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The new safehouse was amazing. There were hidden rooms and objects they had yet to discover. They were in a house, nearly the size of a mansion. It wasn’t all fun and games, however. There were drafts in places where there really shouldn’t be drafts. Merritt had been the first to discover the bathroom had a tendency to breathe in the direction of rather personal, but valuable, places. Daniel had joked Merritt wouldn’t get much use out of said valuable places anymore, anyway, considering his age. Told him not to worry too much about what discomforts this draft could lead to in the long run.
They had also discovered, on the first night, that the house settled at an alarmingly loud frequency. None of the horsemen had gotten much sleep since they’d moved in about a week ago. They were used to the noises of a bustling New York, sirens and people yelling, along with the smell of weed and piss. They weren’t familiar with old houses that creaked, groaned and smelled like ancient dust with a hint of leather.
In spite of its haunting moans and unfamiliar smells, they preferred this safehouse over any of the others they’d stayed at lately. Dylan didn’t always join them on the same location, but he was here now. There had been a high-strung tension between the horsemen, like a balloon ready to pop and shatter the fragile quiet their lives had settled into, following their latest heist. Choices had been made. Words had been said. Thoughts were given teeth. They floated in the air, waiting to chomp on the first person they met. Again, and again, and again. The anticipation of the inevitable was what kept Dylan near the team. Small arguments had broken loose already, filling a bucket of ever gaining hurts and twisted knives. Jabs at miscalculated card throws or dishes that should have been washed. At first they were almost funny, sharp exhales through the nose, eyebrows raised just enough to pretend it was teasing. But the jokes stopped landing. The pauses between comments stretched, taut and brittle, like everyone was waiting to see who would crack first.
It was usually Daniel.
Someone would say something careless and Daniel would pounce on it, dissect it, demand clarification. He hated imprecision. Hated words left vague enough to fester. He’d learned early that if you didn’t expose the trick, it would turn on you eventually.
“Relax,” Jack had said, rubbing at his face. “It’s not that deep.” Daniel had laughed, sharp and humourless.
“Everything’s that deep if you keep pretending it isn’t.”
That had ended the conversation. It had also ended dinner.
After that, the snapping spread. Daniel noticed it in the way Merritt and Jack bristled at each other over nothing, in the way Dylan’s patience thinned visibly, like something burning down to the wick. Lula tried to smooth things over, bright and earnest, but even she started choosing her words more carefully. Everyone did.
Everyone except Daniel.
Until one night, pacing the upstairs hall at an hour when sleep felt theoretical at best, he realised the arguments weren’t orbiting him anymore. They were happening without him.
He paused mid-step, the house settling around him with a long, aching groan. From the kitchen below, voices rose, Jack’s voice sharp and unwavering, Merritt’s defensive tone. Daniel listened carefully, not quite able to make out what they were arguing about. The argument resolved itself in a clipped silence, footsteps scattering in different directions.
The quiet that followed felt wrong. Not peaceful. Hollow. Daniel stood there longer than necessary, staring at the warped wood beneath his feet, and did something uncharacteristic. He let the silence stay where it was and turned around in the direction of his bedroom.
Late that afternoon, the lights flickered. Just once. A brief stutter, like the house had lost its place.
Daniel froze, counting the seconds in his head. The lights steadied. Somewhere downstairs, a door opened and closed. No one said anything.
The next morning, he skipped breakfast. No one commented on it.
That became the pattern. He ate when the kitchen was empty, standing at the counter or leaning against the fridge, eyes unfocused as he chewed. He took on the maintenance tasks without announcement, tightening or smearing hinges, re-aligning doors, checking locks that didn’t strictly need checking.
It felt efficient. Contained.
And it worked. Or seemed to. The house grew quieter. The arguments dulled to the occasional flare instead of a constant hum. Daniel listened from a distance and told himself he’d made the right call. This was misdirection at its most basic. Remove the distraction, stabilise the room. No one asked where he’d been. He’d removed himself from the equation and as a result, arguments had dwindled. It confirmed that he had indeed been what had set them off to begin with.
No one asked him to watch a movie with them, no one called him down for dinner, it almost felt like they knew it too and were consciously keeping the root cause of their problems out of their lives. Had he been the type of man to resort to wallowing in self-pity, a vulnerability he did not permit himself, he would have been resentful towards the other horsemen. He had been the crowbar, breaking open a rapidly widening rift between all of them. He understood the need to remove the figurative crowbar and toss it far away where it could no longer cause any problems. In time, The Eye would send them another job and they would get back to practising cardistry and escapes. Until then, there was waiting.
Daniel was good at waiting. He’d built an entire career on it. On patience, on timing, on knowing when not to move. He told himself this was no different. Just another held breath. Another pause before the reveal.
Still, there were moments, small and stupid ones, that caught him off guard. A mug in the sink was what made him complain out loud. Jack entering the kitchen at that exact moment is what sparked the first argument in days.
“Like you’re such a saint.” Jack snapped back.
“Me? I’m doing my dishes.” Daniel retorted, gesturing at the mug in the sink.
“You’re so insufferable, it’s just a mug.” Jack said, pulling back his sleeves, showing him he was getting ready to wash the damn thing.
“Don’t bother. I’m already on it.”
“Then why are you complaining?!” Jack yelled. Daniel, having enjoyed the quiet that came with avoiding most of them, was immediately overstimulated and anxious in a way he usually had more control over.
