The Secret Village

Martin had learned a few things his few weeks as a resident of the Secret Village. He'd scribbled them down on old parchment, stained with flour and egg batter.
1. Sasha likes honey in her tea.

2. Daisy likes sourdough bread for breakfast, and cherry muffins for an afternoon snack. Her routine was militant.

3. Basira liked her coffee very bitter. Very bitter, Martin, stop adding sugar.

4. Tim must not be allowed back in.

5. Georgie prefers her apples to be green instead of red.

6. Melanie prefers bittersweet chocolate chips than milk chocolate.

5. Jon....

Jon was the hardest to read. Despite their conversation the first night, Martin has had yet to peek into Jon's walls. He did, however, notice above all else:
6. They loved each other.

There were few people in the village, but this core group were center of the community. They were a united force, protecting everyone else. Almost everyday, the seven of them gravitated toward each other. They laughed, and sometimes they just sat together in comfortable silence.

Martin watched them with somewhat envy. He'd always wanted friends, but he never dared hope for any. In hoping, he'd have to admit he was actually lonely, which was not something he wanted to do. It wasn't until being part of the Lonely Court that Martin realized how truly alone he was. Had always been.

But Martin didn't dare ask from them for any kind of friendship. It was a miracle they were allowing him there at all, giving him a home and workplace. Even if for the rest of his life he only had Jon sitting in his cafe, not talking to him at all, he would be happy. It was the kind of happy you got from being close to a bonfire or standing on the sand on a beach, staring out at the ocean.

Martin was content with this, niceties with the people of the village and Jon's presence. But it all changed when Tim said: "You should come tonight."

"Come where?" Martin asked, not really paying attention. He was staring at two glass jars, both filled with white powder. Which one was sugar, and which one was flour? Why hadn't he labeled them? Stupid Martin.

"To Jon's."

Martin fumbled with both containers. "Jon's?"

Martin had been to most places in town, but he never stepped foot there.

While Jon came to Martin's Cafe regularly, Martin knew he did not come because he wanted too. The back of Martin's head had indentions from Jon's suspicious stares.

"Oh, don't look so panicked, I was joking. It's my place." Tim said, slapping Martin on the back. Much to Martin's dismay, Tim was behind the counter again. "And besides, it's just drinking."

"Drinking?"

"Yeah. It's the one night every month we can convince Jon to allow us to drink Faerie Wine."

Martin scowled. Faerie Wine was a dangerous thing. Sweet as honey, as rich as ichor, and as golden as bare sunlight. Almost every court has the liquid at revels, making their guests honest and happy and very, very drunk.

Martin had only had Faerie Wine twice. The first time was before his mother had become sad to the point of sickness, where Martin had followed a very handsome man to the revel. Only to wake up in the morning in a thorn bush, the echo of laughter in his ears.

The second time had been with Peter. While Martin remembered that encounter, he did not like to think about it. (That was the night Martin had truly began to feel something for Peter. It wasn't romantic love. But it was the sort of love of being understood for the first time by some else.)

"I promise it will be fun," Tim said. "And you don't have to drink more than you want too."

Martin still frowned.

Tim gestured toward Jon. "Come on, even he wants you to come."

Jon was sitting in his usual spot, a book perched open on his lap. Though he had relaxed his position over the last few days, now letting himself rest his feet on another chair.
"He-he does?" Martin stammered.

Tim stared at Martin for a moment, before his eyes twinkled. "He did not say so specifically-"

Martin's hopeful face shut like a door.

"But he does want to know you better!"

"He wants to know whether I'm a danger or not." Martin grumbled.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Well watching you from afar obviously isn't helping, so coming tonight and talking to him might lessen his suspicions."

Tim had a point, Martin conceded. Biting his lip, Martin nervously watched Jon. "Are you sure that's alright? What does Sasha or Georgie feel about me intruding-"

Tim waved a hand, a flash of silver since he wore many, shiny rings. "No one thinks you're intruding! This is a group extended invitation. I wouldn't have said anything if not everyone wanted you there. So stop thinking of excuses! I'll be back after closing to get you."

"You don't have to do that, I know where you live-"

"No, I'll pick you up personally. I have a feeling if I don't, you'll not come." Tim said. Martin didn't like much Tim seemed to understand him already. But another part of Martin delighted in it.

