Kavinsky knew one thing for certain; he wouldn't be tossed aside again. He'd bring Ronan down with him if he had to, take them both out together. He might play around with some things, but he'd never been more serious about Ronan. The apologies, the admission that Ronan had fucked up, placated Kavinsky. He accepted them, embraced them, took them as true and honest. Damn right, Ronan had fucked up before. He'd made a mess of everything and then Kavinsky had made it worse. But now there was a chance to fix everything, in more ways than one.

He felt it when he passed from dream to reality, subtle but there. It was the difference between not really breathing and taking your first breath, smelling the forest around them. Feeling the crunch of leaves underfoot, the air on his skin.

Starting immediately suited Kavinsky just fine; he'd never been one for wasting time, especially when the stakes were high. He didn't know just how high they were right now, but he knew things were dire enough for Ronan to seek his help, of all people.

"Sounds like we need to hurry the fuck up, then," he said.

There was a slew of questions he wanted to ask, things he didn't even know if Ronan had the answers to, what had happened to his pack, what had happened to Prokopenko after Kavinsky had died, but he held them all inside because there were more important things to do, to talk about. Like-

"Where are your friends in this mess?" It was potentially a cruel question, but being cruel had never stopped Kavinsky before.