Late that night, Griffin came to visit.

Both Hansel and Felix were in the living room, Hansel sitting on one end of the couch, absently stroking Flea who was draped across his lap like a puffy scarf. Leech, on the other hand had ensconced itself beneath Hansel's black cap—the one he had discarded in the middle of the couch earlier that day—paws out like a turtle, scratching industriously at the cushions below. On the other end of the couch lolled Felix, caught in a state of half-consciousness, switching in and out of a fitful sleep.

Every time Hansel glanced over at Felix he was overcome with a sense of deep concern. Felix was pushing himself too hard, and no matter how much he denied it with his words Hansel could see the evidence of it in his emaciated frame and the unhealthy shade of his skin. His fatigue seemed to run bone-deep, and Hansel could not guess if it was a result of his encounters with Griffin, his lack of rest or a direct consequence of the drastic fall in his powers. Very likely it was all of those reasons.

The springs inside the couch creaked as Felix shifted uncomfortably. A low moan escaped his lips and Hansel thought he might have woken up, but Felix's eyes remained closed, his head hanging limply to a side. Hansel considered shooing Leech from the couch and pulling Felix's head down onto the cushions to remedy his difficult posture. But touching him would wake him up, and then he wouldn't let himself go back to sleep again, because he hadn't meant to fall asleep in the first place.

Hansel was sure Felix had not gotten any sleep after he disappeared last night (to do what, he did not know; Felix would not tell), and once he returned, he had spent the entire time keeping watch on Hansel. He would start dozing off once in a while, but then he would jolt awake, seized by a mysterious fit of panic; he would look around frantically, and only relax when he saw Hansel by his side. This cycle repeated multiple times—he was obviously too tired to keep his eyes open, yet too scared to close them. He had only properly fallen asleep about an hour ago and Hansel did not want to wake him up even by accident. Hence, he stayed his hand: it was better Felix slept badly than he got no sleep at all.

Hansel must have begun to doze of himself, because the next thing he remembered was blinking his eyes open to the sharp pain in his leg. He peered down at the cat clawing into his thigh. "Flea, what's wrong?"

But Flea's attention was elsewhere. Next to him, Leech had wriggled out from beneath Hansel's black cap, blue eyes glowing as it hissed at something in the dark. Hansel looked over to see what had agitated the cats, only to catch Griffin lurking in the shadows of the living room.

Hansel jerked upright. He felt a cold prickle at the back of his neck. Since when had Griffin been standing there?

He glanced over at Felix, who was still sleeping, and weighted the merits of waking him up.

"What do you want?" demanded Hansel, muscles tensed, coiled for action.

Griffin emerged from the shadows. His eyes only touched Hansel's briefly before they latched onto Felix's sleeping figure. Complicated expressions chased each other across his face, until, at last, he wiped his face clear in favour of a subtle smirk. "Felix looks exhausted," he said fruitily. "Let's not wake him up, shall we?"

Hansel wasn't going to. If Felix woke up, he'd just vanish into the night with Griffin—again. And he'd never get to know what transpires between the two of them.

Hansel picked up Flea from his lap and placed the kitten on the couch beside Leech. He stood up shakily. "Let's go outside."

The cats did not think it was a good idea—neither did Hansel, frankly, but he was out of options. They leapt off the couch in unison and intercepted Hansel's path, barring him from taking another step. Their furs were on end and their tails swished frantically in guarded anticipation. Their teeth were bared and stances taut, as if they were facing an enemy way up in the food chain; which they were.

"Cats, cats," murmured Griffin. "Such beautiful pestilences." He lifted one of his hands into the air, pale and ungloved. "What do you say I kill them for you?" The ends of his fingers elongated to magnum black spikes. "Like how I killed that other cat of yours?" He stalked forward, smiling cruelly. "Don't worry. I will keep it painless."

"Flea, Leech, get back," said Hansel in alarm.

The cats stayed their ground, spitting like nettled snakes. Griffin made a diving motion towards them. They shrank back in panic. He chuckled, then tried another attack, this time aiming right for their hearts. The cats dodged, narrowly missing the pointed appendages. A frenzy came over them. They darted back towards the couch, as if running away to hide; instead they started scrambling all over Felix's sleeping body, purring in his face as if their lives depended on it—which they did.