“It’s the principle of the thing!” Daniel shouted back, “No one should have to clean up after someone else!”
“No one asked you to!” Jack was right of course, but one mug would turn into two and before you knew it, there was an army of mugs on the counter and none clean. It was better to stay ahead in the game.
Daniel knew that. He’d always known that. Let things slide and they metastasized. He’d watched it happen a hundred times, a hundred different contexts. Teams didn’t fall apart because of the big things. They fell apart because everyone agreed to stop noticing the small ones.
Jack scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to micromanage everything, you know.”
“I’m not micromanaging,” Daniel shot back. “I’m asking for basic courtesy.”
“Jesus,” Jack muttered, turning towards the sink despite Daniel’s earlier comment to not bother. “You hear yourself, right?” The words landed harder than Daniel expected. Not because they were cruel, but because they were tired. Jack didn’t sound angry so much as done, like this conversation had been happening on a loop and he’d lost interest in arguing his side of it.
That, more than anything, made Daniel falter.
From the doorway, Merritt paused, taking in the scene with a frown that deepened the lines around his mouth.
“What’s going on now?”
“Nothing.” Jack said immediately. Daniel laughed once, sharp and humourless.
“Apparently I’m micromanaging.” he said. Merritt sighed and it sounded bone deep.
“It’s a mug, kid.” That had been directed at him. Dismissive. Neatly closing the door on the conversation. Daniel opened his mouth, ready to argue the point, to explain why it wasn’t just a mug, why it mattered. And then he stopped.
Because Lula had appeared behind Merritt, hand hovering uncertainly at his elbow, eyes flicking between them with a familiar, wide eyed curiosity. Because Merritt, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, looked like he was bracing for impact. Because the air in the room had tightened, drawn thin around his presence like it always did lately.
Daniel closed his mouth.
“I’ve got it,” he said instead, already reaching for the mug. His voice sounded wrong to his own ears, too flat, too controlled. “I’ll take care of it.” Jack hesitated, then stepped back, hands raised in surrender.
“Fine. Whatever.”
The word whatever followed Jack out of the kitchen like a ghost.
He washed the mug slowly, methodically, even after it was already clean. He stared at it for a second longer than necessary, then wiped his hands on a towel and left the room without another word.
Upstairs, the house creaked in sympathy as he climbed the steps.
That evening, Daniel skipped dinner. He lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He listened to the muffled sounds of life continuing elsewhere in the house. Laughter drifted up once, brief and unguarded. It made his chest ache in a way he refused to examine too closely.
The next morning, when the lights flickered again, twice this time, no one said anything. But Daniel noticed.
He stood in the hallway longer than necessary, eyes fixed on the light fixture overhead as if it might flicker again on command. It didn’t. The house settled, a mourning groan running through its bones, and the moment passed like it hadn’t meant anything at all. Daniel exhaled and kept walking.
He found himself cataloguing small irregularities after that. The way the lights dimmed ever so slightly when too many things were running at once, the way there was a tingling static coming from the toaster. None of it was urgent. None of it demanded attention. But Daniel had never been good at ignoring patterns.
By midday, he’d convinced himself it would be irresponsible not to check the fuse box. Old houses were notorious for electrical quirks, and this one had more than its fair share of secrets tucked into its walls. Better to handle it quietly now than wait for something to actually fail. Better to fix it before it actually inconvenienced them.
He hovered near the kitchen long enough to confirm it was empty, then crossed through without stopping. Voices drifted in from the living room, their tones low and unrestrained. Daniel didn’t slow down. He didn’t announce himself. He grabbed the flashlight from the drawer by the stairs and turned away before anyone could look up and ask what he was doing.
The basement door waited at the end of a hall. Like an entity beckoning him, Daniel paused there, resting his fingers against the wood. He considered, briefly, calling out. Just a casual heads-up that he’d be down in the basement, back in five minutes. He shook his head and huffed.
He pictured the looks he’d get. Jack’s wary irritation, Merritt’s tired patience, Lula’s raised eyebrows silently asking him why he was telling them this, Dylan’s hesitant nod. He pictured the way the room would subtly rearrange itself around him, the tension tightening like a pulled thread. He pictured someone telling him it could wait. That it wasn’t a big deal.
He didn’t want to argue. He’d be quick. In and out. See what was up with the electricity.
The basement light switch stuck when he flipped it, resisting just long enough to be annoying before clicking into place. The bulb overhead flickered once, then steadied, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air down here was colder, heavier, carrying the faint metallic tang of old wiring and something damp beneath it.
Daniel descended the stairs carefully, one hand trailing along the wall. Each step creaked under his weight, the sound echoing louder than it should have in the enclosed space. He reached the bottom and stopped, listening out of habit.
The basement wasn’t quiet. There was a ticking and a grumbling coming from what he assumed kept their heater up and running. Gas, then. He decidedly did not think about the last time that boiler had been inspected.
Above him, the house continued on, unaware. Voices murmured somewhere distant, punctuated by the occasional laugh, life uninterrupted.
Daniel adjusted the flashlight in his grip and moved toward the fuse box, already mentally sorting through what he expected to find. This was simple. Mechanical. A problem with rules. He didn’t feel anxious. Not exactly. If anything, he felt useful.
He crouched in front of the fuse box, unscrewing the panel with practiced ease.
The shock came without warning.
