Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I’ll crawl home to [him]

— Hozier, Work Song

⁂

PART I

"What are you doing in here?" Regulus asks drily upon registering Remus' presence—approximately two seconds after walking into the room that is very much supposed to be empty. 

The heavy door falls shut behind him with a loud click, the noise echoing in the silence that is his answer. When he glances over at the annoying intruder that sometimes calls himself his friend, he finds him sitting under one of the windows, knees pulled towards his chest, expression innocent. 

Regulus narrows his eyes at him. "And more importantly, how did you get in here?"

"Stole your key," Remus offers, one corner of his mouth tugging upwards, the movement painting a crooked smile onto his face. His emerging dimple tells tales of mischief.

"I have my key here," Regulus argues, letting said key dangle from his fingers, waving his hand in front of Remus like proof. "Try again."

"Stole your key and made a replica of it so I can continue to come and go as I please?"

There's a full smile blossoming on his face now, disarming to everyone but Regulus, who only rolls his eyes in resignation and mutters, "More like it, yeah."

He passes Remus, making sure to kick his ankles on the way, grinning to himself at the surprised yelp it causes. Should have seen that one coming, really.

"Ah, come on now. I know you love having me here," Remus insists, getting up to follow Regulus around, glancing back out of the window twice. He looks a little on edge, and Regulus tries not to care.

"Yes, I adore you breaking the rules I so desperately try to keep preserved," he confirms, voice dripping sarcasm as he flips through the first binder he pulls out from the shelves, clicking his tongue in annoyance when he does not find what he's looking for.

His eyes are already scanning over the rest of the countless binders when Remus questions, "Are you throwing me out?"

Regulus just waves him off absentmindedly. He doesn't have to look at Remus to know he is pouting—and he knows perfectly well that his quivering lip is as fake as it gets. "Who are you hiding from, anyway?"

"Evan," Remus admits with a dramatic sigh, plopping down into a chair—Regulus' of course, because he's a sucker like that.

"Get out of that," he demands, reaching over for another binder while glaring at the menace behind him.

"But you're standing up," Remus complains, sliding further down into his seat. "What do you need the chair for?"

"It's mine."

Remus sighs—though he does get up, albeit slowly and while shaking his head. "You have some serious issues, mate."

Regulus ignores him. Sometimes, that's just the best way to deal with Remus.

"So what did our lovely Evan do today to lead you here?" he questions instead, turning away to hide his smile.

"He keeps propositioning me," Remus whines, coming up next to Regulus to sneak a glance over his shoulder. 

"Oh no," Regulus gasps, snapping the binder shut and arching a brow at Remus. "What a blow to your ego, to be considered attractive enough to fall into Evan's radar of potential short-term partners."

"It's making me uncomfortable," Remus mutters, stepping out of his way when Regulus tries the next binder. They really need a better organisation system. He never finds anything in here.

"Then tell him to fuck off. You know he will, so what's the problem? Scared to break his heart?" He glances over at Remus—now sitting on the huge wooden table in the middle of the room—and comically widens his eyes. "Or do you want to keep your options open and ready? Are you interested after all?" 

Remus rolls his eyes.

"Oh, no, wait—I know what this is," Regulus exclaims, turning around to face his friend. "Jealousy! And such a clear case of it, too! You're only keeping Evan's advances alive to make someone else jealous, trying to get them to confess their undying love for you when being presented with the terrible thought of losing you to the arms of another lover. Now, who could it be? Someone close to you, surely…" He trails off, then puts both hands over his heart, feigning surprise. "Remus, am I the object of your secret affection?"

"Oh, come down from your high horse," Remus scoffs. "I know I'm not your type."

"That is true," Regulus agrees, though he does take a moment to scan down Remus' body, because it's not like he's appalled—or would say no, for that matter.

"And you're not mine," Remus continues, ignoring Regulus' imploring gaze.

"Excuse you?" Regulus huffs, leaning back against the half-height cabinets decorating the whole wall and crossing his arms in front of his chest irritably. 

He might throw out Remus after all—just because he can, and not at all because of what he just said. 

"Stop pouting," Remus laughs.

"I am not pouting," Regulus argues. He decides against throwing Remus out and turns back towards his mission of going through their binders—with a little less enthusiasm now.

"You totally are. Acting like a child," Remus singsongs.

"Why were we having this conversation again? Because you were hiding from a guy and apparently prefer locking yourself into a confidential room that you're not even allowed to be in over having an actual conversation with him?"

"Hey!" Remus exclaims, right before hitting Regulus with—he glances down—a shoe. "He was being very persistent today!"

Regulus casually kicks the shoe out of Remus' reach, then looks back at him in exasperation.

"Do you think he's hot? Be honest."

Remus shrugs.

"Honestly, just go for it. And it's not even like it has to mean something—friends with benefits are a thing, you know. Scratch the itch and all that. Besides, it's not very likely for anyone to form any kind of meaningful or deeper connection in here, anyway."