When Felix opened his eyes his pupils were already haloed by red. It did not take him long to spot the unwelcome guest, and the moment he saw Griffin standing in the living room he skewered him with a dozen shadow thorns he coaxed from the floor, spearing him to the opposite wall.

The thorns were long and thin, some of them even bent in places like an old man's fingers. A black vapour seeped out of Griffin's wounds, like mist dusted with soot and quartz. Hansel had seen that kind of vapour before, when Felix cut himself to show Hansel that he had no blood.

"Easy now," said Griffin, wrapping his hands over the spears entering his body, the shadows tangible to him in a way they had never been to Hansel. Hansel did not know if it would hurt a shadow to be pierced by a shadow, but Griffin was still smiling as if he weren't pinned to the wall like a butterfly. "I'm just here to have a talk with Hansel. You can go back to sleep."

Felix did not move or retract his spears. In fact, he gave no indication that he had heard Griffin at all.

"Come on, Felix," said Griffin, enunciating Felix's name as if it were a taunt. "You know you need that sleep. You look like a cadaver now, do you know that?"

Felix pursed his lips and said nothing, although Hansel could rightly deduce that he was fuming inside.

"Oh, are you perhaps mad that you couldn't beat me the last time we met?" continued Griffin gloatingly. "Are you wondering why I could walk away undefeated even though you are still the king of the Night?" He stroked the spears piercing his body, sliding his fingers through the gaps lazily. "It's because you are going against your own nature. You are forcing yourself to walk in daylight when you are a being of the night." He looked Felix straight in the eye. "You turned your back on your kingdom; why are you surprised that your kingdom no longer answers to you?"

The thorns twisted, going deeper into Griffin's body. A grimace flitted across his face, but he did not stop talking. "For what? What are you doing this for, Felix? For Hansel? Do you think he would appreciate your gesture? Do you think anyone's impressed by what you are doing?" Griffin's voice was rising in pitch, the planes of his face shifting in resentment. "You are making a mistake. And soon you will come to regret it."

"Oh, stop running your mouth as if you know everything," scoffed Felix, hiding his rage so well even Hansel couldn't detect any hint of it in his voice. "You are nothing but a foolish, immature brat who knows nothing about the way the world works. Even Hansel has better sense than you. If anyone's making a mistake it's you."

Displeasure lit Griffin's face in response to his words. His lips trembled in anger. "Hansel this and Hansel that. Why are you so hung up on that human boy?"

"Because he's far better than you," said Felix with conviction. "You couldn't even hold a candle to him."

The expression on Griffin's face only turned uglier. Hansel couldn't guess what Felix's true intention was. Was he purposely trying to provoke Griffin?

"So you think that human trash is better," said Griffin, snorting to himself. "You would choose him over me."

"I thought I made myself clear."

Griffin laughed bitterly. "I'll make you regret this. I will turn Hansel into your curse—"

"Says the idiot who's still stuck to the wall."

"Stuck to the wall?" said Griffin incredulously. "Stuck to the wall? You still think of me as a stupid know-nothing, don't you?" He brought one of his hands to his side, holding it up at shoulder height. He snapped his fingers. "Or did you forget that half of your powers belong to me now?"

The sound of the snap hit Hansel like a lash, but what shocked him more was the sight of the blood dragonflies, shimmering out of the night in response to Griffin's call. He felt Felix stiffen beside him, the look on his face changing from supressed fury to one that of harrowing loss.

"You are so overworked. Go back to the couch and get your sleep, Felix," ordered Griffin, using the dragonflies to burn off the thorns going into his body. In bare moments he had freed himself again. He turned to Felix. "I told you already, I just want to talk to Hansel."

"Leave Hansel out of this," Felix snapped. "He's got nothing to do with you."

"Wrong," said Griffin acidly. "He's got everything to do with me." He took a step closer to Felix. "He's so precious to you, isn't he?" he asked challengingly. "Then let me put on a little show for you."

An awful premonition crept up on Hansel. He got the feeling something bad was about to happen.