There was no flash, no spark that validated the violent, electric wrongness that seized his hand and shot up his arm, locking his muscles in place. Daniel gasped, a sharp and involuntary sound, and jerked backwards. His heel caught on nothing at all, and suddenly the floor was rushing up to meet him.
He hit the floor hard, air tearing out of his lungs as his body folded awkwardly onto the concrete. For a moment, all he could do was lie there, staring up at the exposed wiring above him, heart hammering like it was trying to escape his chest.
“Okay,” he muttered, once he could breathe again. His voice sounded strange in the low-ceiling room. “Ouch.” He allowed.
He tried to sit up, but his legs didn’t cooperate. The disconnect was immediate and terrifying. There was no pain, but a profound absence of strength. He pushed with his hands, muscles in his thighs trembling uselessly, and sank back down with a frustrated exhale.
This wasn’t good.
Daniel decided the best course of action was to stay calm and wait it out a few minutes. Whatever was happening would let up eventually and he’d go about his day like nothing had happened. With some luck, the discharge somehow jolted things into working again. With his luck in particular, it probably didn’t work like that.
Just a few minutes. That’s all he needed, he convinced himself. He patted his pockets, searching for his phone. He told himself it wasn’t a reassurance of being able to notify the others in case this didn’t only last a few minutes. And oh, oh no. He’d left his phone upstairs, next to the basement door on the cabinet where he’d found the flashlight.
That wasn’t good, either.
He swallowed a curse. Maybe it was better this way. Without the temptation of sending a quick text, there was no risk of embarrassing himself. No half-panicked message he’d have to explain away later. They would never let him live it down.
Without a clock, Daniel wasn’t sure how long it had been, but several minutes must have passed by now. The chill from the concrete floor was trying to crawl into his bones, making them ache. It had seeped through his clothes, creeping into his spine, settling unpleasantly in his hips. His legs tingled, not painfully, but insistently, like static trapped under his skin. He flexed his fingers instead, ground himself in a motion he’d usually use to self-soothe.
He tried to move his legs again. They responded sluggishly this time, not refusing outright, but trembling under the effort. They were heavy and uncooperative. Daniel hissed through his teeth and let himself sag back down, chest tight.
“Alright,” he muttered to the empty room. “That’s annoying.”
The overhead light hummed faintly. Dust drifted lazily through the beam, undisturbed.
At some point, he couldn’t say when, the house above him creaked again, a long moan of wood and pipes shifting. Footsteps crossed overhead shortly after. Someone laughed. The sound was distant. Casual.
Daniel stared at the far wall, then at the space between himself and it. The distance hadn’t changed.
Dragging himself across the concrete took more effort than it should have. His movements were clumsy, imprecise, nothing like the control he was used to. By the time his back hit the wall, he was breathing hard, arms shaking from the exertion.
He sat there, legs stretched uselessly in front of him, waiting for the tremors to ease. They didn’t.
The light flickered once. Nothing followed. The room stayed dim and quiet, indifferent.
He swallowed and tipped his head back against the wall.
This was taking longer than a few minutes. And he realised then. He’d performed his greatest illusion yet. He’d made himself disappear.
At first, Daniel told himself the numbness was a good sign. Pins and needles meant circulation. Tingling meant nerves waking back up. He focused on it, catalogued the sensation with clinical detachment, the way he always did when something went wrong. Symptoms were information. Information could be managed.
The problem was that the tingling didn’t sharpen. It dulled. The static under his skin flattened into something heavier, thicker, like his legs were slowly being packed away somewhere he couldn’t reach them. He pressed his palms into his thighs, hard enough to leave marks, and felt pressure. That was it. No echo of pain. No reflexive twitch.
Daniel frowned.
He shifted his weight, trying to draw one knee up. The effort made his muscles spasm uselessly, a jerky, uncoordinated response that stole his breath and left him lightheaded. His vision sparkled at the edges for a second before settling again.
“Okay.” he said, more quietly this time. The word sounded wrong in the basement. Too small.
He waited for his heart to slow, counted the beats like he always did when grounding himself. The rhythm refused to settle, fluttering irregularly, skipping in a way that made his chest feel hollow.
Daniel licked his lips. They felt dry. He hadn’t noticed being thirsty before, but now the awareness came all at once, sharp and distracting. He swallowed and tasted dust.
Above him, a door closed. Somewhere upstairs, someone turned on music, low and unobtrusive. The sound filtered down through the floorboards, warped and distant, like it was coming from another house entirely.
Time passed. He knew it had because the cold had teeth now.
The concrete leeched heat from him steadily, mercilessly. His back ached where it pressed against the wall, his hands had gone stiff, fingers reluctant to curl when he flexed them.
He tugged his jacket tighter around himself and felt ridiculous for not having thought of it sooner.
He tried his legs again.
Nothing. No tremor this time. No shaking from the effort it was taking him.
Daniel stared at them, a strange, hollow sensation blooming behind his ribs. He tapped his shin with his knuckles, harder than necessary. The dull pressure registered, delayed and muted, like the signal had taken the scenic route to reach his brain.
“That’s…” He trailed off, swallowed and tried again. “That’s not supposed to happen.”
The overhead light flickered. Once. Twice. Then went out.
The sudden darkness was complete, swallowing the basement whole. Daniel sucked in a sharp breath before he could stop himself, heart lurching painfully against his ribs. For a moment, all he could hear was his own breathing, too loud in his ears. The distant music cut out abruptly.
The silence would have pressed down on him if his heart hadn’t been hammering against his chest as if trying to break out through sheer force.
