set the rapier aside with a clatter, and the sound felt louder than it should have in that tiny room.

They went much farther north than Thomas would normally risk in the depths of winter. The streets here were smooth, clean roads where snow was pushed neatly to the gutters and the path was coated with salt. Houses too big for normal folk sat in their enormous snow-capped lawns, with bright shutters and polished brass door-knockers that gleamed even under dreary clouds.

The pair huddling through these opulent roads in threadbare coats and patched boots drew eyes with every step. Melted snow leaked through the seams of their tattered clothes as they passed storefronts lined with imported fabrics, candied fruits, and silver trinkets. Eddie kept his head down, but his gaze kept flicking towards the sound of whispers and sneers. Thomas felt it too, the divide between their world and this one was like a wall of glass pressed against them.

So Thomas put on his usual armor; a grin and a bit of charm. "They can't get enough of us, can they?" Thomas tipped his hat to a passerby who looked away too quickly.

Eddie barely seemed to notice. His eyes kept darting upwards, towards the eaves and lampposts where tiny red dots gleamed faintly through the snowlight. The eyes of a god seemed sharper here, like their crimson glow was brighter to compete with the painted storefronts and cold daylight of a midwinter's morning.

"And if we play our cards right, maybe we can--"

Eddie tugged on Thomas's sleeve, pulling close enough to whisper in his ear. "Don't talk so loud. They can hear you."

Thomas kept his pace smooth and his smile up, even though it felt brittle now. "They're just lenses, Eddie. Nothing more."

Eddie just shook his head. "Doesn't matter. They're still watching."

"Even if they are, they've no excuse to try anything. Walking around's not against the law, isn't it? We're perfectly safe." Thomas meant it to sound reassuring, but it came out like he was testing the words himself. It was only then that he noticed his own voice was nearly a whisper, and Eddie was still watching the rooftops.

A cart rumbled somewhere behind them. The sharp clatter of its wheels against the stone made Eddie flinch like a gun had gone off. For a heartbeat, Thomas felt that same jolt of panic, that gut-deep pulse that screamed at him to run like he was doing something forbidden just by being here. The feeling was so instinctive and came so quickly that it took a moment to realize there was nothing to run from.

Thomas soon caught himself and let out a shaky laugh. "See? We're jumping at ghosts now." He reached out and gave Eddie's shoulder a little squeeze.

Eddie's expression didn't quite reach a smile when he looked up, but the tightness in it eased.

"C'mon." Thomas tipped his head towards the next street. "Let's keep moving."

The pair walked in silence for a while. The rhythm of their steps slowly faded behind the muffled clatter of the square. The noise of the market wrapped around them like a veil as merchants called prices and laughter carried on the cold breeze. It felt normal until they listened closer to the conversations that caught their ears.

"--swore she saw it herself, right there in the square." A shopkeeper leaned over a basket of turnips while another woman in a matching uniform shoveled snow away from their stall.

"Right, Tiphanie, but who was nabbed?" The woman with the shovel grinned with wicked glee.

"Some backwater bumpkin from the south side." Tiphanie gestured widely with one arm while the other lifted the basket. "Think her name was Widow. My buddy says the officers dragged her off just after dawn, with her whole family just watching."

"On what proof? I bet they had something juicy!"

Tiphanie shrugged. "The magistrates say Widow kept odd hours and talked to cats. She's definitely got something going on in that spider's den of hers."

"Tell me about it." The other woman cackled like it was the funniest thing in the world. "At this rate, they'll run out of rope before they run out of witches!"

"That's the slums for you. The gallows fill faster than the churches down there." Tiphanie joined in the raucous laughter, then stopped halfway and sighed. "It's spreading everywhere, you know. We hadn't seen a whiff of witchcraft near the garden in years, then out of nowhere, a Baron's daughter goes missing."

"Yeah..." The other woman's wicked glee fizzled out in turn. "Tragic, that. No wonder the night watch is getting antsy lately."

The words drifted and tangled in the air, brushing past the passersby like cold fingers. Thomas's jaw tightened. He sped up, pretending not to listen, but Eddie's eyes were wide and fixed on the speakers as he took in every word.

Thomas let out a low huff. "Good to know--"

"Shh!" Despite Eddie's efforts, the sharp sound made nearby heads turn in their direction. Eddie's face went pale, his gaze dropping to the thin layer of snow forming on the road.

Thomas felt the guilt prickling in his chest. "Right," he muttered, dropping his own gaze without thinking. When the elder Teach realized he just fed the same fear he'd been trying to talk Eddie out of, the weight of guilt settled in his chest. They walked on in silence, blending back into the murmur of the crowd.

