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Thorne ends up at the gym in front of a punching bag at 2AM and he doesn't even think about how crazy his life is until 3AM when his arms are trembling violently from exertion, sweat dripping off of the bridge of his nose. He stumbles forward to catch the swinging bag and slow it to a stop, his breaths coming in short, hard pants.

He could go back to the warehouse, he knows, but the nightmares are somehow more frequent now. And Chris is actually asleep for once. He doesn't feel like waking him up again. They've been sharing the space for days now. And sleep - sleep is a question that never gets answered quite right.

Thorne exhales, sharp and trembling, and pulls away from the bag. His shirt has been discarded, soaked through. He reaches for a water bottle, half empty. His phone glows with unread messages.

Not for the first time, he ignores them and goes back to the punching bag.

Thorne glanced up at the sound of someone else in the gym. His heart shifted, banged against his chest in a terrible rhythm. For a minute he saw Corr, saw Melany, before finally recognizing Shun as the only other person here.

He stopped the swinging bag and tilted his head at the other.

"Rough night?" He asked, his voice raw and ripped apart from over-exertion. He shifts, rolling one shoulder and feeling the tremble that slips down to the edge of his fingers.

After a minute he adds, "About before... I'm sorry."

Thorne shook his head and sighed.

"Well," he said, rough and raw at the edges, "At least if you need a sparring partner at 3AM, you'll know where to find me. I'd like to say this is a once in awhile thing but..."

He trailed off. He thought about what to say, what could be said. There was nothing though. Really. Not anything. He re-wrapped his hands before going back to his own bag. It's hell to repeat the motions, but it staves off worse things.

Shun spoke again and Thorne paused, a laugh low and raw in his throat.

"No," he says. "I..."

Another punch. One, two. Perfect form. Too perfect. One, two, one, two.

"They let her live," he said finally. It blew from his chest like an ugly thing, a bullet from a rusted chamber. "They let her go. They should be the ones apologizing."

And he is bitter and angry and the next punch isn't just perfect, it is violent as a kill blow.

"Do. I trust you not to kill me if you come for a sparring match, and that's - " Thorne's breath hitched, shallow. "That's saying something."

He caught the bag with another violent blow and it shuddered angrily underneath the weight and cruelty of his fist. Melany had forced them into a schedule, and that schedule involved staying in shape. Staying perfect.

Thorne glanced over at Shun when he spoke again. His eyes fell. He let his rhythm fall from its jittery high into a more balanced pace. His chest ached, fear burning inside of him, ever-present. He was starting to believe he would live with it always now. For what they had done.

"It wasn't your fault, I was helpless to do anything about it either," Thorne said, and the words tasted like acid in his throat. "Corr - he - It's theirs. It's - "

He stepped back from the punching bag and stared at it.

"She kidnapped and tortured people. She'll do it again." He closed his eyes. "She beat Shiloh in front of me. He's eighteen. And they - " He shuddered, resumed. "They let her live. They let her go. She'll do it again. And Shiloh - an I'll - "

He swung so hard that his entire arm felt like it was on fire now, burning and screaming for a stop.

"I'll never stop looking for her in the crowd. It's not your fault."

Who's is it, then?

Thorne closed his eyes. One, two, one, two.

"But I can't forgive them for what they've done."

It tasted bitter in his throat, the revelation. Because he can't. And he always thought he could. Grudges were hard for him to keep, but this one coiled in him tightly. It refused to let go, just like Melany's ghost in his head.

Thorne exhales sharply.

"Corr," he says, "my double. His name was Corr." He strikes another blow and another, not turning away from the punching bag, even as his shoulders tense and his eyes turn feral. He lowers his hands and steps away from the bag and looks at Shun. His mouth is a thin line.

"It was us or them," he says, his eyes fluttering half-shut. There was something cruelly broken inside of him. Murder fit oddly in the curve of his mouth. "In that aftermath - while those people chose to save Melany, Corr came after me. The rest - most likely, they were pursued as well."

He tilts his head, shudders.