“Hey.” Daniel called, his voice cracking slightly before he got it under control, “Hey!”
The word vanished into the dark, unanswered.
He fumbled for the flashlight out of reflex, fingers scraping uselessly against the floor where he’d dropped it earlier. His hand brushed against something soft and weightless, a fallen cobweb maybe, he recoiled sharply, pulse spiking again.
His chest felt tight now. There was a pressure, like his lungs couldn’t quite expand all the way.
Daniel sat very still.
For the first time since he’d come down here, Daniel let himself imagine how long it might take before someone came down. He allowed himself to feel a little lonely now. Not too much, nothing that could make him look at it too closely.
The lights went out all at once.
Not a flicker this time, not a stutter or a dimming, but a clean, decisive blackout that plunged the living room into darkness mid-sentence.
“…and then he says-“ Lula cut herself off with a surprised laugh. “Okay, that was dramatic.”
Jack swore softly and fumbled for his phone, the screen lighting up his face in stark white.
“Did we lose power?” He asked.
Merritt snorted, “In this place? I’d be shocked if we didn’t.”
Dylan didn’t move right away. He stood where he was, listening, the way he always did when something changed. The house creaked around them, a long, settling sound, like it was rather pleased with itself.
“Well,” Lula said, after a beat, “that’s…” she paused, mulling over the words in her head before speaking, “atmospheric.” She finished. Jack angled his phone around, casting lopsided shadows across the walls.
“I mean. Could be worse. At least there’s no storm outside.” Jack snorted.
“Yet.” Merritt said, equally amused. “Give it time.” They sat and waited for the lights to come back on. They didn’t.
“So,” Lula ventured, tone deliberately bright. “we could either deal with this, or we could not.”
Jack grinned. “I vote not. Spooky night. Candles. Ghost stories.” Merritt made a thoughtful noise.
“I do have a deck of cards that’s glow-in-the-dark.” he said with a tilt of his head, considering it.
“Of course you do.” Dylan said dryly. Lula clapped her hands once.
“See? This place is practically begging for it.” She grinned, an eerie sight with Jack’s phone as their only light source.
Dylan finally shifted, folding his arms. “Or.” He began, “we could check the fuse box.”
There was a brief, collective pause.
Jack shrugged. “Didn’t Daniel already look at it?” The question hung there, unanswered. Merritt frowned slightly, gaze drifting toward the hallway without quite focusing on anything.
“Did he?” He asked.
“I thought he did.” Jack said. “He’s been doing that kind of thing all week.” Lula tilted her head.
“I haven’t seen him since,” she thought for a second, “earlier. This morning, maybe?” She wasn’t sure and no one corrected her. Dylan’s jaw tightened, just a fraction.
“He didn’t mention anything to me.” Dylan said.
“Well, that tracks.” Merritt said, trying for levity. “Kid’s been real chatty lately.” If the sarcasm dripping off his words were physical, they would be gooey and sticky.
“Yeah, right.” Jack huffed a laugh. Another beat passed. The house creaked again, louder this time, as if impatient with them.
“So,” Lula said, softer now. “fuse box or spooky night?” Jack hesitated, then glanced towards the kitchen.
“I mean, if Daniel already checked it, it’s probably just the grid. We could wait it out.”
Dylan looked at him. “Probably.” The word sat uncomfortable between them.
Merritt cleared his throat. “I can grab some candles.”
“I’ll get the matches.” Lula smiled, relief flickering across her face. They started to move. Dylan didn’t.
He stayed where he was, staring down the darkened hallway, listening to the silence that had settled into the house. Something about it felt off. Not dangerous. Just wrong. Like a beat missed in a familiar rhythm.
“I’ll check the basement.” he said finally.
Jack glanced back. “You sure? It’s probably nothing.” he said.
“Probably.” Dylan agreed, already heading for the hall. As he passed the cabinet by the basement door hand already reaching for the doorknob, his hand nudged against something on top of the cabinet. Using his phone’s flashlight to illuminate his surroundings, Dylan stopped.
There was a phone there. Waking up the screen confirmed who it belonged to.
“Hey,” He called back, voice sharper now. “Has anyone seen Daniel?”
The cold had stopped being a background sensation and turned into something vicious.
Daniel’s teeth chattered before he fully registered the shiver running through him. His shoulders drew in on instinct, useless without his legs to follow. The air felt thin. Too cold on the inhale, damp on the exhale. He didn’t remember when the light had gone out anymore.
He remembered the moment itself, the way the dark had swallowed the room whole, clean and abrupt, but not how long it had been since. Time had lost its edges. It no longer felt like something moving forward so much as something pooling around him.
He shifted against the wall and hissed quietly. The stone floor and wall leached heat with relentless efficiency, each second pulling something out of him he couldn’t afford to lose. His fingers felt clumsy now, stiff when he curled them into the sleeves of his jacket, tucking his hands into his armpits in a futile attempt to trap warmth.
This was inefficient, he thought distantly. Why hadn’t he tried crawling up the stairs yet?
Another shiver cut through him, sharper than the last, and his thoughts scattered. Daniel tried to count again. Breaths this time. In for four, hold for four, out for six. A rhythm he knew by heart. The first few went fine. Then he lost track. Had he held too long? Not long enough? His chest tightened, breath coming a little too fast now, shallow and unsatisfying.
“Okay.” He murmured. He couldn’t tell if it was colder than before or if he was just noticing it more.
