Yesterday, 11:50 PM
It was painfully clear that Jaxen was rattled. He grabbed the glass of water without a word and drank deeply, gulping it down as if trying to quench something far deeper than thirst. Only after the glass was half-empty did he notice the water boy was Zizi’s friend. He barely registered the connection, his mind still caught in the ripples of what had just happened.
Clutching the glass against his chest, he leaned back against the wall, letting his head rest there for a moment. It was rare—almost unheard of—for Jaxen to appear this disheveled. But he was quick to pull himself together, the habit of control ingrained in him. He straightened up, brushing a hand through his hair, forcing his breathing to slow.
"I’m okay, I think," he muttered, though the words came out brittle, uncertain. His brows knitted together, eyes narrowing as they flicked toward the doorway where the Emissary had disappeared. "Something… happened." His voice dropped, more to himself than anyone listening. He could still feel it—the pinprick in his mind, that dark hole connected to something infinitely larger—but every time he tried to focus on it, it slipped through his mental grasp, dissolving into a void.
The glass slipped from his fingers, abandoned on the floor, as he pushed himself up. His legs felt shaky, but he forced them to steady. Most of the others had already cleared out, the noise of the room fading to a murmur. Only a few stragglers remained, either out of earshot or too familiar to care. Still, Jaxen’s gaze cut toward Gideon. He hadn’t left. And Jaxen didn’t trust him—not by a long shot, even if he liked the guy.
"Sage." Jaxen leaned in close, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. "That was the guy in charge of the whole m’Antinomian group." His words were tight, urgency radiating off him as he locked eyes with Sage, making sure Sage understood the gravity of the situation. He could still feel the echo of the hive mind stirring inside him, the faint pull of something vast and incomprehensible.
"And I think… I’ve done something worse than piss him off." The words came out with a strained edge, as if Jaxen was still grappling with the enormity of it. Something inside him had shifted. It was like he had brushed up against a force he couldn’t fully understand, and now it was lodged inside him, waiting—pulling... calling.
Clutching the glass against his chest, he leaned back against the wall, letting his head rest there for a moment. It was rare—almost unheard of—for Jaxen to appear this disheveled. But he was quick to pull himself together, the habit of control ingrained in him. He straightened up, brushing a hand through his hair, forcing his breathing to slow.
"I’m okay, I think," he muttered, though the words came out brittle, uncertain. His brows knitted together, eyes narrowing as they flicked toward the doorway where the Emissary had disappeared. "Something… happened." His voice dropped, more to himself than anyone listening. He could still feel it—the pinprick in his mind, that dark hole connected to something infinitely larger—but every time he tried to focus on it, it slipped through his mental grasp, dissolving into a void.
The glass slipped from his fingers, abandoned on the floor, as he pushed himself up. His legs felt shaky, but he forced them to steady. Most of the others had already cleared out, the noise of the room fading to a murmur. Only a few stragglers remained, either out of earshot or too familiar to care. Still, Jaxen’s gaze cut toward Gideon. He hadn’t left. And Jaxen didn’t trust him—not by a long shot, even if he liked the guy.
"Sage." Jaxen leaned in close, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. "That was the guy in charge of the whole m’Antinomian group." His words were tight, urgency radiating off him as he locked eyes with Sage, making sure Sage understood the gravity of the situation. He could still feel the echo of the hive mind stirring inside him, the faint pull of something vast and incomprehensible.
"And I think… I’ve done something worse than piss him off." The words came out with a strained edge, as if Jaxen was still grappling with the enormity of it. Something inside him had shifted. It was like he had brushed up against a force he couldn’t fully understand, and now it was lodged inside him, waiting—pulling... calling.