Snow crunched beneath their thin boots. Chimneys smoked against a pale gray sky, the scent of ash and pine drifting through the winter chill. The noise of the market formed a melody with distant bells and the hoofbeats of horses dragging carts along the road. Thomas and Eddie slowed down as they passed the windows of nearby shops, their glass dusted with frost that caught the light in a mosaic of colors.

At a narrow window filled with clockwork toys and painted ornaments, Eddie stopped to take a closer look. Little figures twirled and bowed and glimmered faintly in the light, their wooden bodies and iron gears clicking softly against the display table. Eddie let go of Thomas's hand and pressed closer to the glass. "It's pretty..."

Thomas turned away for a beat. "Yeah. It is." The elder Teach kept up his easy posture and soft grin, his hands tucked in his coat like he hadn't a care in the world. He didn't know what he'd done that managed to bring the wonder back into Eddie's eyes, but he wasn't about to ruin it by overthinking.

So they talked. When the pair pulled away from the shop window, Thomas pointed towards the nearest thing on the street ahead. "Notice that dog right there? He's got a coat nicer than mine. Think they make those in our size?"

Eddie glanced up, a distant look forming in his emerald eyes. A small sound-- maybe a little laugh, maybe just a breath-- slipped out of the kid before he looked down again.

Thomas pretended not to notice. "And that smell..." He inhaled deeply, closing his eye for the effect. "Chestnuts, roasted over the coals. Could almost make a man forget he's starving."

"Ah, but that would ruin the mystery." Thomas made his voice louder in return, wiggling his fingers for effect. "Better to imagine they taste like Heaven."

"Or burned," Eddie muttered, but there was a trace of amusement in it now.

As the smell of chestnuts drifted past, Thomas heard the strings of a street fiddler playing under a nearby lamp. Eddie hummed along to the notes of their cracked bow, watching as their frozen hands jerked around to match a tune that swelled into a crescendo; just like the way Clef would have played it. Thomas brushed his hand along a mound of snow just high enough to gather without breaking the little smile that formed when Eddie locked eyes with the performer across the road. When the time was right, Thomas tossed the snowball at Eddie's head.

The boy yelped, then grinned and hurled another one back. It hit Thomas squarely in the chest.

"Mutiny!" Thomas declared, staring at the mark of snow on his coat as though it were a deep wound. "You'll answer for that, young man!"

Eddie laughed-- a real, bright laugh-- and Thomas laughed in turn. The sound of it cut through the winter chill like sunlight peeking through the thick gray clouds. The pair traded snowballs for longer than Thomas had planned. Time slipped away behind smiles and the soft drift of snow.

Every now and then, Eddie's gaze flickered upwards, towards the rooftops where the bright red eyes of a god blinked against the darkening sky. But it never held there for long. Every time, the boy quickly looked back towards his older cousin, to the best place to build another snowball, to the fragile peace of a world that seemed so small.

Soon enough, they both forgot to whisper.

---

By the time they reached the house, the sunlight faded to an inky blue, and the streets had turned to slush. Eddie stretched out an arm to stop Thomas before he could gather his key.

"Let me go first." The kid drew his own key and a small knife from his coat, holding it carefully so it didn't gleam in the fading light. Eddie eased the latch open, quiet as a ghost, his breath a shallow wisp in the cold night air.

Then he screamed.

Thomas burst through the door in an instant. At first glance, nothing was wrong. The locks were intact, no footprints trailed into the house, and the furniture was exactly where they'd left it.

Then Thomas looked closer, and the details clicked into place. Shelves lined with jars that should have been empty days ago were full, with gleaming polished glass where there had once been bare wood and dust. The pantry-- freshly oiled, from the way it glided open without a creak-- was stocked to bursting with flour and herbs and eggs and foods Thomas couldn't even describe. The beds were made with blinding white linens and thick blankets folded neatly in the corners. The air was almost too clean, with the faint scent of soap and wood polish cutting through the nighttime air.

And on the table, sitting in plain view, was a parcel wrapped in ribbon red as blood.

Someone was here, and they both knew who it was. Thomas wanted to be furious at how wrong the house felt after War's intrusion. Like someone had replaced their lives with a cleaner version, more palatable for the blue bloods and uniforms. But there was food again. Real food. The dagger in Thomas's soul deepened when he realized he was already calculating how long it would last.

The knife in Eddie's hand trembled, its sharp edge angled towards the floor as his eyes locked onto the parcel. Thomas forced himself to keep busy while his pulse hammered in his ears. The elder Teach checked the cupboards, pretending to inventory the goods, but all it did was hide the shake in his hands.