He pressed his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, immediately regretting it. In the dark, with nothing to anchor him, the sensation of drifting intensified. When he opened them again, the black looked exactly the same. No difference. No confirmation that time had passed at all.
His legs were gone in a way that felt final now. Not numb, he’d moved past numbness, but absent, like a concept rather than a part of him. He tried to wiggle his toes and nothing happened. Not even disappointment. Just a dull, sinking certainty. He knew it a combination of the electric shock he’d received earlier and the cold.
Daniel swallowed hard. His throat felt raw, like he’d been breathing dust for hours. Or minutes. He couldn’t be sure.
Above him, the house shifted again. A distant creak. Pipes knocking softly somewhere in the walls. Familiar sounds, warped by distance and the dark, reminding him that the world was still moving without him.
He wondered, not for the first time, if anyone had noticed yet. Not worried. Just noticed. The thought lodged itself in his chest and refused to move.
He drew his knees up in his mind, the way he would have if his body would listen, and settled instead of curling forward as much as the wall allowed. He focused on staying awake, because sleep felt dangerous now in a way he couldn’t quite articulate. Cold had a way of convincing you to stop paying attention to the things that mattered most.
Daniel stayed very still in the dark, counting what he could, even as time continued to slip quietly out of reach.
The thing about illusions is that they weren’t permanent. They weren’t real and therefore had a beginning and an end. The journey towards that ending could be a long, winding path in a forest that smelled of freshly fallen snow, or they could end at the bottom of a staircase in a cold basement.
There were footsteps. Rushed and loud, breaking the oppressive darkness. A flashlight lit up the room, its white glare immediately forcing Daniel to close his eyes.
Oh sweet relief.
The light burned even through his closed eyelids, harsh and invasive after so long in the dark. Daniel turned his face away with a weak sound he hadn’t meant to make, something caught between a breath and a protest. His heart lurched, adrenaline surging all at once now that it finally had somewhere to go.
“Daniel?” Dylan’s voice cut through the room, closer than it had any right to be. Too loud. Too sharp.
“I’m-“ Daniel tried. His voice cracked immediately, thin and useless. He swallowed and continued, “here.” He finished softly.
The flashlight beam shifted, steadied, and then dropped to his legs so it wasn’t shining in his face anymore. There was a pause, like a breath held. It was considerate. It made Daniel’s chest loosen and ache at the same time.
“Don’t move.” Dylan said, calmer in speech, but his eyes betrayed him. “Did you fall?” He asked, frowning up and down Daniel’s shivering form. He must look pathetic.
Daniel shook his head, then realised that might not have been obvious. The motion made his vision swim. “No,” He reconsidered his answer. He did sort of fall. “Yes?” Dylan probably just wanted to know why he hadn’t gotten up and simply walked up the stairs.
“No.” He decided on, making Dylan stare at him with growing worry and confusion. He crouched in front of him, setting his phone down.
“How long have you been down here?” Dylan asked, choosing to ignore Daniel’s uncertainty.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came. He frowned faintly, as if the answer was just out of reach.
“I don’t know.” he said finally. The admission tasted wrong, unpleasant. “The lights went out and then, before that, a while.”
“A while.” Dylan repeated, not pushing it. His eyes flicked over Daniel’s posture, the way his legs lay slack and unmoving in front of him, the tremor running through his shoulders.
“What happened?” Dylan asked.
“Fuse box.” Daniel said. His teeth chattered hard enough to interrupt him. He stopped, jaw tightening as he tried to get it under control. “I think I got shocked.”
Dylan’s expression tightened. Not panic. Recognition.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Alright. We’re gonna get you upstairs.”
Daniel let out a shaky breath that might have been a laugh in another context.
“I don’t think those,” he made a vague attempt at gesturing towards his legs, “are on board with that plan.” Dylan didn’t look away, he just nodded as if it were a small adjustment to a plan already forming.
“That’s fine. We’ll carry you.” We. The word hit harder than Daniel expected. Dylan picked up his phone again, mindful of the beam of light. He put it to his ear and they waited. He could have yelled, run up the stairs and gotten the others, but he didn’t. Daniel didn’t know whether to appreciate not being left alone again or whether to feel offended.
“He’s not upstairs.” Jack’s voice came from Dylan’s phone, quiet and distant to Daniel’s ears who had to strain to listen.
“No, he’s here in the basement. Can you guys come real quick?” Dylan spoke, eyes on Daniel’s half lidded gaze.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs behind them now. Jack’s voice, tight and worried. Lula’s, already asking too many questions. Merritt, swearing softly under his breath.
Daniel squeezed his eyes shut for just a second, overwhelmed by the sudden crowding of sound and light and attention. When he opened them again, Dylan was still there, solid and steady in front of him.
“Sorry it took so long.” Dylan apologised, tight lipped and disappointed at himself. No one said anything. No one moved.
Daniel felt the hesitation like a pressure change in the room, a collective pause while they all tried to decide what the right thing was. It made him too aware of himself, of how he was slumped against the wall, shaking, legs uselessly sprawled in front of him.
“Hey,” Dylan said softly. “I’m going to touch your shoulder, okay?” Daniel nodded. Or meant to. The motion felt delayed, like it had to travel a longer distance than usual to register. Not to mention how stiff with cold his muscles were.
