The patterns the moonlight cast on the ceiling became my silent companions throughout the long, restless night. Each shadow seemed to morph into the sharp angles of Levi's face, the intensity of his gaze. What did I want from him? The fleeting high of danger, the addictive rush of adrenaline that pulsed through me whenever we were close? Yes, those superficial thrills were undeniably alluring, a dangerous spice in an otherwise predictable existence.

And then there were the more conventional attractions, the undeniable pull of his physical presence. He was handsome in a way that commanded attention, his intelligence sharp and cutting, his charisma a subtle weapon. He possessed all the qualities society deemed desirable, yet twisted, corrupted by a fundamental lack of conscience, a complete absence of conventional morality.

Perhaps that was the true heart of his allure, the forbidden fruit I couldn't resist. Knowing someone unbound, utterly free from the constraints that shaped the rest of the world. A creature operating on a different plane, by a different set of rules – or rather, the exhilarating absence of them.

Holding hands, the simple intimacy of intertwined fingers; casual dates, exploring the vibrant streets, sharing laughter over trivialities; quiet evenings watching films, a comfortable silence punctuated by shared glances; the domesticity of making dinner together, the comforting rhythm of shared tasks. Yes, a part of me, the part that still clung to the possibility of something… normal, desperately craved those experiences.

But then the chilling truth would resurface, a cold wave washing over those gentle desires. Deep down, beneath the surface allure and the fleeting moments of connection, I didn't truly see him as human. He was something else, something ancient and powerful, a shadow that had walked the earth for eons, his existence solely dedicated to the intricate tapestry of his grand designs. A malevolent force, perhaps, but one that operated with a terrifying restraint, a god-like patience that made his power even more unnerving.

The weight of my sleepless night clung to me as I navigated the bustling energy of the film set. The air thrummed with a chaotic symphony of hurried footsteps, shouted instructions, the clatter of equipment being moved, and the excited chatter of cast and crew.

Here, in this temporary world of bright lights and fabricated realities, everyone was caught in a different kind of high – the frenetic energy of creation, the pressure of deadlines, the shared adrenaline of bringing a story to life.

The insistent thrum of the film set eventually gave way to the looser, more convivial atmosphere of a local bar. The clinking of glasses, the boisterous laughters, the lively beat of synth-pop from the speakers – it was a welcome, if temporary, escape from the suffocating weight of my thoughts.

Surrounded by the familiar faces of the crew, their easy camaraderie a comforting balm, I found myself accepting rounds of potent local liquor with a surprising enthusiasm. The initial awkwardness of trying to explain my preoccupied state had faded into a shared understanding that sometimes, a drink and good company were the best remedies.

Stories from the set, drunken anecdotes, and the universal language of shared exhaustion filled the table. For a few precious hours, Levi's shadow receded, replaced by the warm glow of camaraderie and the hazy contentment that comes with a few too many drinks.

Then someone from the film crew talked about his relationship problems with his fiance, about how they never feel like they are in sync, or in the same page.

"It's like… we're never on the same frequency, you know?" he slurred, gesturing with a half-empty glass. "She wants quiet nights in, I want to hit the clubs. She talks about settling down, I'm still figuring out what I want for breakfast. It's like we're reading different scripts, man. Different pages, different acts, the whole damn play is a mess."

He sighed dramatically, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "We love each other, I think. Or at least, we used to. Now it just feels like… parallel lines. We can walk together, side by side, but we never actually meet."

The image of parallel lines resonated with the chasm that seemed to exist between Levi and myself. Were we, too, just walking parallel paths, destined never to truly meet on the same page of life, or even the same page of… whatever this bizarre entanglement was?

A boom operator, clapped a hand on my elbow, her eyes twinkling with mischief and a healthy dose of alcohol-induced camaraderie. "Hey, Raphael!" she called out, her voice carrying over the bar. "You're the settled one, right? Give poor Kai some marital wisdom, yeah? Tell him how to get on the same damn page!"

All eyes at our corner of the table turned to me, a mixture of drunken curiosity and genuine expectation in their gazes. The downside of being married to Saint of Ascaria.

If only they knew the truth of my sleepless night, the chilling reality of trying to navigate a life tethered to the Devil himself.