They needed this. Thomas hated that they needed this.

"Hey," Thomas called, forcing a steadiness he didn't feel. "I'll make something warm, okay? You'll feel better with some food in you."

No answer. Just the soft creak of the floorboards as the boy retreated further into the house.

Thomas sighed and set to work in the kitchen. He tried not to think about the weight of every motion as he dug through the drawers for a knife that didn't have that foreign gleam when he picked it up. Thomas chopped meat that would cost a week's wages and peeled potatoes from a sack that wasn't in the pantry that morning. Every gifted ingredient landed in the pot with a spike of dread that plunged deeper into his soul.

Still, the stew smelled like Heaven, and Thomas latched onto that scent to keep the dread from piercing him through. He glanced towards Eddie's door. It was latched shut, with a faint line of candlelight beneath it and no sign of motion. Usually, the kid would be setting the table by now, or humming to himself while doing homework. Now, there was nothing but the steady pulse of being watched. Even faint his off the simmering pot couldn't fill the silence that settled like dust on Thomas's shoulders.

If War wanted to prove he meant no harm, he'd chosen the worst possible way to do it. Thomas absently wiped his hands on a rag, staring at the ceiling as a line from the preachers looped in his head-- one that felt so soft that afternoon, delivered with the smile of an acolyte. "The faithful are never alone."

Never alone. Thomas let out a dry laugh that sounded too loud in the still air. His knuckles went white against the handle of his ladle. He was supposed to be the guardian, the one who kept them safe, the one who handled the treacherous tasks so Eddie didn't have to. That's what Thomas told himself every time he went out in the dead of night for scraps, or when he smoothed his tone to reassure the boy. But every gesture of protection felt hollow under the eyes that peered through their boarded up windows. What good was a guardian when the walls themselves were watching?

Thomas set the ladle down. Its warped reflection flickered in the lamplight. Thomas had been reduced to pretending. Pretending not to notice, pretending to be brave, pretending he still had control. The act was so ingrained now that he almost believed it, until the sight of their home scrubbed raw reminded him otherwise.

A draft shook the window. The flame at the hearth wavered and flickered. For a heartbeat, Thomas could swear he saw a shadow sliding past the boards outside. But when he looked closer, all he saw was moonlight bending through the cracks.

It was fine. The gifts meant they were safe. If the Horseman wanted them dead, he would have done it ten times over by now.

Repeating that kept Thomas's hands steady as he glanced back to Eddie's room. The glow leaking out beneath the door was brighter now, and Thomas heard the scrape of metal against metal. Slow, quiet, methodical. Thomas went still. The sound repeated, gradually picking up speed like a heartbeat after a long night. The kid was practicing again.

A pang of grief and guilt cut into Thomas's soul. He wanted to tell Eddie to stop, to rest, to just be a child for one more night. But he couldn't find the words that wouldn't break the fragile peace in the house. So Thomas returned to the pot, stirred it once, and waited. Just a little longer.

The stew finished simmering under a pitch black sky. Thomas tasted it one last time, added a pinch more salt, and called towards the light of Eddie's door. "Dinner's ready!"

No answer.

Thomas set the ladle on a rag and waited a moment. "Eddie?"

A faint reply drifted back. "I'm not hungry."

Thomas froze. The words sounded like a foreign tongue. Eddie had never refused a meal in his life. It simply wasn't something you did when hunger was the only constant you'd ever known. The elder Teach forced a laugh, though it came out more thin than light. "Not hungry? Now that's a first."

Once more, there was no response except the howl of winter wind.

A bad feeling took root in Thomas's chest as he walked to the boy's room and slowly turned the latch. "Everything okay, kiddo?"

Eddie sat on the edge of his bed, arms wrapped tight around himself. The candle on his tiny desk threw him in dim gold and shadow. The kid didn't look sick, just tense. Eddie's emerald eyes flickered to the bowl in Thomas's hand, then away. "I told you, I'm not hungry.

Thomas set the bowl on the desk and crouched beside his little cousin. "C'mon. I know you're starving; after all that running in the snow."

Eddie just shook his head without even a twitch of relief. Thomas saw the panic barely held together behind Eddie's glassy stare. The kid's jaw quivered, and his hand inched away from the bowl like it might bite him.

"Hey." Thomas leaned in closer. "It's fine. It's just stew."

"No, it's not," Eddie muttered, almost too quiet to hear the crack laid bare in his heart. "You don't know what's in it, Tommy."