The second Dylan touched him, he startled anyway. His body reacted a half-second too late, a flinch that didn’t quite finish happening. His shoulders tensed, breath hitching sharply before he could stop it.
“Jesus.” Merritt muttered seriously from somewhere behind Dylan. More hands hovered now. Careful and uncertain. Someone asked a question Daniel didn’t quite catch. The words blurred together, slipping past before he could grab onto them.
“We should get him off the floor.” Jack said. His voice sounded wrong. Too tight, pitched just a little higher than usual.
“Yeah.” Lula agreed quickly. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”
They crouched around him, movements awkward as they tried to coordinate without jostling him too much. Daniel watched it happen from a strange distance, like he was observing a rehearsal meant for someone else.
“On three,” Dylan said. “One, two, three.”
They lifted him carefully, even though it didn’t matter. The moment his weight shifted, something inside him lurched violently. His legs dragged uselessly across the floor, heavy and unresponsive. The sensation so wrong it made his stomach twist.
“I-“ Daniel sucked in a breath, sharp and involuntary. “I can’t feel that.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. The room went quiet. Hands stilled mid-motion. Someone swore under their breath. Dylan’s grip tightened slightly, firmer now, like he was anchoring Daniel in place.
“Let us do the work, Danny. We’ll fix this later.” Dylan said, calm in a way that felt deliberate. But Daniel wasn’t listening anymore.
He could feel the cold now. Not just on his skin, but inside him. A deep, aching chill that didn’t ease when they moved him. It didn’t care about warm hands or careful voices. His teeth were still chattering hard enough that his jaw ached, his muscles trembling in uneven waves he couldn’t control.
“God, he’s freezing.” Lula said, voice breaking just a little. “How long were you down here?” She asked, her face betraying that she didn’t really want to know the answer.
Daniel tried to answer anyway, but he couldn’t find the number. He couldn’t even begin to guess.
“I don’t know.” he said again.
They adjusted their grip, lifting him properly this time. Daniel squeezed his eyes shut as the room tilted. The motion made his head swim, a rush of dizziness washed over him that left bright sparks dancing behind his eyelids.
“Slow,” Dylan warned quietly. “Watch the stairs.” The first step up scraped painfully against Daniel’s heel. He gasped, more in surprise than pain. He looked at Dylan, eyes wide and hopeful.
“What?” Merritt asked from his position behind them, ready to catch whoever lost their footing.
“I felt that.” Daniel said quietly.
“That’s good. The electricity probably just caused neuromuscular side effects.” Dylan nodded.
“It did what?” Lula asked, looking at Dylan from where she was guiding them up the stairs with a light, walking backwards step by careful step.
“Disabled his legs.” Dylan clarified. “Probably temporarily.” He added for good measure. Daniel clung to the word “probably” like it was solid.
They moved carefully up the stairs, each step deliberate. The house groaned around them, wood protesting the odd weight and awkward rhythm. Daniel focused on the sound, on the cadence of the movement, because it was easier than focusing on the way his body felt heavy, uncooperative.
By the time they reached the top, his shivering had worsened. He had his lips pressed together to keep his teeth from clattering together, embarrassed by the sound. Someone noticed anyway.
“Get him a blanket.” Merritt said when they spilled into the hallway. Someone had lit various candles, Daniel noted distantly. “Two. No! Three.” He concluded.
Lula was already moving, darting ahead down the hallway. Jack and Dylan had him hoisted between them, both practically dragging him towards the living room. Daniel had been making an attempt to help them, but his legs, while not entirely limp, hadn’t helped in their process at all.
They lowered him onto the couch with more care than he was used to receiving. The couch was soft and warm. Everything the concrete flooring in the basement hadn’t been. For a moment, the contrast was so sharp, it made his eyes sting.
“There.” Dylan said and crouched in front of him again. “You’re okay.” Daniel wasn’t sure that was true, but he nodded anyway.
A blanket settled over his shoulders, then another. Someone tucked one around his legs, the pressure firm and there. Daniel stared down at the fabric, at the way it rose and fell with his breathing, trying to convince himself the warmth would sink in soon. He could feel the others watching him, like he was a bomb about to detonate in their faces. Everyone except Dylan was keeping a distance between them. He probably deserved it, he concurred. He’d been an asshole.
There was no contradiction. There couldn’t be. He hadn’t said it out loud. He didn’t need to.
Candlelight flickered across the walls, shadows stretching and collapsing in a slow dance. Someone would have to brave the fuse box again, Daniel thought to himself, eyes glued to the mesmerising flames. They offered little to no warmth at all, despite their very nature.
His shivering didn’t stop. If anything, it felt worse under the blankets. His body struggled to calibrate, overshooting the mark. His jaw ached from how hard he had been clenching it.
“You’re still really cold, huh.” Lula said, hovering near the arm of the couch. She didn’t touch him. Her hands twisted together instead. “Do you want, like, hot tea?” At least the kitchen had a gas stove, he thought and nodded.
“Thank you.” he said as Lula walked out.
“Do you want to lay down?” Jack asked. There was a type of uneasy disquiet in the air. It was almost tangible. Like Daniel could reach out to it and feel it wrap around his hand like something that had tentacles, but no eyes to see he was unmoored by it. It clung to him like the watchful eyes of his fellow horsemen, who looked at him without really seeing him.
“I’m fine.” Daniel answered automatically. The words came out clipped, rehearsed. Jack let out a short breath through his nose.