I offered Kai a strained smile, the words feeling hollow even to my own ears. "Yeah… a key to a relationship isn't some magic formula you find in a book. It's simple, really. Communication. And compromise." I took a long sip of my drink.

"You'll lose part of yourself, sure," I continued, the thought echoing my own internal struggles, "but with your partner, you'll hopefully find new things together. Grow in ways you never expected." I tried to inject some genuine warmth into my voice. "That's what makes you a better partner, sometimes even a better human. Their expectations of you… they push you to be responsible, dependable."

What "new things" would I find with Levi? A deeper understanding of darkness? A closer brush with danger? And his expectations… they were hardly geared towards making me a better human in any conventional sense. Responsibility and dependability in his world likely meant unwavering loyalty and a willingness to play my part in his intricate games.

A forced laugh bubbled up from my chest as I waved my hands dismissively. "Sorry if I went a little heavy there, guys. The alcohol's creeping up on me, making me all philosophical about… you know… the complexities of human connection."

The excuse felt flimsy, even to my own ears. The truth was, the weight of my own "complex human connection" was becoming increasingly difficult to bear, especially when juxtaposed with the relatively ordinary struggles of my colleagues.

Thankfully, the easygoing nature of the film crew prevailed. Kai chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. "Nah, man, it's good to hear it. Even if you are married to Saint of Ascaria, you're still a real dude." Suki clapped me on the back. "Yeah, don't worry about it, Raphael. We've all been there. More drinks?"

The offer of more drinks was met with a chorus of agreement. The night dissolved into further rounds, louder laughter, and increasingly ridiculous anecdotes from the set.

Then, as the night wore on and the inhibitions loosened further, Finn, a camera operator with a perpetually curious mind, leaned in, his eyes a little unfocused. "So, Raphael," he began, his voice conspiratorial, "what's he really like? You know… the Saint of Ascaria? He's like… a ghost, isn't he? Completely private. You never see anything about him on social media. What's the deal?"

How could I possibly answer that question honestly? Describe the "Saint" as the Devil in disguise?

"Oh, Levi? Yeah, he really values his discretion, you know?" I said, the forced smile feeling tight and unnatural on my face. I hoped the dim lighting and the general noise of the bar would mask my discomfort. But Finn, fueled by alcohol and a genuine curiosity, wasn't easily deterred. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Yeah, but how private? Like, never leaves the mansion private? Or more like… doesn't do selfies private? There are all these rumors, you know? Some people say he's a recluse, others say he's got… secrets." Finn's eyes widened suggestively. "You are married to him, you must have some stories, right? What's the weirdest thing about him?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. Secrets? He had more secrets than the ancient libraries of Ascaria. Weirdest thing? Where do I even begin? The casual threats? The unnerving calm in the face of danger? The feeling that he wasn't entirely… human?

"He's more of a 'doesn't do selfies' kind of private," I said, trying to sound lighthearted. "It's actually a way for him to, you know, do more charity without the… the fanfare. He doesn't want the donations to be about his image, he wants it to be about the cause itself."

Before Finn could dissect my flimsy explanation further, Maya, a costume designer, jumped into the conversation, her eyes gleaming with a different kind of curiosity. "Oh, who cares about the charity PR bullshit, Raphael?" she said, waving a dismissive hand. "Tell us the juicy stuff! How's he like in the house, yeah? I mean, the man is literally called Saint! Is he the domestic, loving type? Does he do the dishes? And how did you two even meet? It's all so hush-hush!"

This was even worse. The image of Levi doing dishes, a domestic saint, was so ludicrous it was almost comical. And how did we meet? The truth involved a contract, veiled threats, and an undeniable, dangerous allure – hardly a meet-cute for the ages.

"Oh, it wasn't anything particularly special," I said, trying for a casual shrug. "I went to one of his charity galas, you know? And… well, I saw him eyeing me from across the room. Corny as it sounds, it was kind of love at first sight." I cringed inwardly.

Then, I quickly pivoted to Maya's question about domesticity. "Washing dishes, Maya? Honey, the man had a live-in butler when we first moved in together. Domestic chores are… not exactly in his wheelhouse." I punctuated the statement with a laugh, hoping it sounded genuine.

The lie felt clumsy, a patchwork of half-truths and evasions. But it seemed to satisfy the immediate curiosity, at least for Maya.