"Fine." Martin grumbled. Then added, "Thank you for inviting me Tim. It means a lot."

Tim smiled brightly. "Of course! You're one of us now, you sorry bastard."

Martin's smile in reply was involuntary, but he could not stop it.

At seven, Martin turned off the ovens and packed away remains of his cooking. He slid off his apron and looked out the windows. Orange and red streaked the sky, golden clouds resting among the setting sun.

The autumn glow reverberated inside, staining everything is fall colors. Jon slammed his book shut, on time as usual, but did not stand up. He simply stared at Martin, frowning
.
"What is it?" Martin asked, hands in his pockets. He tried not to look at Jon, who was lit by the reigning sunlight. His hair just looked so silky! You couldn't blame Martin for wanted to run his hands through it everyday.

"You...you usually come over with a plate at this time." Jon said, a bit awkwardly.

"Oh," Martin realized, flushing. "I just thought we were going to eat at Tim's."

Jon's eyes widened, and he sat up. "You're going to Tim's tonight?"

"Yeah," Martin answered, a bit startled at Jon's reaction. "He invited me, I thought-"

"Martin!" Tim said slamming the door open. His jaw-length black hair was braided across his forehead. "Ready to get drunk as Merlin himself?"

Martin whirled and glared at Tim. "I thought you said everyone wanted me there," He said, gesturing at Jon.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Jon is not part of our council on social occasions such as tonight."

"I find that offensive-" Jon started, standing up.

Tim ignored him. "Don't worry about Jon." He told Martin. "Come along, if we're late Sasha will finish both bottles herself."

Martin was unsure now, his arms crossed on his chest. He glanced worriedly at Jon, who was scowling at Tim.

After a moment Jon sighed and said to Martin, "You might as well come." His scowl deepened.

Tim smiled brightly, throwing an arm around Martin's shoulders. "See? Told you he wanted to get to know you!"

Jon walked straight out the door. Martin sighed.

Tim and Sasha's home was a very bright place, covered in flowers, all kinds of trinkets, and quilts. Along the walls were many paintings of the two of them, none of them serious, each of them smiling. One of the portraits was of Tim, shirtless, using a bow and arrow. Next to him was Sasha, a sleek painted silver dagger in her hand. Behind them was a mirage of green eyes.

Martin stared at this particular painting, where they were neither frowning nor smiling. It reminded him of the Wild Hunt, warriors of the Fey.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Georgie said, coming up to Martin. In her arms was a massive cat. The cat judged Martin.

"Oh, yes it is." Martin agreed, holding a glass of faerie wine he had yet to take a sip of. "I just am wondering about the inspiration."

Georgie eyed Martin as she replied, "All of these are snapshots of their life together."

Martin's eyebrows rose. "So they've actually done these things?" Gesturing to the one of Tim and Sasha riding and falling from a flying horse.

Georgie laughed. "After we...left our court, Tim and Sasha thought it best to live life to the fullest." She said, looking around the living room.

"And damn us if we haven't!" Tim yelled, swinging onto the couch with a long, green bottle in his hand. The rest of the group was around a small circular wooden table, each on a love seat or chair or on the floor itself.

Sasha giggled, leaning drunkenly into Tim, who gladly wrapped an arm around her.

For the second time that day, Martin felt envy. This wooden cottage was filled with miscellaneous items, not color themed, or any sense of categoration, but it was filled with love and familiarity. Martin had never truly had a home before. Sure, a house, but never a home filled with shared, loving memories.

Tim and Sasha were truly two halves, never one without the other.

Martin's eyes darted to Jon, who was perched on a green love seat. He was holding a mug of something that was not faerie wine. Martin noticed he wasn't scowling, but he looked annoyed somewhat. As Martin thought this, the edge of Jon's lips twitched at whatever Melanie said in something short of a smile. Martin watched mesmerized as the mask of annoyance quickly fell back into place, fast as lightning.

It was as though Martin had stumbled upon a new magical creature. Something rare and not something he knew was possible to exist.

"Martin!" Tim said, "We," he gestured to himself and Sasha, "have some stories to tell you!"

Tim spared at glance at everyone else. "Right guys?"

Basira shrugged, "I have a few." She shared a look with Daisy. "We have a few, I mean."

Sasha scowled at Basira, but in her intoxicated state, her face just screwed up like an impression of a pug. "Only stories from the past!"

Basira rolled her eyes. "Fine."

