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He'd tried the precinct first, as he had the first and last time he'd spoken to Detective Mercer - before their fateful re-acquaintance at Blackfriar's, anyway. There was surprise awaiting for him there, in the form of the Detective's absence; he didn't know Jeremiah well, they were far from even being friends, but the idea that the man wasn't at work was some sort of striking notion. It didn't seem right. And rather than text or call like any sane and rational person would do, Lucas traced the route to the Mercer household by memory and stood at the door, knocking soundly on it three times. "Detective, it's Lucas," he called, just in case the other wasn't inclined to answer the door. Not that his name would help, but...maybe it would.

There was an annoyance in his countenance, but it could easily be missed by the fact his hair was short now, scarcely to his neck and brushed back against its waves, his face clear of stubble and lowering his visual age significantly. His jaw clenched and ground as he tried to bite back his irritation at the whole thing -- the library, the ball, Rylan -- but all if it had spurred him to do something instead of waiting for others to make good on contact. If you want something done...

He almost started with an 'if you want,' but they were not enemies and he did not need to be short. His agitation was not with the Detective. "Thanks," he finally managed to say, stepping in. It was a far cry from the first time, when he'd been scared and injured; his shoulders were squared, his brows furrowed and set, the lack of understanding absent in him.

Lucas waited for Jeremiah to close the door, looking the detective over with consideration. "Are you in one piece?" he asked in the most amicable way he knew how. The wolf was aware that Jeremiah wasn't okay, else he would be at work. Men like them were the only ones that could truly say the extent of their conditions, and if the other said he was fine, then he would accept it and move on.

Briefly confused, Lucas turned towards the sound of something approaching -- and all the stern aggression slid from his brow, an easy grin forming. "Ah, my Prince," he exclaimed as he bent down, carefully cupping the eternal kitten in both hands before bringing Hellbine to his broad shoulders, his good thumb rubbing over his head. The expression softened into a troubled smile, however, grey eyes ticking over to the Detective as he spoke.

His head tilted subtly. "You look like you've fought a war, and I think I'm qualified to say as much." The werewolf briefly pursed his lips - the struggle for manners was real - before exhaling slowly. "Tea would be amazing," he conceded, moving to the side so he wasn't blocking the entryway.

"I want to ask something and I don't know how to make it sound decent," he added, before the man could move far. Just in case he wanted to throw him out instead. "Why did you go? To the ball?"

It was strange; having only met Jeremiah a few months ago, he felt like he was an entirely different person with an entirely different mindset from that first trip to the house. Usually, Lucas would have thought it funny or impressive, but now...no, now he was just tired.

And all the words the detective shared were not helping.

"You consider not walking into a trap to be sidelines," he said, less a question and more a statement. His brows furrowed and he watched Jeremiah as much as he listened, and slowly, he shook his head. "Detective, the Moonwalkers are the policing force over there. If anyone should have gone, it should have been us, and no one else. You know -- you were there, you saw what one fairy did..." Jeremiah and Algernon had died. Zac had died. Thorne had seen it all, Autumn told him everything...and yet. And yet.

"I...I don't understand how any of you could support murdering someone. The way she was murdered." Lucas ran his tongue against the back of his teeth, trying to ground himself as he slowly followed after Jeremiah, not really seeing the house or the path, only the thoughts that clashed and vied for attention in the forefront of his mind. "Yeah, so, the crazy lady that tortured our friends said a tithe had to be paid and everyone just...went with it. I don't get it. If that's the war we're fighting...look, I was a soldier, I know what it means to take unquestioning orders, but this is getting out of hand." What was the purpose? They'd all be dead, and by each other's hands, if they just kept doing what they were told. Good little puppets.

Pausing, the werewolf drew in a shaky breath and let it out slow, good hand still rubbing against Hellbine's chin and cheek. "I'm not -- trying to pick a fight, Detective, I'm just desperately trying to understand." He assumed the man had no idea what his son was up to -- certainly that he wouldn't allow it -- but he had to stop making assumptions. He just wanted some damn answers, and that was the one thing the Otherside seemed to be allergic to. "I don't like hearing everyone dancing to the tune of the ones trying to kill us, or worse."

"And that's exactly why you didn't see me, Detective. I know what they're capable of, and I'm not going to play into their hands." It was of no surprise to him that the others went -- communication wasn't exactly the pack's strong suit. He wasn't offended by the man's words, anymore than he meant to offend Jeremiah; as far as Lucas was concerned, they were just having a discussion. He knew nothing could be changed, least of all now.

The wolf sighed, continuing his gentle worship of the purring feline on his shoulder. "I know. In the nineteenth cycle, Michael himself would have killed them all. Which leads me to believe that their deaths aren't the answer." At least, he hoped he could get Jeremiah to believe that avenue...given what was at stake. "Even so, that's not why I'm here."

He had his doubts about the 'truth' bit, but he wasn't here to debate his thoughts. Quite the opposite, in fact. "I'd like to hear your thoughts and theories," he said at length, silvery eyes resting upon the tired looking man. "What you think our next move is, what our goal is." Because it didn't end with murdering three people, nor the fourth; he imagined there'd be a lot more hell to come, and not just what they'd been told.