Dmitri sat, laid back in one of the lounge chairs in the Camelot division of his offices. He read the business segment of the Camelot Crusader as a drank a mocha, seeing what he expected in the paper; business was good. If the trend kept up, he was going to make well over 38 percent higher profits than he made this time last year.

And he was going to make sure the trend kept up.

A knock at the door called his attention. He glanced up casually as Mr. Flam stepped into the office, wiping at his mouth.

“Good morning, Mr. Flam,” Dmitri said, full of false cheer. “How are the arrangements coming along?”

“Arrangements?” he repeated. Dmitri stared at the man, slowly lifting his cup up and taking a drink.

“For the guest we'll be having in short order,” he explained. “You did do that, yes?”

“Oh, you mean getting your estate up north ready? Yes. And I rented a carriage for us to travel in. We'll have it first thing tomorrow.”

“Good. I knew I could count on you.” Dmitri gazed out the window, staring up at the majestic castle in the distance, built to stand alongside a mountain. “We've had to wait far too long, you and I, but...” He reached out, clenching his fist tightly around the castle. “Every day waiting brings us closer to my goal. Every step I take nets me further up that mountain.”

“Of course, Mr. Dorcus,” Flam agreed. “Not long at all now.”

He continued looking at the castle. “Do you suppose they have even the remotest idea?”

“How could they?” Flam replied. “It's not like you made many ripples in the pond.”

Dmitri let a smile take shape on his face. “A crocodile waiting for prey.”

“Then tomorrow I suppose we'll have a morsel for you?”

His grin widened, showcasing strangely sharp teeth. “I suppose we will, Mr. Flam. I suppose we will.”

Jack watched her granny work the field. The gray-haired woman took a hoe to the ground, tilling the earth. The woman hummed. Not so much an expression here, rather, a simple habit that gave noise to the otherwise oppressively silent dawn. Jack opened her mouth, then shut it, instead playing with the tail end of her braided hair as she tried to summon her words.

“You're still set on going?” the older woman asked, pausing from her work and putting her hands at her hips. She leaned back until Jack heard a pop come from her hips.

The girl frowned, clasping her calloused hands in front of her overalls.

“Granny,” Jack said. “I, I can't, ya know?” She gestured at the open fields. “Jus'...”

Like usual, her Granny followed Jack's train of thought within moments.

“Ya can't stand lookin' at 'em without yer ma an' pa tendin' em?” her Granny offered.

Jack morosely nodded. She heard the clank of her Granny's hoe, then footsteps as the woman walked to her. She was nearly crushed in her Granny's deceptively strong grip as the older woman wrapped Jack tightly in a hug.

“I know this is hard, sweet pea,” her Granny whispered, cradling the back of Jack's head. “But ya gotta make it through this fer 'em. Ya need to.”

Jack sniffed, holding back her tears desperately.

“I-I don't know if I can.”

Granny bent down, kissing the top of the girl's head. “Ya can. Ya can, sweet pea. Jus' remember somethin' fer me, ok?”

“Ok.”

“It ain't goodbye fer 'em. Not even now.” She let out a breath. “Jus' listen. They're there. Ya can hear 'em in yer sis's coos. Ya can see 'em in yer brother's work. Ya can feel 'em sittin' next ta ya in church. They ain't dead. An' it ain't goodbye.”

Jack looked up at her Granny, noticing her wet eyes.

“If anythin'... it's jus' 'til next time.” She pulled away from Jack and gauged the girl. “Now, ya head off the farm if ya gotta, Jackie. Jus' know ya got every one of us 'round here ready ta help.”

“I know.”

“An' ya know we love ya?”

Jack weakly smiled, the action hard, but doable. “Always. Love ya too, Gran.”

Jack shook awake as the train pulled into Mansfield's lonely station. She rose and mechanically streached in the afternoon light.

In a way, she was surprised she slept. She had expected to be raw, emotional nerves the entire train ride back to home.

Ya had ta crash sometime, she reminded herself, looking around for her luggage, then realizing as the fog of sleep began to lift from her mind that she didn't have anything this time, only the clothes on her back and the half-deflated coin purse she used to buy her ticket.

Marching out the train and into the bright day, Jack marched down the familiar, worn path leading to Mansfield and her home. While she tried to rush to the house, she found herself stuck in memories with every step she took. Here, catching bugs with Bloom. There, playing in the creek with Mac. Over by that row of trees? Piggybacking with her Pa.

That field to her left? A more recent one. Rarity. They had snuck into their neighbors property and spent a good portion of an evening together, their arms entwined and their bodies dangerously close as Jack gave Rarity an astrology lesson. She didn't know everything, by any means, but Jack knew enough about stars that gave directions that she was able to pinpoint at least a few constellations to make her meager knowledge entertaining.

It was too soon, yet not quick enough, that the blonde found herself climbing up the hill leading to the front door. She rose her hand to knock, then shook her head, instead simply entering.

Mac sat at the kitchen table, a cup in his hands. Jack didn't have to smell him to know he had been drinking; his bloodshot, red eyes said it all.

“Mac...”

His gaze shifted over to her. Frowning, Mac gave a shrug of his tired shoulders

Jack took a few unsure steps closer. “Where is she?”

The man trailed his massive thumb over the rim of his cup, before taking a hard pull. “Gone.”

“Gone?” she repeated. “What do ya mean—“

“What it sounds like,” Mac replied. “Jus' 'bout an hour 'fore ya...”

The words hit Jack like a punch to the gut. She narrowed her brow.

“Ya... ya ain't serious.”

“Would I lie about this?” Mac hissed out, clenching his hand tightly on the table. He paused, squinting his eyes and taking a hard breath. “She's... she's gone. Sis, I'm sorry. Zecora went ta town with Bloom ta talk with the coroner. Reckon she'd be able ta talk with Bloom b-better than I could.”

Mac sucked in a breath and bit at his knuckle, doing everything he could to keep his emotions under wraps.

Jack's feet were iron and her legs were jelly. She just managed to make it over to the man and collapse into the chair next to him. Hesitantly, she reached forward, taking his hands in between her own.

“Christ.” She swallowed, not wanting to ask her next question, but feeling a sort of obligation to regardless. “In the end, how was she?”

He freed one of his hands from her grip and rubbed a temple. “One thing we can feel thankful over, I reckon. She was clear, Jack. She knew what was happening, and even spoke ta us.”

“What'd she say?”

“That Bloom was gonna be a fine lady when she got growed up, that I shouldn't work my life away, an' that Zecora's gonna make a fine wife. An'... an' she asked me where you were.”

Jack felt guilt swim through her body. “I got here as fast as I coul—“

“I know, I know. I told her ya were comin'. An' she tried ta hold out fer ya, but...” A pause. Then he reached into his jeans and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “She wanted me ta give ya this.”

Taking it, Jack opened it up. There, weakly scratched onto the paper were three words that made chills radiate through her body.

Until next time.

Jack scrunched her eyes tight and leaned forward on the table. She couldn't help the pained breaths that quickly came to her, nor could she help her hitching breath.

“Mac... fuckin' Gawd,” she choked out. He rose, wordlessly holding her as his own expression broke.

Together, they wept.