"I have a few about this guy," Georgie cackled, coming and sitting on one of the arm rests of Jon's chair. Jon shot her a poisonous look, but Martin saw fondness there.
An unreasonable jolt of panic shot down Martin's spine. Were they-

"Babe, don't embarrass him in front of the newbie. Really, I mean it. If we break his almighty-powerful-ruthless wizard persona and Martin is no longer afraid of him, he'll get angry." Melanie said, where she sat crossed legged on the floor, her elbow resting on the surface of the table.

Oh, Martin thought relieved. He scowled inwardly, why was he relieved?

"I have no persona." Jon said darkly, crossing arms, glaring at Martin. Martin felt a cold sweat, but everyone else laughed.

"I'll start," Tim said, stifling a burp.

Soon enough, Tim began a tale about him and Sasha running from ethereal silver worms.

Worms.

"We were running through a rapidly dark forest, with these demonic arm-less heathens burrowing out of the trees and the grass and the moss. And my bow and arrow did nothing really, but I had a flaming log swinging around. I mean- I know forest fires are bad and what not- but these worms were everywhere. Everywhere. And Sasha, her blade slashing at the worms- we had to use the blade to dig out the worms from our flesh- our flesh Martin, look-" He pushed his arm toward Martin, rolling up his sleeves, showing his picket pocketed skin.

Martin realized he'd seen those before, shooting a look at Jon, who was staring at the wall. Marin saw the pale circular scars dotting his jaw and cheek.

Tim rolled his eyes. "And Jon was there too, but completely useless." He looked back to Martin, "It was before he became a wizard who sees everything, so mainly he just sat and screamed and let the worms make him- well worm food."

Jon snapped his head to Tim. "I- I did not just sit there," He spat.

"Yeah," Sasha defended. "Yeah he ran too. Slowly, but he ran."

Jon's scowl deepened.

For a moment Martin was worried Jon would actually leave, so he intervened and said: "That sounds terrible. I couldn't imagine."

Jon's gaze snapped to Martin, pursing his lips. After a moment Jon's face softened slightly and looked at the wall. "It was." He said quietly.

A silence overtook the room before Basira started telling her story, without prompt.

Basira told a tale of her and Daisy being Knights. She said some of the pretty grotesque stuff they did, making Martin frown in disgust. But what their biggest accomplishment was taking down a group of Fey who were torturing Mortals and other Fey alike.

"They wanted to become High Kings," Basira said, as though talking about the weather. "So they used the blood and skin of everyone they could find." Her eyes shot to Tim, who looked like he'd sobered up a lot in the span of a few minutes. "They hurt a lot of innocent people."

"But we blew up their little pseudo court. Almost lost Jon and Tim there." She said gesturing to them.

Tim gave Martin a humorless lopsided grin. "At the time, I didn't care if I survived it. I started to fire and I wanted it to consume me- maybe it'd finally be something stronger than my rage. But..."

Sasha slid her hand into his. His grin slowly became fond. "But I realized there was more I wanted to experience. I busted my ass to get out of there." He turned to Jon. "And Jon basically got lucky."

Jon rolled his eyes. "I died Tim."

"Yeah, but you came back. How is that not lucky?"

"You died?" Martin asked before he could stop himself.

Jon eyed Martin. "Yes." He said, not revealing anything.

So Tim did instead. "Jon's all-seeing witchy powers finally started to come in. Of course, we didn't know that at the time, so you could imagine how freaked out we were when he crawled out of his grave six months later."

Martin gaped, not knowing how to process any of that.

"Freaked out is a nice way to put it," Jon said, resigned to have this conversation. "You all treated me like a soulless zombie for months."

"You are a zombie." Melanie said, topping off another glass of faerie wine.

Jon scowled again.

Tim swirled to Martin, a smile on his face. "Your turn."

Martin almost dropped his glass. "What?"

Tim arched a brow. "You didn't think we'd tell you our stories without wanting to hear one in return?"

"I, I don't really have any stories." Martin argued.

Everyone raised a brow.

Martin had to remember social cues. Slowly, he said, "Um, okay, sure. Just, ah, let me think of one?"

Then something hit him. "You only invited me here to get me drunk and tell you all of my secrets, didn't you?"

Tim didn't look guilty. "We've been telling you ours."

"Not really. I'm still lost on how any of those events even happened."