Griffin moved his fingers in the air like a puppeteer, commanding the dragonflies into action. One by one the dragonflies fluttered away from his sides, and one by one they headed for Hansel. Hansel understood what was happening a split second before the first dragonfly touched down on the back of his hand. He went rigid, fear threading through his mind.

But nothing happened immediately; not until all the dragonflies had found places to land on the various exposed parts of his skin, lighting him up in crimson. He looked at Felix enquiringly, who stared back at him aghast.

"Don't," said Felix, turning his eyes on Griffin. He thrust an arm in Hansel's direction, his fingers moving as if beckoning the dragonflies, but none of the dragonflies shifted. "Don't do it."

"Say please," directed Griffin smugly.

Felix's nostrils flared. "You are going too far—"

Griffin snapped his fingers again.

A terrible scream ripped out of Hansel's throat, his entire body spasming with excruciating pain. His muscles contracted, bones grated and fire flowed through his synapses. His world was repainted in agony—he could not see or sense past it; it became his truth, his breath, his being, his alpha and omega. There was no beginning to this pain and no end. It was infernal, unendurable and worse than death.

Hansel screamed; he screamed like his bones were breaking, like the world was ending, like he had been set ablaze with hellfire. He screamed until he thought his skull would split.

"STOP!" Felix yelled louder, but Hansel could barely hear it through his torture. "STOP IT NOW!"

"What's the magic word?" teased Griffin.

"PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!"

Abruptly, the pain stopped. Hansel gasped in a lungful of air. He opened his eyes dizzily and found himself staring at the ceiling. He had not realised he had fallen to the floor.

Griffin gave him a look of distaste, then he shifted his focus to Felix. "You would do anything for him, wouldn't you?"

"You," spat Felix. "Are a worthless piece of shit."

Griffin winced.

"Ah, this is no fun," he complained, rearranging his features quickly to an expression of boredom. "I can't have you relent so easily; It's making me feel bad." He searched in his pockets and pulled out a pair of black gloves. He put them on. "I'm going to leave for now." He shot one last wrathful look in the direction of Hansel's supine figure. "And you. You better kill yourself in the next two days. Or I really will end everyone in this city."

He then walked crisply towards the door, yanked it open and stormed out without another look back; like he had said everything he wanted to say and didn't want to stick around any longer.

"Bitch," Felix hissed after his retreating figure. He waved his hand, causing a shadow to fountain near the door and fling it shut in Griffin's wake.

The next day Felix told Hansel he needed a break. He didn't want to admit it, Hansel could tell, considering the amount of fidgeting that was going into his confession. Felix told him that Griffin was right, that being exposed to daylight was weakening him. He needed to be away for a while—he'd be back in a jiffy, no need for Hansel to worry—so he could recuperate as much as he could. And while he would be gone Hansel was to lock himself inside the house. Do not step outside, do not open the door, do not even answer calls.

Most importantly, do not try to kill himself, got that? Felix had a plan. Hansel had to trust him. Wait until Felix came back. Don't think of doing anything about the current situation. Do not even think about it.

Was he listening?

Stay alive.

Promise he'd stay alive.

Readily, Hansel promised. Although he couldn't entirely trust Felix's claim that he had a plan, he still thought it was high time Felix got a bit of a respite.

Felix only gave Hansel a long look full of misgivings in return for his quick agreement. He grabbed Hansel's sleeve, gave it one tight squeeze and went for the door.

"Close the door and lock it," he said, walking out, and by the time Hansel arrived at the door, too, Felix had already disappeared.

There was nothing for Hansel to do once Felix was gone. He had turned into a knotted mass of nerves, pacing up and down the rooms to shut off his thoughts. He tried reading, tried cooking, even tried falling asleep on the couch, but his thoughts just wouldn't leave him alone. He couldn't stop worrying if Felix was fine, if his plan would work, if he indeed had any kind of plan or if he had lied about it, if, regardless of everything, Hansel would still have to die.

The last thought made him stumble.

Why was it that he was bothered by the idea of having to die? He thought he was prepared to die, that he wanted to die, but why did it feel like now his sentiments had changed? Why had he felt such rapturous relief when Julian had pulled him back from the edge of that building? Why did he want to believe Felix when he said he had a plan? Why wouldn't he slash his wrist with a razor again, why wouldn't he kill himself when now he had a perfect reason to do so?

