‘...I come back from London, you show up, you drop a lost child on me, and now you're leaving.’

‘Ah... evening, love.’ It was difficult to tell in the winter evening’s gloom, but the expression on Tod's face was a decidedly guilty one. He turned to face Joaquin, and the thin moonlight traced the edges of a wan smile. ‘Lovely night, isn’t it?’

It definitely wasn't, Joaquin thought. Black clouds over a washed-out sky, same as they ever were. ‘You're dodging the question, Thaddeus.’

Tod flinched at that, his smile wavering. ‘I'll be back..!’ he quickly retorted, hands up in deference. ‘I always am!’

One day you won’t be. Joaquin bit back the thought and fixed him with a sharp glare.

‘Look... Jackie...’ Tod's gaze was darting wildly from place to place like a nervous dogs', the way it always did when he was hiding something. Joaquin knew that look well. Too well. ‘I'm sorry about all this, really.’

He leaned in then, in an attempted gesture of affection, only to be stopped by a firm hand against his mouth.

‘Spare me,’ Joaquin muttered, pushing Tod back with a glare. ‘And just how're you planning to get anywhere? The ferry's not 'till morning.’

Tod looked hurt for a moment, but clearly got the message. ‘Oh, that's no worry,’ he answered instead, gesturing broadly to the window — and Joaquin saw then that the sky had erupted into a field of brilliant colours, the greens and violets of oilslick iridescence dancing across the clouds in wild ribbons. For a fleeting second, the breath stopped in his throat.

‘I'll take a ride on the northern lights.’