I forced a laugh, grabbing my refilled glass. "Look, guys, the man's a saint, remember?" I said, my voice a little too loud, a little too cheerful. "He floats around the house dispensing wisdom and funding orphanages. Honestly, it's all very… boring. Definitely no dish washing scandals to report. More importantly," I clinked my glass against Finn's and Maya's, "who's up for another round? Let's keep the good times rolling and leave the saintly domestic habits for another night, shall we?"

The forced joviality seemed to work, at least for the moment. The lure of more drinks and the general merriment of the crew were strong distractions. Finn still wore a slightly unconvinced expression, but Maya readily agreed to another round, her attention already drifting to a funny anecdote about a wardrobe malfunction on set.

The immediate pressure eased, but the encounter left a lingering unease. The questions about Levi, about our "marriage," were a constant reminder of the precarious tightrope I was walking. Sooner or later, I knew I wouldn't be able to deflect them with drunken humor and vague platitudes. The truth, like a persistent shadow, would eventually catch up. And when it did, the fallout could be catastrophic.

The noise and forced cheerfulness of the bar had begun to feel suffocating. The weight of the lies, the constant need to deflect and deceive, was becoming too heavy to bear, even with the alcohol numbing the edges. I mumbled a vague excuse about needing some air and slipped out onto the street.

The street outside was quieter. I fumbled for my cigarettes. The nicotine hit offered a momentary grounding, a brief pause in the chaotic thoughts racing through my mind.

How long could I keep up this charade? The film crew, though well-meaning, were bound to become more curious, more insistent. And what would happen when they inevitably discovered the truth? The scandal alone could be damaging.

I was walking a tightrope over a terrifying abyss, and the wind was picking up.

Just as the nicotine began to offer a sliver of calm, Finn appeared in the doorway of the bar, squinting through the haze of smoke that curled around me. He weaved his way over, a persistent grin on his face.

"Hey, Raphael," he said, his voice still a little slurred but with a renewed glint of curiosity. "Don't think you're getting away that easily. Seriously, what's the deal with the Saint? There's gotta be something… off, right? No one is that private in this day and age. Spill the beans, man. We're all friends here."

He leaned against the wall beside me, his gaze expectant and unwavering. It seemed my brief escape hadn't gone unnoticed.

I took a long drag of my cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light. "Finn, I really don't understand why you keep asking, man," I said, trying to sound genuinely perplexed rather than evasive. "The guy's loaded, right? So he gives. That's it. Some people just prefer to keep their personal life separate from their public image, especially when their public image involves handing out a ton of money."

Stolen novel; please report.

I shrugged, hoping the gesture conveyed a sense of boredom with the topic. "It's not some big conspiracy. He's just… not into the whole social media circus. You know, old money vibes. They tend to be more discreet."

The lie felt thin, but it was the best I could come up with under the pressure.

Finn chuckled, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Come on, Raphael. 'Old money vibes'? That's the PR line his people probably feed the press. Living with the guy, you must see something weird. Does he sleep upside down? Talk to statues? Collect antique torture devices? Give me something juicy!"

He nudged me playfully in the ribs, but his eyes held a genuine hunger for gossip.

I let out a forced laugh, trying to play along with his morbid curiosity while simultaneously shutting it down. "What, you think we have a dungeon under our house or something, Finn?" I said, exaggerating a theatrical shudder. "Nah, man. We go to charity galas, drink champagne, and fuck." I winked hoping this would derail the conversation.

"Come on, man, just one tiny, weird thing? Does he only eat raw vegetables? Sleep in a coffin? Have a pet gargoyle? My reputation as the set gossip is on the line here!" He exaggerated his plea for information, a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

The absurdity of his suggestions almost made me laugh. "Well, no raw vegetables actually," I conceded, playing along with his need for a tidbit, "but I can spill one tiny secret that might tarnish his 'Saint'ly image just a little. The guy hates, hates red meat. Absolutely refuses to touch it.” It was a harmless enough secret, a quirky detail that.

Finn leaned in, his eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. "Really? Why?" he asked, the gossip in him momentarily overshadowed by genuine curiosity.

I shrugged, trying to recall the exact phrasing Levi had used. "Yeah, something about the texture, he said. Or maybe it was the… 'visceral nature' of it.”