Since when, since when had he started to want to live?

Other questions plagued him too. Questions that concerned Felix and had never been answered: why had Felix come into his life? What did he want with Hansel? Why was he willing to do so much for Hansel, even give up half his power? Why was the king of the night slumming it with a worthless nobody like him? Who was Felix, really?

After all the time they had spent together Hansel thought he did not understand Felix at all.

About midday that day a knock sounded on Hansel's front door. And all of a sudden his thoughts stopped like a river hitting a dam. He approached the door warily, never uttering a word while whoever it was on the other side knocked and knocked. "Hansel, are you in there? This is important."

"Who is it?" Hansel asked in a hushed voice, standing so close to the door yet not daring to open it. He put his ear against the wood of the door, trying to pick any other noises from outside.

"It's Deniel from school," answered a boy's quivering voice from the other side. "We go to the same class. Please open the door. I need to talk to you."

Hansel did not remember any Deniels from his class. He supposed he had still to lose his unflattering habit of never remembering the names of his classmates. Still, he didn't want the other boy to know he could not place his name to a face. His hand closed over the latch of the door, but right when he was about to turn it, he remembered the promise he had made Felix. He took his hand back, then, almost guiltily, asked through the door. "Is there something you want from me? If not I'm afraid I can't meet you."

The boy fell silent for so long Hansel started to think perhaps he had left. At last, in a voice that was barely a whisper, he said. "It's Felix."

Hansel went still. "What?"

"Something's wrong with Felix," said the boy in a hasty, high-pitched voice. "He isn't moving. And he's not talking."

Hansel's blood froze. "What-what's wrong with him?"

"I don't know," said the boy desperately. "I thought I should tell you. Now that you know, I'm leaving."

"Wait," called Hansel, pulling the door open hurriedly. He found the boy standing on his threshold, brown-haired, freckle-faced and wearing clothes that looked so shabby Hansel wondered how they had not started renting yet. The boy looked nervous, his eyes darting hither and thither as if he expected someone to launch an ambush on him. Hansel bit his lips, standing in the doorway, half-in, half-out. This boy was a stranger; Hansel could not recall his face from class at all. But that was not what was important right now. "Where is Felix?"

The boy looked him dead in the eye. "He's at school."

When Hansel arrived at school he found the whole place deserted. There was nobody in sight anywhere. He did not know where to look for Felix, and he could not ask Deniel either because after he had delivered the news the boy had not accompanied him to school. Hansel thought something was amiss, that perhaps the other boy had lied to him for some reason. But Hansel did not want to risk the possibility of him having told the truth. If Felix really was here and if he was in trouble Hansel wanted to help him.

Sunlight glinted off the painted sides of the vehicles still stacked before the school entrance. On passing, Hansel observed how well-balanced the arrangement was, how the vehicles fit together perfectly, almost artistically, like a completed picture puzzle. It did also give an impression of a house of cards; like a single disturbance could bring down the whole set-up.

Hansel rounded the corner of the junk heap, calling Felix's name quietly. He had looked around the entire front yard and found no trace of him. Maybe he should try the inside of the school next—

It could have been a shift in the air, or a turbulence of light; Hansel could not tell how he sensed it. He ducked just in time for the baseball bat to sail over his head and thwack against the side of a wrecked car. There was a hand connected to the bat; Hansel raised his head and whirled around to see who it belonged to, and came face to face with Donovan Maguire.

Donovan did not seem chuffed with that fact that he had missed such an easy hit on Hansel. His expression turned crude, causing Hansel to back away on instinct.

"Good reflexes," commended Mata, coming up from behind Donovan. He and Donovan seemed to be alone—Hansel could not see or hear anyone else in the vicinity. "But perhaps that was a fluke." He turned and smiled at Donovan shrewdly. "I told you he'd come out if he heard Felix's name. Pay up—"

Donovan sent him such a scathing look—

"—or not."

"Where is Felix?" Hansel asked them, his mouth dry. The situation did not bode well with him.

"Felix is not here," Mata answered promptly. "We just used his name to lure you out."

Hansel's shoulders relaxed. Half of his problem was now solved. Still, there remained the other half.