"I told you, we were part of a wicked court." He narrowed his eyes at Martin. "Have you figured out which on it is yet?"

"Figure out which one it is yet?" Martin echoed.

"Yeah, we've been giving you so many clues. Jon over there says we can't tell you, but we can't do anything if you figure it out yourself."
"I don't like that."

Tim just smiled.

Martin sighed.

"And it can't be a happy one." Sasha said. "Has to be dark and sad and almost fatal."

Martin gulped.

The fight between Peter and Elias, the two High Kings of the Fey. But that was a bit much wasn't it? Martin thought about it for a few minutes.

A years worth of memories of his time with Peter flashed through his mind. Them walking through the forest, through ruined courts, over snow caps, and adrift on a starless sea.
"A while ago," Martin started.

"How long ago?" Basira asked intently. They were all staring at him quite intensely, though at least Tim, Sasha, and Georgie tried to be subtle about it.

"I don't know." Martin said, honestly, because that was what they wanted, wasn't it? "Time has become a bit of a...sore spot for me. I don't really know hold old I am. Probably 29?" He chuckled, but no one else laughed.

Martin cleared his throat. "Anywho, a while ago I was traveling with a companion of mine, we came across a Fey who could change their face. So I believe we were in the East Forest? We were camping in the left overs of some revel. We were sitting in silence, and everything was normal, when I realized my companion was being a bit more chatty than usual...When I started pointing out the oddities in his behaviors the...the thing snapped. Turns out, it was a magical shifter that had been impersonating my companion for a while."

"What happened?" Georgie asked, eyes wide and interested.

"Well, it tried to kill me. I managed to fight it off-" which meant Martin had just tripped over a log and rolled away a few feet "-until Pe- My companion came back. Turns out he'd been following us, waiting to see how long it would take for me to realize. Quite the jokster."

"That's not funny," Melanie said, scowling.

"What happened to the shifter?" Jon asked, frowning. "Those creatures are incredibly rare, and hard to kill."

Martin raised his eyebrows. It didn't seem hard for Peter to snap his fingers and the creature to burst into wind and sand.

"Um, well my companion dealt with it."

Jon said incredously, "So your friend just conveniently had a blade with the blood of a unicorn on it?"

Martin frowned, "No,"

Jon blinked at Martin, angrily. "Then how did he kill it?"

"My companion...was more powerful than normal Fey. He doesn't exactly follow the same rules as the rest of us." Martin tried to explain.

Jon tilted his head to the side, frowning. "He was a high fey wasn't he?"

"Was yours?" Martin asked back.

They stared at each other for a moment before Tim groaned and yelled, "Yes! He was a high fey! I dare say we all are talking about High fey." He rolled his eyes before looking to Martin, for the first time looking a smidge distrustful. "Why were you traveling alone with a High fey?"

Martin laughed suddenly, a burst of humorless comedy. "I wouldn't say Peter and I were alone, perse." He said, thinking of the deception of everything, all the ships of the sea beyond the barriers of fog.

Everyone's eye brows rose, their glasses becoming forgotten in their hands.

"Peter?" Basira asked, incredulously.

Martin felt a spark of fear. "Do you know him?"

"No," Tim said, sitting up and leaning forward, his eyebrows drawn together. "Martin, he told you his name?"

Martin knew what they all were thinking. What High Fey gave up their name willingly?

"Um, yeah." Martin answered awkwardly. It was actually one of the first things the King of Nothing had told him. And he'd said it without a care in world, as if he weren't even scared Martin would use it against him.

Peter really hadn't thought anything of him, had he?

The group shared a look for a long moment.

"So, Martin," Tim said slowly. "How long exactly were you sleeping with a High Fey?"

"Tim!" Sasha said, swatting him. "That's not what your supposed to ask!"

Tim rubbed his arm and defended, "That was what we had to ask him, I just put it in simpler terms!"

"Answer the question, Martin." Basira said, ignoring Tim and Sasha.

"No! No, no, you've got it wrong." Martin said hastily, his face heating beyond belief. "Peter- Peter and I were not like that. At all." He forced his eyes not to look at Jon as he said this.

"So a High Fey just gives you their name, what, out of the kindness of their heart?" Jon asked.

"Obviously not, I now know it was probably a way to manipulate me, thank you very much." Martin snapped.

