The word ‘stealing’ had Felix freeze in his tracks. His big brown eyes slowly turned to Elliot, widening has his face blanched.

“No, I didn’t mean to—” Felix thrust the book out at Elliot, “Honest, mister, I just, uh, thought I saw someone. And just, uh, forgot I had it.” Whether Elliot took it or he put it back on the table, Felix would try to get the book out of his hands as quickly as possible, fumbling along all the while.

“I, uh,” Felix didn’t know how to begin. He’d never made a point of hiding his gift, but now…things were different. He struggled for a moment, his eyes darting around.

“I just thought someone was following me,” Felix finally settled on, “That’s all.” Felix laughed breathlessly, chancing a strained smile as he squirmed, “Guess I was wrong but, uh, you can never be too sure. What with how things are, uh, nowadays.”

Felix thought about disappearing. It would be so easy: popping out of existence and appearing somewhere else entirely. He’d been a runner his whole life—why should now be any different? But then he remembered he was there for a reason: he was there for Jasiel. And if he ran away now he’d be failing, again, at the simplest of tasks he was being asked to perform. So, despite his better judgement, Felix sat where he was told—defeated.

“Oh, yeah?” Felix asked, contemplating the whiskey, “You must not talk to many gifteds then.” He tossed back the whiskey and immediately started coughing and spluttering. Felix was clearly no seasoned drinker, though he would never claim to be.

“I’m just here to get some stuff for Papa,” Felix said, more to himself than anyone else, “I’m not trying to cause any trouble. Honest.”

“I dunno,” Felix answered with a shrug of his shoulders. What question he was answering was unclear. Perhaps it was more a general statement: Felix Pasqualin was not a man with answers, nor did he pretend to be. He wanted to be told what to do, to know that someone else was calling the shots and that, because of that, everything was going to be alright.

“Short of hands at the moment,” Felix grumbled, sipping on his whiskey this time. “Lots of wounded at the orphanage now. Papa’s doing the best he can, but it’s been hard. No money, no supplies. Just…” He sighed, “A lot of responsibility. I don’t know how Papa does it.”

Felix could only aspire to be half the man that Jasiel was one day.