Finn seemed momentarily satisfied by this mundane revelation about the enigmatic Saint's dietary quirks. He pondered it for a moment, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "Huh. Hates red meat. You'd think a guy like that would be all about power and… you know… bloody steaks." He chuckled to himself, the image clearly amusing him.

The brief lull in the personal interrogation was a welcome reprieve. I took another drag of my cigarette, the nicotine finally starting to calm my frayed nerves.

But just as I began to hope the focus had shifted, Maya wandered over, a fresh drink in her hand and a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Red meat, huh? That is weird. So, Raphael," she began, her tone playful but with that underlying layer of curiosity that everyone seemed to possess about my mysterious husband, "if not steak, what does the Saint of Ascaria eat? Like, what's a typical dinner at your place?"

What did Levi eat? Overtly sweet things. Sugar and more sugar.

"Well," I began, forcing a light chuckle, "he loves anything sweet. Anything. You know, we went to dinner at some ridiculously high-end place a while back, and he ordered us this champagne. Aged like… what, three centuries or something insane. I took one sip, Maya, just one sip, man. I swear I thought I was drinking molasses. And he was just sitting there, chuckling to himself like it was the most normal thing in the world."

I shook my head, trying to play it off as an amusing eccentricity. "The guy's got a serious sweet tooth. Cakes, pastries, those fancy little macarons that cost a fortune… if it's got sugar in it, he's all over it. It's kind of… endearing, in a weird way, for someone so… intense." I trailed off, hoping the slightly self-deprecating humor would paint a picture of an eccentric, if not entirely normal, spouse.

Maya's eyes widened, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Raphael, honey, your life sounds way more interesting than you're letting on." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's definitely more to this Saint of Ascaria than meets the eye, isn't there?"

Finn nodded in agreement, his earlier skepticism returning. "Yeah, that's not exactly 'normal rich guy' behavior. What else is weird? Does he have any strange hobbies? Collect stamps made of human skin? I'm just spitballing here, but you gotta admit, the molasses champagne thing is a red flag."

I took another drag of my cigarette, the momentary relief fading as I realized the interrogation wasn't over.

"Oh, weirdest thing? Okay, let me spill one that still cracks me up," I said, forcing a chuckle. "The guy, the Saint of Ascaria… he never cusses. NEVER! You know how hard I've tried? Like, I've dropped hammers on my foot around him, told him the most outrageous jokes… nothing. But one time…" I leaned in conspiratorially, lowering my voice, "one time he got so close. The tension was building, I swear I thought the floodgates were about to open. And instead… instead, he just said, 'Pig.' Pig! Like a mild insult from a children's story. It was the most anti-climactic, bizarrely prim thing I've ever witnessed."

I shook my head, a genuine smile finally breaking through the forced facade. The memory of the powerful, enigmatic Levi resorting to such a tame insult was genuinely funny. Hopefully, this odd but harmless anecdote would satisfy their curiosity and paint him as merely eccentric, rather than dangerously strange.

Finn and Maya erupted in laughter, the tension in the air finally breaking. "Pig!" Finn repeated, wiping a tear from his eye. "That's gold, Raphael! The Saint of Ascaria calling someone a pig! I love it!"

Maya was still chuckling. "See? Told you there was something weird about him! But that's… surprisingly tame. I was expecting something way darker." She eyed me playfully. "You holding out on us?"

"Really guys," I said, trying to sound nonchalant and steer the conversation towards a more acceptable explanation for Levi's oddity. "He's noble blood, you know? Old families have these… antiquated notions about decorum. Swearing is probably considered terribly vulgar in his circles. It's just a cultural thing, I think. Like how some people are obsessed with tea ceremonies or whatever."

I shrugged, hoping the explanation sounded plausible enough. Playing the "old money" card seemed like a safer bet.

“Yeah, noble pigs. About that Raphael, didn’t his family you know, treat you bad?” Maya asked.

My blood ran cold despite the warm night.

I forced a tight smile. "Oh, you know how old families can be," I said, trying to sound dismissive. "A bit… traditional in their views. It took them a while to get used to the idea of… well, me." I offered a vague, self-deprecating shrug, hoping to downplay any real conflict. "But Levi… he's always been… supportive."