"What do you want?" asked Hansel, even though he could already guess. His toes curled within his shoes in cold anticipation.

"We want you to kill yourself," said Mata coolly, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "What else?"

Sawdust coated Hansel's tongue. "I can't do that."

Mata's expression did not change. "Why not?"

"I just can't."

Mata pulled his hands from out of his pockets and crossed his arms methodically. "Let's have a conversation, then. See if I can change your mind."

Hansel edged away from him and Donovan. "I should be leaving."

He had barely turned away when the baseball bat swung for him again. This time it caught him right across his abdomen. The pain from the blow was of the heavy kind, harsh and blunted instead of sharp and biting, it made him miss a breath, and then a step. Quickly, he caught himself on the doorframe of the car beside him. He turned and saw the bat lifting again. Donovan grinned nefariously. "Not so fast."

"Stop," Hansel told him. "You don't need to do this."

"And you don't get to tell me what to do." The bat struck the side of Hansel's ribs this time. Hansel grunted. He tried to escape, to slip past Donovan while he was busy aiming for another hit, but Mata's hand reached out and stopped him, pushing him back towards Donovan. The bat cracked across his back, the impact throwing Hansel face-first towards the door of the car. In the reflection on the glass he saw the bat being raised again. He dodged, and the bat crashed through the window, showering the seats inside with broken glass.

"Hey, Donovan," said Mata from the side. "Tone it down a bit. If you knock him unconscious it's not going to do either of us any good."

"Shut up," Donovan barked back at him. But then he seemed to think about it and lowered his bat. "Hold this," he said, tossing the bat to Mata, who snagged it deftly from the air. Donovan stepped closer to Hansel, trapping him between him and the heap of vehicles. He slipped his hand inside his jacket and retrieved a small knife. He thrusted it towards Hansel, handle out. "Now. Do it."

Hansel refused to take the knife from him.

"What are you waiting for?" snapped Donovan. "Take it and kill yourself. I don't want to die because of you."

Hansel's eyes went from the blade of the knife, to Donovan's hateful eyes to Mata's emotionless ones. Was this really happening?

"You don't want to die because of me," said Hansel quietly. "But it's fine if I had to die so you could live."

"It's the ratio," Mata put in, propping the baseball bat against his shoulder. "If you die everyone else would live. If you live everyone else would die. So, obviously, you are the one who's supposed to die."

Of, course, Hansel knew that. He exhaled slowly. What was he supposed to do?

"I promised someone I wouldn't kill myself," he tried, eyes glued to the knife. "So I can't die just yet."

"Oh, you made a promise?" asked Donovan irascibly. He put a hand over Hansel's chest and shoved him back hard, until he had him pressed against the side of the car. "I suppose it's only honourable for you to keep your word." His lips twisted frightfully. "Fine then," he said, bringing up the knife and putting it against Hansel's throat. "If you can't do it yourself, I will do it for you."

"Donovan," Mata warned from behind him.

Donovan pressed his knife harder into Hansel's neck, until he made a small cut. Hansel went very, very still.

"Donovan," said Mata more urgently now. He stepped closer. "We are supposed to make him kill himself, not kill him ourselves."

"I don't care. His arrogant face is pissing me off so much it makes me want to stab him."

"Don't. Remember what that boy said on TV. If you kill him, you are sentencing ourselves to death."

"That boy on TV is a fraud. Did he think he could make up rules in my territory? This city does not belong to him."

Hansel felt the knife digging deeper, the blood sliding down his neck.

"You can't think like that," Mata tried again. "What if that boy wasn't lying? What if he could kill us all?"

"Kill us all?" mimicked Donovan. "You really believe him? He can't even prove that he's a shadow and yet you trust his words so much?"

"The shadows stopped attacking like he said."

"Could be a coincidence. Shadows never attacked during daylight hours until now."

"He could kill us—"

"Oh, shut up about it already. You know what I think? I think he can't kill a fly. He doesn't look like he'd have the guts to kill anyone. Who does he think he is, anyway, putting on a stunt like that on TV? I will show him how you kill someone!"