“You don’t look fine.” he said and Daniel didn’t answer that. His gaze flicked up despite himself, taking in the room and meeting the eyes head on. Merritt wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at the floor, jaw clenched like he was holding something back. He could faintly hear a kettle whistle.
Dylan, still kneeling in front of him, motioned towards his hand underneath the blanket, not wanting to interrupt whatever this was. Daniel pulled out his hand in response, allowing Dylan to take his pulse.
Jack’s arms were crossed, shoulders hunched. “I thought you’d already checked the electricity.” He admitted. “You’ve been,” he gestured vaguely, “doing stuff like that all week.”
Invisible maintenance, Daniel thought dimly. The things no one noticed until they stopped happening.
“I was tired of fighting.” Daniel said quietly. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. The words slipped through anyway, thin and exposed in the candlelit room. Once they were out, there was no stopping the ones that followed, “I didn’t want to bother anyone.”
Lula, tea in hand, had entered the room on those words and her face crumpled just a little. Dylan’s gaze snapped up,
“You don’t count as a bother.”
Daniel didn’t respond. He was too busy trying to breathe through the ache spreading behind his ribs, something colder than the basement, sharper than the shock. Because staying out of the way had worked.
Lula handed him the tea with an unreadable expression. The warmth hit his lips first, then slowly travelled to his palms as he wrapped his fingers around the cup. It didn’t reach his legs. They still lay stretched out beneath the blankets, unresponsive and foreign. Daniel tried to focus on the heat spreading slowly from the cup in his hands. He breathed through the steam and past the herbs, he could smell the dust on the blanket, the candles burning. He could hear Dylan shift, hear Jack run his fingers through his hair. There was a muffled sound he now associated with the boiler downstairs in the basement. It crept through the floors like it was trying to catch his attention, asking him where he’d gone.
He could feel himself becoming more present. More aware. He wasn’t sure he liked what he found because the horsemen were still hovering and Merritt still hadn’t looked at him.
“Can you feel this?” Dylan asked, brushing a hand lightly along his thigh. His voice cut through his thoughts like a knife, sharp and quick. Daniel shook his head, lips pressed tightly together. His teeth ached from the shivering, but it was starting to calm down. It didn’t stop his eyes from watering, making him blink rapidly to stop the tears of frustration from forming.
Dylan hummed, “I’m going to need you to try something for me.” he said after a moment. Daniel’s stomach tightened, but he nodded anyway.
“Just your toes.” Dylan continued. “Don’t strain. Just tell me if anything happens.”
Daniel stared down at the blanket like it might give him instructions. He concentrated, imagined the movement, sent the command down a body that refused to listen to him. Nothing was happening.
“No?” Dylan asked, already knowing. Daniel shook his head once. The motion made his vision blur again.
“We should bring him to a hospital, man.” Jack told Dylan, like he wasn’t in the room. Daniel huffed bitterly. There it was again.
“I’m right here, you know.” Daniel ground out, eyes dark, but tired. The edge drained out of his entire body as quickly as it had appeared. He looked away, jaw tightening, like he’d spent something he didn’t have a lot of. Dylan didn’t look at Jack.
“I hear you,” he said, still watching Daniel. “But we’re not going to talk around him.” He glanced at Jack before turning back.
“I need to know if you’re dizzy, right now.” Dylan asked. Daniel closed his eyes, exhaling tiredly.
“Only when I move my head too quickly.” Daniel said.
“That tracks.” Dylan nodded, not surprised. He shifted slightly, getting more comfortable. “That means it isn’t getting worse.” Neither was it getting better, but that would come, Daniel was sure of it.
“I think I saw some logs, do we try the fireplace?” Lula asked quietly, addressing Jack who had been hovering uncomfortably.
“That’s a great idea, Lula.” Dylan replied, looking over his shoulder to smile at her. Merritt had moved to an armchair, sitting nearby, not saying anything. Dylan got up, taking the cooling tea from Daniel’s shaking hands and put it on the table.
“I’ll see if I can get the electricity running.” Dylan paused, turning towards Daniel, “The fuse box did this?” He asked, trying to understand what he should and shouldn’t touch.
“There’s an exposed wire. I grazed it.” Daniel explained. Dylan nodded thoughtfully. That was definitely a problem.
“The copper part?”
“Yes.”
Dylan nodded and walked off. At least they knew where he’d gone to, Daniel grimaced.
The room settled into a quieter shape once the others dispersed. The fire hadn’t been lit yet, but the expectation of warmth lingered, like the house was holding its breath.
Merritt hadn’t moved from the armchair. He sat with his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them, gaze fixed somewhere on the floor a few feet in front of him. Close enough to be present. Far enough to not be involved.
Daniel watched him.
“Merritt.” He finally said. Merritt’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. He looked up then, something unreadable in his eyes.
“Do you need anything?” Merritt asked, voice neutral. Careful.
Daniel swallowed. His throat still felt raw, scraped hollow by cold and dust and everything he hadn’t said earlier.
“I need you to tell me what’s going through your head.” Daniel answered, watching him closely. He wasn’t a mentalist, but he was good at reading people and he could tell something was eating at the older magician.
“I noticed.” Merritt said vaguely.
“You noticed.” Daniel repeated, hoping that they would make more sense if they came from him. Like he’d gain some sort of insight.
“The things you were doing. The moment you withdrew. I noticed.” Merritt clarified and Daniel understood. He hadn’t created the perfect illusion, he’d pushed them away, made them feel grateful for his lack of presence.