Thomas's smile faltered, but he kept his voice light. "Only one way to find out." He picked up the spoon and dipped it into the bowl--

"Don't!" Eddie flinched back hard, eyes wide, practically gasping out the word.

Thomas froze with the spoon hovering in midair. "Alright." He set it back down slowly, taking great lengths not to let the bowl clatter. "It'll be right here. In case you change your mind."

Thomas lingered in the main room after stepping out. The air felt heavy, and every creak in the floorboards felt too loud. On the table sat the parcel Thomas had been pretending not to see all evening. He stared at that bright red ribbon for a long time before approaching. For a heartbeat, the elder Teach considered throwing it straight into the fire, but the thought passed. Too risky.

Instead, he carried the parcel to his own bedroom and closed the door softly behind him. The paper crinkled as Thomas loosened the knot in quiet, deliberate motions, each one slower than the last.

Inside was a winter coat. Thick wool, dark as fine wine, far too fancy for most living on this side of Salem. Thomas ran a thumb along the hem lined with fur that felt like it was from another world. The sleeves were short, Thomas noted as his hands lingered on the fabric.

Too short for him. The coat was Eddie's size.

Thomas let out a trembling breath. Of course it was. He clutched the paper and ribbon in one hand and looked back towards the candlelight still flickering from a world away. Given how the food went...

Thomas pressed the coat to his chest for a moment, folding it carefully along the creases in the wool. He crossed his room and set it inside a wooden box in the corner, tucked away underneath mended clothes and old letters a certain "guardian angel" likely dug through that afternoon. The lid closed with a muted thud. He'd deal with it later.

Thomas paused outside Eddie's door. The light within had since faded to a dim flicker, barely visible from the crack at the floor. He pushed the door open a little to find Eddie still awake and the stew left untouched and cooling. The kid knelt beside the bed, his hands knitted tightly as he shivered in the winter chill. Eddie's lips moved, whispering words Thomas couldn't quite make out. A knife was half-hidden beneath the pillow, its hilt glinting faintly under the candle and the moon.

Thomas's throat tightened. The boy was right there, close enough to touch, and yet he felt impossibly far away. Still, he leaned against the frame and kept the lump in his heart from rising. "Hey, Eddie. Don't stay up too late, alright?"

Eddie looked up too fast, like he hadn't seen Thomas coming, then nodded. "Mmhmm. G'night, Tommy."

"Good night." Thomas hesitated before adding, quietly, "Love you, kiddo."

"I love you too." Eddie's hands clasped tighter as he said it.

Thomas lingered a second longer, then shut the door.

The air in his own room felt colder by the time Thomas collected his own bowl. Every inch of the place had been scrubbed within an inch of its life. Sheets Thomas had never seen smelled of flowers he couldn't name. The blanket was thicker than storm clouds and had the slight dampness that came with a recent laundering. Even the chipped plate on Thomas's nightstand had been replaced.

Thomas's bed looked like it was waiting for someone else. Thomas sat on the edge, one hand curling around the blanket while the other carefully removed the straps from his wooden leg. The stew was still warm from the hearth, but as Thomas ate, a shiver crept into his bones in a way he couldn't blame on the cold.

Thomas lied down eventually, but sleep didn't come that night. Instead, the elder Teach stared at the ceiling, listening to the soft popping of the hearth as it cooled and the distant churn of the river ice. The calm in the house felt like a witch's smile. It took too long for him to notice what was different.

Thomas was halfway through scrambling with his leg when he heard the faint creak of the front door. A draft slipped through the house, and Thomas's pulse jumped into his throat. Before he could move, the door closed again, and familiar footsteps padded faintly across the floor.

When Thomas stepped into the hall, Eddie was already there. The kid's threadbare coat was dusted in snow and his cheeks were flushed red as he carried a small bundle tightly in his arms. The warm scent of bread and chestnuts reached Thomas before any words could cross between them.

Eddie smiled, but his emerald eyes were marred with pallor, and his hands hid a tremor of fear and winter chill. The kid made slow, stiff movements as he set the bundle on the table, counted chestnuts, and cut the bread in half.

Thomas didn't ask where Eddie's sudden appetite came from. He just watched as the boy pushed the larger portion toward his older cousin and sat down. It hit Thomas like a blow how bright Eddie's smile was, and how thin it stretched against his raw skin. Eddie wore a solemn glimmer in his eyes as he prepared this small stolen meal like it was the only thing safe to eat.

Thomas tore a small corner of bread and chewed it slowly, forcing himself to swallow through the knot in his throat. When Eddie dropped his focus, Thomas slid the rest of his share closer to the boy's side of the table. The smile stayed on the elder Teach's face while his heart twisted with grief.

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