Donovan pulled the knife back from Hansel's throat, but not because he was letting him go. He was creating distance to build more traction, and Hansel wondered if he was going to do it—would he really kill him?—when the knife plunged downwards, aimed right at his throat. There wasn't even time for Hansel to evade.

But he didn't need to. Mata lunged towards Donovan, baseball bat raised. He swung the bat hard, whacking it against Donovan's wrist. The knife went flying from his hand, landing among some grass. Mata peered at Donovan dangerously. "Don't be freaking stupid."

This amount of provocation was beyond Donovan's tolerance. He whirled on Mata in a spitting rage and punched his fist into his face at horrific speed. Hansel thought the force of it alone would knock Mata out. Mata dropped the bat and reeled backwards, one hand going to cover his nose. He was too disoriented to evade Donovan when he grabbed for him again. There was a resounding crash when Donovan smashed Mata's head against the side of a rusting mini truck. Mata went limp. Once Donovan pulled his hand away, he fell to the grass unconscious.

During this brief commotion Hansel made another attempt at escape. However, before he could run too far, Donovan swept up the knife he had lost and slammed into Hansel from behind. Together, they went tumbling towards the ground. Roughly, Donovan turned Hansel onto his back and sat on his stomach. He lifted the knife high up.

This time Hansel did not have any more doubts about Donovan's intentions. After seeing what he had done to his own lackey Hansel knew Donovan wouldn't think twice about murdering him. The knife whooshed through the air as it came down fast—there wasn't time for Hansel to react.

But then, all of a sudden, the blade in Donovan's hand stopped, and for the briefest second Hansel thought Donovan might have changed his mind, that maybe he decided to spare him. But then he saw the giant shadow-claws lifting Donovan off of him and realised that was not the case. His first thought was Felix had come back, only to lift his head and find out he was wrong once again.

Griffin stood in the middle of the school yard, dangling Donovan a foot above the ground with his shadows. Donovan's eyes bugged when he saw him, saw the shadows and seemed to determine that he wasn't hallucinating.

"What did you think, that I lied when I told the world that I was a shadow?" Griffin was talking to Donovan, his voice low and cold. "You needed proof, didn't you? Here it is. Or do you perhaps require a better demonstration?"

Donovan said nothing, his throat clogged up in fear.

"What else did you say about me? That I wouldn't have the guts to kill anyone?"

Donovan started to shake his head in consternation, bucking wildly in the grasp of the shadows, struggling like a fly caught in a spider's web.

"It would be my pleasure to prove you wrong." The shadows surged forth. And before he could let out even a scream, they gutted Donovan like a fish. Then the claws released him from the air and he fell, thudding into the ground heavily. Dead.

Hansel's mouth fell open in horror. Donovan's death had been so quick and brutal, yet performed with such cold dismissal that it curdled his blood.

"How ironic is it that I just saved your life," said Griffin, his body turned away from Hansel. His speech was laboured and he seemed to be struggling to stay on his feet. "When I want you dead more than anyone else." He turned around and Hansel saw the sweat beading on his forehead, the strain in every sharp curve of his face. "But I don't want you to be murdered, Hansel. I want you to take your own life. If you had a better conscience, you would have killed yourself already. Everyone's suffering because of you. Even Felix." He was breathing harshly through his mouth, as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. "Damn this sunlight," he cursed. "How could Felix stand to walk around during the day without a thought?"

Griffin bent towards the floor and for a moment Hansel thought he was going to sit down, or fall, but instead he was simply reaching for something buried in the grass. He picked up Donovan's fallen knife and straightened once more, then he trudged towards Hansel, his steps heavy and uneven.

He stopped right in front of Hansel, then fetched Hansel's hand from his side and placed the knife in his palm, the blade pointing to the ground. Griffin's entire body was now drenched in sweat, the shirt he was wearing soaked to his skin. His green eyes were glacial when they stared into Hansel's muted brown ones. "I encourage you to do what needs to be done." He gasped a little, starved for air. "Before it is already too late."

Then black cracks appeared on his skin, making him appear like a porcelain doll about to break to pieces. One moment he was there, glaring at Hansel, but the next he had turned to black ash and dissipated like the mist, leaving Hansel alone in the school with the bodies of a dead boy and an unconscious one, and a cold sharp blade trembling in his hand.