His Own Salvation.

Fourth

London. Sarah.

It took Sarah a long time to finally fall asleep that night. She nodded again and again - and half an hour later she was up again. The small bedside lamp that stood next to her donated sended pleasant light, which painted various shadows on the walls. There was a strange disturbance in Sarah's chest, which had not gone away since the incident with Oliver. Something was wrong with the flashlight, Caroline was right in that point.

Things just did not explode, right? Even the hours of cleaning with Tom could not stop them, and now it was deep in the night. Groaning, she got up from her bed and slipped into sweatpants, slippers, and a fleece shirt before quietly opening the door.

Even if the institute could accommodate over 400 people and most of the rooms were empty, it seemed like every sound was heard, so she took great care to scurry quickly toward the kitchen. Margot had been in bed a long time and would not even notice if she would made a warm, soothing tea.

The whole institute was dark, at least the first two floors. Sarah was glad her room was on the first floor - the same as the library, a place she loved above all else. Hundreds of books, some of them several decades old, literally cried out to be read. On this floor was only Will's room, too, but at the other end of the hallway and you had to go down a short flight of stairs.

Also on the ground floor everything was quiet and the kitchen was meticulously cleaned up, as Sarah noted.

Just as she was standing in the hallway with the steaming cup in her hands, she felt a muffled sound that seemed to come from outside. She froze in her movements and focused with all her senses on the front door.

Dong.
There, again! She squinted at the darkness, set the cup on the floor, and moved slowly toward the door to peer through the spy. Much beyond the dark entrance to the house, she could not see much beside a curled figure, which seemed to be moving on the floor. She could make out a black hair.

A well-known black hair. But what on earth did Will want out there? She had been told that under no circumstances should one open the front door when you were a) unarmed or b) a stranger were found outside. Neither case was true here, whereupon Sarah opened the door. If necessary, she could pull the cup over his head.

The vague moonlight only made Sarah realize that he was looking up at her in amazement. "Will." She lowered her voice to avoid waking Tom, who was sleeping right in the room next to the entrance. "What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

"Oh, you've always been my dear, Sarah." She saw his white teeth flash. "Even though I had hoped that Tom would answer my silent plea and help me into my room. I would not have been surprised that he had rebuilt Agatha so late. You have to know, he has a secret crush on her. But why you're still in the house so late is a mystery to me. "

Sarah had to think about how Tom stood outside with a telescope in the evening watching Agatha as she set the dishwasher, laughing, if only for a moment.

And then Will looked at her in puzzlement. "I really believe that you are the only person who finds my platitudes entertaining."

There was a penetrating smell of alcohol from Will, and his lip was cracked; dried blood graced the spot.
"You're drunk," she stated, then grabbed his arm and helped him getting up while he groaned. „Very drunk." Even though she could not explain why, she felt a vague disappointment.

"I'm not," Will contradicted, almost leaning on her with all his weight, though he tried not to. His movements were strangely wooden, not as elegant as usual, probably due to the intoxication. "You're just ... blurry." He blinked a few times. For a moment, she let go of him to bring the cup back to the kitchen, leaning against the wall so as not to lose his grip. Even in the dark hallway, she could tell that his eyes were sparkling ...