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Jordan closed the Twitter app on his phone and leaned on his elbows for long moments, his eyes closed, his brows pinched. He'd almost ignored Thompson again; in some other world, he might have been on friendly terms with the man, but here and now, the beginnings of conversation had strained and snapped irreparably before any real connection could be made. He didn't owe Thompson any answers. But he'd looked at the question again, remembered Rep's accusations, you're afraid to stand with me, you're ashamed of me, and answered it, not because he owed anything to Thompson, but because he owed this to Rep, to Harrison.

The inside of his chest felt raw and hollow. He'd let down a section of his walls in public, given anyone with a Twitter account a long, clear look at a part of his heart that very few of them had earned the right to see. It was like stripping naked in front of a crowd. Worse, because it was his mind exposed rather than his body. He'd had something to prove, the stakes high enough that he'd put himself on display to make his point, even though it hurt more than he cared to admit.

Rep had gone silent before Jordan had, and when Jordan had gotten his breath and his heartbeat back down to a reasonable rate, he picked the phone back up and texted. The answers he got were short and uninformative, and Jordan hissed out a sharp, annoyed breath. And you accuse me of running away from my problems. He didn't type that in. It wouldn't help. It'd probably start a fight.

They were probably going to have another fight anyway. Jordan would have preferred to pull his guys into bed, or maybe into the shower, and reaffirm with words and hands that the bond they shared was still there, still important, that he was still wanted and needed as much as he wanted and needed them, but that wasn't happening any time soon, apparently. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and headed for the door. He'd check the beach first.

Rep had moved only to answer his phone with one word texts, an attempt to keep the guys at bay. He didn't want to see anyone, he felt disgusted and helpless. Nothing he did seemed to work, trying to start anew had failed and once again he was back to feeling repulsive, riddled with self loathing he couldn't begin to cope with. He was everything he hated and all logic said if he had any balls he would do to himself what he'd done to people like him in the past.

His kind.

Instead he'd simply fallen into the next best thing, more or less crawling off to die. He couldn't be what people said if he wasn't there.

The hoard was tidy, in a relative term, housed high up in an old cove system on the coast. It was out of reach of the sea but nevertheless smelled salty and old. Everything was secure on shelves cut into the stone itself and the floor was very fine soft sand. He needed more things he thought, there wasn't enough to hide in here, he couldn't disappear, only wish to.

He wrapped himself up in a thick pile of tanned hides and closed his eyes, holding the emotional ache to his chest like a physical wound, hoping that like a physical injury it might fade slightly as his body adapted to it and adrenaline took its place. But no matter how long he lay there, it didn't recede even a fraction.

Harrison looked tight-lipped and worried. He had brought his binoculars, but not a flashlight. He didn't want to broadcast any unnecessary light, or attract any unwanted attention.

Rep had made it there, safe, and that much he was grateful for. But the beach and island both weren't what they used to be.

Giant, acid-dripping monsters roamed the shoreline.

It was the beach especially that bodies washed up, like Mark had said, with Os carved into their backs. Rep hadn't thought about it, because he never did. And he'd been scared, probably.

Harrison would have crossed over the sand and rock alone, because Rep needed him, but he was glad he didn't have to. He nodded at Jordan when they got in eye-range, but didn't offer him any greeting, all-business and moving outside the walls. His hands were stuffed in his jacket pocket, fist curled tight around B0nez's flashdrive.

"Assholes," Harrison complained, hushed and under his breath while picking his way down to the beach.

"And its like, why the ******** does he listen to them. Out of all the people talking to him he thinks those are the ones that got weight and they don't, they're ******** morons."

Harrison kept his voice down, the grumbling mostly just worried frustration. He looked at Jordan, eyebrows knitting together at the brief touch, taking it to mean, I'm worried too.

"It's not safe, him going out here. I gotta talk to him. Not by himself."

And then he'd be taking away one more safe thing from him.

"He's been listening to the wrong folks for a while," Harrison said grimly.

He picked over the rest of the way without saying much, stopping and putting an arm back against Jordan whenever there was a rustle of sand, or a splash that sounded like it was outside the rhythm of the crashing waves.

The wind on the beach was intense. He kept his head down, just glad it wasn't raining.

He stopped when they were within sight of the cove, giving the area a final sweep.

Rep had no lights lit in the stumbling dark cave that wended its way up into the hoard - he had no need to with night vision as an innate ability of the dagger he never took off - and not a single sliver of light was present in the blackness. It was treacherous and riddled with traps, one wrong turn or footstep would end in treading on boards with nails hammered through the wrong way. Thankfully most of the traps, the sort one might find in a drug den to catch out intrusive police officers was known to the guys.

The hoard itself was behind a huge stone door which took hunter strength to even begin to move.

Inside there was the usual array of junk, stacked row on row, twisted broken things which Rep had refused to part with and had cleaned meticulously before bringing them here. Pelts were everywhere, as were cleaned bones, mugs and other miscellany.

There was no sign of Rep and he would make no move when the two entered.

There was no reply from within.

But Rep curled tighter in his nest of furs as the pain he was hoping would subside heightened to the point he worried irrationally that it could impale him.