One Crossroads Later

Chapter Four

At least, this time, he didn't dream.

Flynn woke, groaning at the mere act of existing, and opened one eye to check the clock. Though it confirmed the sun had long since set, his entire form – body and soul alike – felt burdened from the day before. It took a moment for him to sit upright and then, another few moments before he reached for his phone and scanned the lock screen for messages.

Nothing new presented itself – a welcome mercy – but the message he'd ignored from Robin the previous night still occupied the screen. As much as he wanted to clear it, he couldn't, and thinking about Robin brought with it the reminder that he'd placed a significant wedge between them. That alone explained a part of his existential fatigue.

What have I done, he asked himself while sliding out of bed. He walked to the shower, stripping off the pajama pants he'd clothed himself in, and turned the water for the shower onto hot. Once under the stream, he pointed his face into the heat and let the moisture run from his head down his shoulders and back. He'd told himself, last night, that he'd give Robin a night to be angry. Truthfully, he knew Robin needed much longer than that, but his own impatience had gotten the better of him.

Please let this be a bridge I can mend.

He took his time washing up and getting dressed once he'd toweled off. The more he thought about it, the more chagrined he felt about his own actions without knowing what to do about them. It wasn't the killing that bothered him; he'd eliminated that during his earliest days as a vampire. And it damned him, knowing how good he was at doing it and how much he relished the hunt.

This felt like the first moment awake from a stupor, though, and given clarity of mind enough to see the mess he'd left in his wake. Honestly, he didn't care about the political structure of vampire covens. The first time that had ever been explained to him had bored him to tears. Sabrina's vie for either certainty or supremacy felt banal in the grander scheme of things, compared to the injury of the ones who mattered.

God, though, it had felt so important in the moments while it happened, he thought while buttoning a vest shut over a shirt and tie. He'd exchanged the slacks for jeans and the suit coat for a much less formal jacket. His knives needed cleaning, but he remembered how Robin had looked after catching sight of one the night before and left them in his room. Walking back toward salvation might have been a long and winding path.

But he needed to make the first step.

Flynn left the room and locked the door behind him. His other vampire siblings lingered outside either communal sleeping areas or in the rooms below, the sound of their talking strangely relieving to him. For as much as it felt like things had changed, that one moment of normalcy gave him hope for other things. All the same, he ignored the others the same way they ignored him, and continued to the opposite end of the hall, where Robin's room lay.

Casting a quick glance at the crack they'd left in the wall, he looked at the door again and took a deep breath. He only hesitated once before pounding on the barrier, waiting several moments for a response.

None came. Flynn glowered at the door, knocking on it again, and when silence responded again, he tested the door, finding it locked without hearing anything stir on the other side.

He glanced toward one of the doors that opened and walked to intersect one of his other siblings as he emerged from his room. "Charlie," he said, causing the other vampire to pause. While he looked much younger than Flynn, Flynn recognized him as one of the older members of the coven. Whom I've spoken to, oh, a half dozen times in five years? But who's counting?

Charlie hesitated, looking nervous as Flynn approached. "Oh, hey, Flynn," he said. "What can I help you with tonight?"

"Has Robin left his room at all?" he asked, gesturing at the shut door behind him.