The group became silent, registering this information. Jon pursed his lips, his eyes scanning the floor. He was trying to figure it out, Martin realized, who Martin was talking about.
Martin looked down at his glass, seeking his reflection in the golden faerie wine. Why had he come here tonight? Why was he even in this village at all?

Even though Martin was in a room filled with people, he felt the mist of loneliness creep around him. A small, terrible, part of him wanted to let it consume him.

"Well," Tim announced after a while, raising his glass, "to manipulative High Fey sons of bitches, who's horrific acts managed to get us all to meet."

"Here, here." Everyone said, humorlessly, clinking their glasses together.

After a while they began to talk about miscellaneous things, the cloud of nostalgia going over to reveal present shenanagins.

Martin found himself sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. The wine was starting to affect him, his vision somewhat hazy and shiny.

Someone suddenly slid down the wall next to him.

"Whaddya want Tim?" Martin asked.

"Not Tim." Jon said, his eyes resolutely in front of him.

Martins swallowed and tried to regain his sober composure. "I didn't actually sleep with a High Fey," He said for no fucking reason besides the fact he was the world's biggest idiot.

Jon's eyebrows rose.

"I-I didn't mean to say that- I just don't want you thinking..." Martin's faced flushed with something other than alcohol. He quickly shut up.

Jon bit his lip and looked in front of him again. "Tim used to...Tim used to make the same joke about me and our previous- well you know."

It was turn for Martin's eyebrows to rise. "Um, were you-"

"No," Jon snapped. He looked at Martin in a betrayed kind of way, which Martin assumed was fair. "No, my- our previous high lord was well..."

"Obsessed," Tim yelled from across the room. "He was obsessed with you."

Jon scowled.

"Why?" Martin asked.

"His good looks," Melanie giggled, topping herself off again.

Jon's scowl deepened. "No, he just..." His face softened, not with warmth but with weariness. "He saw some of himself in me." He stared down at his near skeletal hands, the small pale holes on his wrist.

Realization came over Martin. "He made you his ward, shared his high fey powers with you."

Jon nodded. His eyes slid over to Martin's. "I assume the same happened with you, Mr.Breaking-through-my-wards-on-accident."

Sasha laughed. "Someone's inner sass is coming out. Beware Jon, you might ruin your reputation as an emotionless laughless badass."

Jon ignored her, looking at Martin.

"Oh," Martin said. "I-Um, maybe?" He considered it. The King of Monstera- Elias- had not been able to see him. He was invisible, and that was Peter's thing. Had Peter been making Martin his ward? What about all those other people?

No, Martin told himself, it was just the mist. You're not invisible anymore.

It was after a few minutes of debating this mentally that Martin realized Jon was still watching him, expecting more of an answer.

Martin stumbled on what to say as he looked at the High Fey Witch. His black and silver stranded hair was pulled up messily, but each lock fell with silk like softness and aesthetic. His pointed ears bore no earrings like many of his friends' did. Tonight he wore a dark green yarn sweater that came to rest near the middle of his thighs, one that Martin probably could not even fit into. Over the sweater he wore a long brown trench coat, with books poking out from the pockets. His black pants were stained with potions, and his leather boots were scuffed up from apparent numerous times of running for his life.

Martin was not taking any of this well.

"Um," Martin said, wondering how he had gotten into this situation. He was sitting next to a High Fey Witch, who was beauty and power itself and who hated him. This was the kind of thing Martin read love stories about, or fantasized about when admiring dark, soul tortured Unseelie Knights. "I don't think Peter made me his ward. But I guess we'll never know until I dig myself out of my grave." He chuckled awkwardly, and the minute the words left his mouth Martin cringed.

Jon's mouth thinned.

Fuck, Jon had come over here to sit down and actually be nice for once and Martin had to go an mock his death. Martin wanted the lonely court to swallow him whole-

Miraculously, Jon's lip twitched. "I suppose we shall see," He said, a sliver of humor there in his voice.

A burst of relief so powerful nearly knocked all the breathe out of Martin's body. Then, "Wait was that a threat?"

Jon shrugged and stood up, looking absolutely pleased with himself.

Martin stared for a second, not comphrending, was Jon teasing him? Every universal fact collided is his head. Was that possible?

Jon looked over his shoulder once, giving Martin a shy unpracticed smug smirk. Then his hip hit the edge of the arm chair, causing him to almost lose balance and spill his drink of cider. He cursed, the pointed edges of his ears going red.