Supportive in his own, uniquely terrifying way, perhaps.

Maya, however, wasn't letting it go. "But I heard things, Raphael. Whispers on set. That his family… disapproved. Strongly. Weren't there… issues?"

Finn, ever the gossip, leaned in again, his curiosity piqued. "Yeah! I heard something about a contract? Before you two got 'married'? What was that all about?"

"God… you two are obviously single," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "You really think Saint of Ascaria, the guy who owns the biggest pharmaceutical company in the country, who owns Academia, wouldn't draft a prenup? C'mon guys. Of course there was a contract. It's standard procedure for someone with his level of assets. It was just a standard prenuptial agreement. You know, outlining separate finances, protecting his businesses, the usual boring stuff. Nothing scandalous, I promise."

The lie felt particularly bitter, considering the true nature of the "contract" Levi had presented me with.

Finn, however, seemed to latch onto the "prenup" angle. "Yeah, but usually those things are dry legal documents. I heard this was… different. More… personal. Like it had clauses about your behavior or something?" He leaned in, his eyes gleaming with renewed interest. "Come on, Raphael, spill. Was there a 'don't embarrass the family' clause? Or a 'must attend at least five charity galas a year' thing?"

The questions were coming thick and fast now, the alcohol-fueled curiosity morphing into a more focused interrogation. The rumors, it seemed, had more substance than I had hoped.

I rolled my eyes, trying to project an air of weary dismissal. "Do not embarrass the family? This is really ridiculous, you know?" I said, hoping to make their curiosity seem absurd. "What do you actually think, guys? Just the usual noble family stuff – homophobia, xenophobia, you know the drill. Nothing new under the Ascarian sun."

Maya still looked thoughtful, tapping her finger against her glass. "But a contract, Raphael. Not just a prenup. That's what people were saying. Like… you had to agree to something else. Something… specific." Her gaze was direct, unwavering.

Finn nodded eagerly. "Yeah! Like you couldn't suddenly decide to become a performance artist who only works with live eels or something that would reflect badly on the 'Saint' image." He chuckled, but there was a layer of genuine curiosity beneath the humor.

The net was tightening.

"Guys, I meant we spent some time at the set, right? You know me." I gestured emphatically. "Do you really think I'd let someone dictate what I do? I'd kick him where it hurts, no matter how saintly he pretends to be. Obviously, he's rich, and yeah, we have a prenup to protect his billions, but he doesn't control me, guys. Come on."

Maya still looked skeptical, but a hint of amusement flickered in her eyes. "Alright, alright, feisty. I believe you... mostly. But that doesn't explain the intense privacy, does it? If everything's so normal, why the ghost act?"

Finn nodded in agreement. "Yeah, and the whole 'love at first sight at a charity gala' thing still sounds a little too fairy tale for the Saint of Ascaria. I bet there's a much weirder story there." He leaned closer, his voice dropping again. "Come on, just one more tiny, bizarre detail? Please? For the gossip gods?"

I leaned closer to Finn, turning on what I hoped was a disarming charm. My voice dropped to a playful murmur. "What, you don't believe in love at first sight, Finn? Oh, Finn…" I reached out and gently touched his arm. "Do you really think I couldn't seduce someone? Even a reclusive billionaire with a penchant for century-old champagne?"

I met his gaze directly, letting a hint of a smile play on my lips. "Look me in the eye, Finn. Tell me you don't believe in the power of a captivating stranger across a crowded room. Especially when that stranger is me." I held his gaze for a moment.

Finn's eyes widened slightly, a flush creeping up his neck. He blinked a couple of times, momentarily flustered by the sudden shift in my demeanor and the close proximity.

Maya chuckled, watching the exchange with amusement. "Oh, he's got you there, Finn. I can see how even a saint might fall for that across a crowded room."

My gamble on a bit of direct charm seemed to have worked, at least for now. Finn stammered out a half-hearted denial, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Well, I… I didn't say it was impossible. Just… unlikely for him."

A mischievous glint returned to my eyes, the playful charm turning slightly sharper. "Finn, my husband might be a saint who never cusses," I said, my voice dropping to a low purr, "but I certainly do. And let me tell you something." I leaned in closer, my gaze direct and unwavering. "If you jerk off to me when you get home tonight, I'll know. Yeah?"

