ash

Julio's fingers are freezing cold and he blows on them in a vain effort to warm them. Gabbro is walking a little way in front of him, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his corduroy trousers, long coat flapping as he moves, in an oddly jerking motion.

Julio knows there is something wrong with Gabbro tonight; he knows from the way Gabbro is walking, from the way Gabbro's lips are a thin line, from the way Gabbro brusquely stubbed out his newly-lit cigarette earlier that evening, and from the way Gabbro is now not talking to him.

"Usted no está usted mismo esta noche, Gabriel." Spanish. You are not yourself tonight, Gabriel. Julio's voice doesn't rasp now that he isn't speaking English; it is clear in the icy air of the dimly lit Hypogeum night. He quickens his pace so that he is walking next to Gabbro.

Gabbro doesn't look at Julio; doesn't look surprised that Julio is speaking to him in Julio's native tongue. "Habe ich einen Grund zu sein?" he asks in German. Do I have a reason to be?

Julio barks a laugh. "Usted, esta noche." You do, tonight.

Gabbro doesn't stop walking. "It's Merox," he says.

Julio can feel a strange tightening in his gut as he sees the expression on Gabbro's face, the shadows dancing across its planes and angles. He nods for Gabbro to carry on.

"He's… troubled."

"We all are."

"No. He's not, about this."

"Then what is it?"

Gabbro stops. Finally turns to look at Julio. "It's his brother. His brother's dead."

Julio remembers Merox's brother, vaguely. Red hair, very pale. Kindred. Merox loved him. Or at least, Julio thinks he did. "How?"

Gabbro shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. "Merox tötete ihn."

Julio inhales sharply. Bites his lip so hard that it bleeds.