“I see.” Daniel spoke slowly, tasting the words and finding them sour.
“I’m not proud of it.” The mentalist continued, looking straight at him. “I was just so angry.” That was valid, considering Daniel’s behaviour had been anything but kind. He had an explosive personality and it tended to blow up in not just everyone else’s faces, but also his own.
Daniel nodded, suddenly aware he’d been doing that a lot lately. The motion pulled something tight in his neck.
“That’s fair.” he said. The words surprised him with how easily they came. “I was a lot.” He admitted. Merritt’s mouth twitched into something that didn’t quite resemble a smile.
“You always are.” he said. Then, quieter, “That’s not the problem.” Daniel’s fingers curled into the blanket, listening.
“The problem,” Merritt continued, “is that you don’t give anyone a chance to meet you halfway. You decide you’re the issue, and then you remove yourself.” He exhaled slowly. “And the rest of us let you.”
Daniel absorbed that in silence. His legs felt distant, but the weight in his chest was sharp and immediate. A stark contrast.
“You could’ve said something.” He murmured. And honestly, Daniel wasn’t even sure how he’d have responded if Merritt had said something at the time. He’d have likely tried to bite his head off.
Merritt nodded. “I know.”
“Why didn’t you?” It wasn’t an accusation, but he was wondering.
Merritt looked away again, jaw working visibly. When he spoke, his voice was rougher.
“Because if I’d asked you to stay,” he said, “you would have flung us all into another fight.” He glanced back at him. “And there is a line, Daniel.” He finished. Daniel closed his eyes briefly.
“So you let me disappear.” he said, opening his eyes to look at nothing in particular.
“Yes.” Merritt said. No hesitation. “And I shouldn’t have.” He added. The admission sat between them, heavy but solid. No one was apologising and it felt like it was beside the point. No one was asking for forgiveness despite the guilt blanketing all of them.
“The arguments stopped.” Daniel voiced his observation. He saw Merritt nod in agreement from his peripheral vision.
“They did.” Merritt acquiesced. “But if the cost is losing you, we don’t want it.”
The blanket felt heavier now, not quite warm, but closer. Something resembling the promise of it.
“Okay.” Daniel said finally. Not agreeing, nor disagreeing. Choosing for the lesser evil that would let the words float in the air until they faded away.
He shifted without really thinking about it, just a small adjustment, an instinctive attempt to get more comfortable.
Something answered.
It wasn’t much. Just a faint pull somewhere deep in his calves, like muscles remembering their name.
Daniel froze.
Merritt noticed immediately. “What?”
Daniel frowned, gaze snapping down to where his legs lay under the blankets. He tried again, cautiously this time, barely more than a thought. There it was again. Weak. Sluggish. But undeniably there.
“I-“ He stopped, breath hitching, then tried again. “Something moved.” He whispered. He almost smiled, but that would mean he accepted it and he wasn’t ready yet.
They looked at each other and Merritt was definitely smiling. As if the house was watching the scene unfold, it came back to life, lights turning on and appliances in the kitchen beeped to signal they were up and running.
“Aww, we just got the wood.” Lula said, disappointed.
“The light switches work perfectly fine.” Jack answered, following her closely. He switched the lights off, allowing the room to be cast into candlelight again.
Dylan entered the room while Jack and Lula started working on the fire. He took in the scene in a single sweep, the candles, the half-built fire, Jack and Lula moving with nervous efficiency, and then his gaze landed on Daniel and Merritt.
There was a change there. Something had lifted.
“Hey.” Dylan said, already crouching down.
“You fixed it, then?” Daniel asked.
“Mostly.” Dylan said. “Enough to stop it from getting worse for the time being.” He reached for Daniel’s ankle without hesitation.
“Tell me if you feel this.” Straight to it, huh. His thumb pressed gently against the tendon and Daniel sucked in a breath.
“Yeah.”
Dylan raised an eyebrow and pressed again. Firmer this time.
“Still yes.” Daniel said, surprised by the steadiness of his own voice.
“That’s good.” Dylan nodded, satisfied. “That means the nerves aren’t offline. Just stunned.” He smiled.
“Stunned.” Daniel repeated, testing the word.
“Like you,” Dylan said mildly. Then, more serious, “Try again. Move your toes.” Daniel focused. This time, something moved without him having to chase it.
“There.” Dylan said quietly. “That’s control.” They smiled at each other.
Dylan adjusted the blanket around Daniel’s legs, more methodical now than careful.
“We’ll reassess in the morning, but for now, you’re staying right here.” Dylan decided. Daniel nodded. He didn’t argue. The effort it would take felt disproportionate to the outcome.
The fire finally caught in the hearth with a soft swoosh, heat blooming outward in slow, uneven waves. The smell of burning wood crept into the room, comfortingly. Daniel felt it on his face first, then his hands. His legs lagged behind, stubborn as ever.
Lula hovered long enough to tuck a pair of thick socks over his feet, apologising under her breath like she was the one who’d done this to him. Jack paced once, twice, then sank onto the far end of the couch, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Merritt stayed where he was. Content to simply be.
Daniel let his head rest back against the couch cushion. The house felt different now, warmer, cosier. Less lonely. The creaks and groans had settled into something domestic, background noise instead of something waiting to pounce.
He was exhausted. He focused on the firelight, on the steady crackle of wood and the low murmur of voices drifting around him. Even without being addressed, he felt like he belonged.