I'm imagining things, Martin told himself, somewhat dazed. Its the faerie wine messing with Martin's romanticism.

The next morning was hell.

Martin's temples pulsed, and the warm light of his shop he'd come to love had quickly become a hindrance. He threw quilts over the windows, seeing as there were no curtains.
The jingle of the door opening sounded like as loud as a revel trumpet.

"G'morning." Martin mumbled, willing himself to pick his face up from the counter.

Someone chuckled, "Your words don't match your tone."

Martin blinked blearily at Jon, who looked impeccable as always.

"I'm never speaking to Tim again." Martin said. "He's banned from the shop. Please, make some wards so he can't get in."

Jon's mouth twitched, but he didn't agree, nor did he disagree. He quietly sat himself down at his usual chair, a new book open on his lap.

They sat in silence for a while until Martin realized he should at least make Jon some coffee, and maybe have a little bit for himself to help with the hang over. It was for Jon, not for him. For Jon.

Martin quickly started to break up bits of coffee bar to warm up when he moved to fast reaching for a copper pot, managing to knock down the entire rack. A cascading fall of copper came raining upon Martin, but once he closed his eyes and braced himself he felt nothing.

Huh?

Opening his eyes, Martin saw all the pots and pans distilled midair in green sparks. One by one they levitated back onto the shelf.
Martin looked to Jon, who had not even looked up from his book, just moved his hand.

"How did you-"

"I see everything." Jon said, his tone sarcastic.

Martin looked at the green magic filing away his cooking materials, and back to Jon, who was not even watching.

Oh, Martin realized.

"I know now," He said aloud, before he could process his words.

Jon looked at him, his eyebrow arched.

"You are- you were from the King of Monstera's court, weren't you?" Martin asked.

He'd seen this magic before. This was Elias- The King of Monstera's magic. The High King who watches the world. Magic had felt this magic when the King of Monstera had tried to kill him off Peter's ship. How had he not noticed before? Martin was truly the biggest idiot.

Jon's face slacked in surprise.

Suddenly, Martin was pinned to the kitchen wall, green tendrils of magic on his shoulders and waist.

"Jon!" He said incredulously, "What are you-"

"How did you know?" Jon asked, standing before Martin, all the ruthless, powerful wizard he'd been up until last night. Any hope that Martin had actually made friends with him died instantly.

"Just- you're magic and the all seeing thing- it wasn't that hard to put together! Why are you so- Tim said I could figure it out! I was supposed too!" Martin defended, thrashing against the bonds.

Jon scowled. "If you think you can use your new found knowledge against us-"

"How!" Martin shouted, "How would I use it against you?"

"You could go running back to High Fey Lord of yours and tell him of us-"

Martin couldn't comperhend that statement alone. "I have the same amount of chance of going back to Peter that you do of-" Martin almost said his name. "Of- yours!"
The door opened, Tim and Sasha walking in arm and arm and not seemingly hung over at all, something they no doubt were going to lord over Martin with. Their smiles instantly dropped.

"Jon!" They shouted in unison.

"What are you doing! Put him down!" Sasha said, standing in front of Martin.

"He knows," Jon said, not taking his eyes off Martin.

"Knows what?" Sasha said, angrily.

"About our High Lord! He figured it out!"

"Oh," Tim smiled at Martin. "I knew you were smart enough."

Martin did not feel like smiling back.

"Tim," Jon said scathingly, "now he knows everything about us, and we know nothing of him. We're at a disadvantage. Unless..." Jon said, his eye brows furrowing in thought.

"No," Tim snapped. "You're not forcing him."

Jon closed his mouth, somewhat looking remorseful. And sad. "What are we supposed to do?"

Tim took a deep breathe. "Boss, I think we're going to have to, and bear with me, trust him."

Jon scowled.

Tim put his hands up. "Or figure out his previous court on our own, like he did with ours."

Jon scowled deepend. His eyes snapped back to Martin, digging into his soul.

Suddenly Martin was on the floor again. Martin stumbled, watching as Jon gathered his things and left as fast as lightning, slamming the door on his way out.

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry about him." He said, giving Martin an empathetic look. "I thought he was..."

Sasha rubbed Martin's shoulder, staring at the door.

"He really does not like not knowing things."

Martin was too stunned to respond.