"I killed Corr," Thorne says, and this is the first time he says it out loud, and his voice is resonant with the absolute shattering that comes from taking another life. Even one like Corr. "I killed him because I had to."

His eyes flick up and away. He pads over to the water bottle he's discarded and pops it open.

"That was their choice," Thorne snarls, but his voice isn't that of a dogs. It strays into the territory of raw anger, a king's voice in a court of execution. "We are all someone's monster. But I suppose she wasn't theirs." He looks at Shun and his eyes are steely. "The more interesting question is - do you intend to do something about it? Jeremiah and you - you're with the force, aren't you?"

His mouth is a razor thin line.

"Does supernatural anomalies fall into your jurisdiction?"

Thorne laughed, and the sound was low and rolling, a lightning strike. It burned with a different flame, hot and rolling. Possessed. He looked over at Shun and his mouth curved into a thin, soft line.

"Exactly. So what did they think they were doing?" He asked. "What could they have possibly been thinking? Ashdown is a cycle. What Melany does is a cycle, and because of them she is right back at the start. She'll begin again."

His voice deepened, and he felt it again, that half-way point between who he'd been and who she'd made him into. But he let it drop as easily as he had slipped into the performance, his eyes exhausted again.

He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, the corner of his jaw. The tattoos and scars bled in the half light, an ugly mesh.

"They brought her into a world where the law will side with her." His expression became razor thin. "Other Ashdown and the cage don't play by those rules, and everyone seemed to forget that."

His eyes lowered, tone considering.

"Sometimes I wonder if it's our humanity that has gotten in our way for so long. If we're just destined to repeat because we're playing a game that goes against the very core of what we are. What I was."

Thorne sighed, rolling his shoulders back and dipping his head. Shun was smart and logical, aloof in a way that Thorne wasn't. Thorne had been too close to everything that had happened. Shun tho -

The man tilted his head, wondering. Just what had Shun endured? He was an impossible person to read.

"People are afraid of death," he rumbled in response. "Some think that murder is the most heinous crime against the soul. But we've all died countless times. I don't think we can play this game anymore without that on our conscious, and the sooner people realize it, the better."

He understood it was cynical, morbid even. But Thorne had been a war veteran in this life. And now he was trapped in a new cycle of fear and bloodshed. The rules were shifting. Nothing made sense anymore.

"You really think any of us came out the same?" Thorne asked Shun, tilting his head. There was a sharp edge to the question, scraping at his throat. "I don't know what I am anymore." He looked away, into the darkness, his eyes half-lidded.

"There's a reason for everything that happens in these cycles." He inhaled, sharply. "I don't think that we went through those trials just to come back here and live in peace until the next fight."

Thorne rumbled, a deep-bellied sound. He pressed his hand harder against his neck, feeling the sharp bite of his nails grounding him to this side of reality.

"We'll never save everyone," Thorne remarked. "But maybe that was never the point. Everyone in this place has different ideals. Now I wonder if all of us even have the same goals." His smile is gutted and haunting, eyes unknowable. "But if I have to get my hands dirty, well, Melany made sure I could do that. If nothing else."

He shook his head, turning to take another long drink from the water bottle. Shun spoke and he sighed, glancing back at the other with an expression that edged on consideration, interest that seemed voided by the exhaustion in his voice.

"We'll see, I suppose," he remarked, but he seemed to consider Shun's words as though attempting to complete a puzzle without all of its pieces. Trying to figure out what he saw.

"And that is the way of the world," Thorne responded with a hollow laugh, "Isn't it? Supernatural or not, peace is something we fight for. If anything, it's an interlude. And here, it's just false."

But no - that wasn't quite correct. Thorne blinked, because suddenly he was swallowing remembrance. Early mornings and the sound of rain. Chris asleep for once. Aleksy and Laika and the hours spent curled on a couch asleep or simply content.

Peace was an interlude but -

He'd found a piece of it, hadn't he?

"Maybe," he sighed out. "Maybe this time we'll win. Or maybe this time one of us will break free from this cycle. Until then, I suppose there's nothing to do but keep moving forward."