It was a bold move, a way to reclaim control of the conversation and firmly establish that while I might be married to an enigma, I was no one's pushover.

A stunned silence hung in the air for a beat, broken by Maya's burst of laughter. "Oh damn! Savage!" She clapped me on the shoulder, a wide grin on her face.

Finn's face flushed crimson. He stammered, "I… I wouldn't… I mean…" He avoided eye contact, suddenly looking very uncomfortable.

The conversation eventually moved on, the topic shifting to the filming schedule for the next day and the logistics of the Aethelgardian costumes. The lingering unease about Levi hadn't entirely vanished, but the immediate spotlight was off me. The night in the Ascarian bar was drawing to a close, the alcohol-induced camaraderie returning, albeit with a slightly different flavor. My unexpected display of assertiveness had served as a potent reminder that while my life might be entangled with a mysterious and potentially dangerous man, I was still my own person, capable of drawing my own lines.

Pulling out my phone, my fingers flew across the screen.

My message to Levi was terse and direct: "Levi, someone on the film crew mentioned something about a 'contract'. I think someone on your team or office or whatever spilled it. Be careful."

Sending the text felt like releasing a small, worried bird into the night. I had no idea how Levi would react, or if he was even aware that this information had leaked. The thought of his potential displeasure, the cold calculation that often flickered in his eyes, sent a shiver down my spine.

My phone vibrated almost immediately. Levi's reply was to the point: "A minor inconvenience. It seems my standards for discretion need re-evaluation. Do you know who specifically brought it up? Provide names."

I hesitated, staring at the message. Did I really want to name Finn and Maya? They were just being gossipy, albeit nosy. But Levi's tone brooked no argument. He expected answers.

Sighing, I typed a reply: "It was mostly Finn, the camera operator, and Maya, the costume designer. They were both pretty drunk. It didn't sound like they knew much, just rumors."

Sending the names felt like a betrayal, a small act of complicity in whatever Levi planned to do with this information. The warmth of the bar suddenly felt colder, the camaraderie of my colleagues tainted by the chilling efficiency of my "husband's" response.

My phone buzzed again almost immediately. Levi's reply was curt and decisive: "Finn and Maya. Noted. I will ensure their future discretion. Thank you for your efficiency."

"Ensure their future discretion" could mean anything with Levi. A quiet word? A stern warning? Or something far more… final?

My thumbs hovered over the keypad, a surge of protectiveness for Finn and Maya overriding my fear of Levi's potential reaction. I typed out a message, my fingers trembling slightly: "Levi, if my film crew can gossip about it, it means the source is much bigger and more influential than a couple of drunk crew members. Do not hurt or do anything to Finn and Maya, okay? It was just drunken antics. Also, I scared the shit out of Finn; I don't think they will press further."

I knew it was unlikely to sway him if he had already decided on a course of action, but I couldn't stand by and let innocent gossipers potentially face his wrath. The thought of Finn's flustered face and Maya's sharp wit being met with Levi's brand of "discretion" was deeply unsettling. I could only hope that my plea, coupled with the information that the leak might be wider than a few loose lips, would give him pause.

Levi sent a reply. “Pulla, this again? Why bother yourself with those vermin? Also, your insight about the Finn, is noted.”

"Do not engage, yeah?" I texted back. "I kinda took care of it. Trust me on this one."

Levi's reply was swift and carried a familiar sting: "Pulla, your misplaced loyalty is what wounds me the most. But, I appreciate the information about a potential leak."

Stepping out of the bathroom and back into the warm, noisy atmosphere of the bar felt like surfacing from a brief, unpleasant dive. Levi's words still echoed in my mind. "Misplaced loyalty." He truly saw my basic human empathy as a betrayal.

But I clung to the small victory. Finn and Maya would likely be spared his direct wrath, at least for now. And perhaps, more importantly, I had spoken up, even if it was through a text message. A tiny seed of defiance planted in the barren landscape of my life with Levi.

The night was winding down. People were starting to say their goodbyes, the earlier boisterous energy mellowing into a tired camaraderie. I rejoined the group, forcing a smile that hopefully didn't betray the turmoil churning within me. Baby steps. That's all I could manage. Small victories in a long and complicated game.