Remus whistles in amusement. "Don't let Frank and Alice hear that."

"Why? The two of them still make it work, whatever arrangement they have, don't they?"

It's been quite the while since the last time Regulus has actively listened to the gossip Remus insists on supplying him with, so he's not fully up to date with everyone's current affairs—sue him. Still, the slow way Remus is blinking at him, trying to figure out if Regulus is joking, becomes quite unnerving rather quickly. 

Finally, he says, exasperated, "They don't have an arrangement, Regulus. The two of them are dating."

"What?" Regulus asks, disbelief palpable in his voice. "Since when?"

"Literal months?"

"Huh," Regulus huffs, then flips a page of the current binder opened in front of him in irritation. It's not like he cares, anyway. "Are you quite finished with your crisis now?"

"I have successfully arrived at the conclusion that I am not hooking up with anyone," Remus confirms solemnly.

"Good for you. Then start being useful at the very least now." He throws a binder at Remus, who barely even catches it, clumsy mess that he is. "I need everything we have on section seven."

Remus perks up at that, hurrying to open the binder, then flipping through the notes eagerly. "What's up with section seven?"

"You know that's confidential."

Remus raises both brows. Regulus sighs. 

"I'll tell you later."

"I love it when we break your rules," Remus murmurs with an exited grin.

"Shut up and get to work," Regulus snorts, though he's smiling too.

They work quietly next to each other for about fifteen minutes—right up until the alarm sounds, and Remus immediately perks up, eyes alight with anticipation.

"Fresh meat," he proclaims excitedly, though Regulus just sighs, feeling dreadful.

"They're always more trouble than they're worth for the first few weeks."

"You need to see them as the opportunities they are," Remus argues, already on his way out of the door. He waves at Regulus, who closes the useless binder again and rubs his tired eyes. "Thanks for the refuge, mate."

Regulus just scoffs at his retreating form, then lets his annoyed expression turn into an amused grin when his eyes land on the shoe Remus forgot to put on again.

That round clearly goes to him.

It's dark when James opens his eyes—terribly dark, which doesn't bode well, he thinks. He's moving too, the rather ungentle shaking of his surroundings upsetting his stomach in a mere matter of seconds. 

And James is not particularly afraid of the dark, but he is finding out that apparently he does struggle with small spaces—particularly when he is in them—so when he blindly feels around the four cold steel walls that he can reach by crawling only about three steps each, it adds a nice hint of panic to the still rising nausea in his chest. His throat threatens to close up almost immediately. The whole thing isn't ideal, you could say.

He presses his back against one of the walls, mindlessly kicking a box filled with something out of his way, and automatically tries to count his breaths while thinking of home, somehow knowing to calm himself down that way—which doesn't work in the end, because this is the exact moment James realises that he doesn't know what or where home is anymore. 

He almost does throw up at that. 

James works his mind desperately, thoughts scrambling all over each other as he tries to remember…anything, really—because it feels like his head has been wiped clean, taking away every precious memory whose comforting shape he can still taste on the back of his tongue, like an itch in his throat, barely there and unreachable to him, but still prominent enough to be noticeable.

He knows his name—James—and he knows that home used to be a place that brought him peace, even as the memories of those feelings float away, slip out of his fingers, get lost in the darkness around him.

He knows the names of all the organs working in his body, keeping him alive—but what are his parents called? Does he even have any? If so, where are they, where did James come from—and most importantly, who is James?

Both are empty shapes now—his home, and his name—because for neither, James can remember what it entails, what it means, what it used to be. A place and a person, not connected anymore, strangers to each other now, as much as he feels like one to himself. 

Who am I, he thinks desperately, though his brain doesn't supply him with an answer to that.

He's starting to shake.

James is quite glad to be alone in his mysterious box of doom right then, because the meek whimper finding its way out of his mouth is not something he'd like anyone else to be witness of. He'll take it with him into his grave—though judging by his eerie surroundings, he might already be there. 

In order not to lose his damn mind, James changes his tactic into counting his breaths and decidedly not thinking of home—which is about as effective as it sounds. 

By the time the first sliver of light falls into James' box, he has given in to the panic, breaths coming in short gasps, cold sweat collecting on both his forehead and nape. His vision—now that he's got it back partly due to the light—is swimming irritably.

He has to squint slightly now, the light growing stronger through the small rectangular partings in the ceiling above him—and then abruptly, the brightness gets so harsh that it's almost blinding, causing James to shield his teary eyes from the sudden invasion while the box noticeably changes its course into upwards, at which James' stomach gives another dangerous lurch. 

Still, he uses his chance to finally take in his surroundings, eyes landing on one of the few boxes he kicked out of his way, spilling what looks like food supplies all over the dark grey floor he is sitting on—though he can't quite get the blurry shapes he's seeing to focus.

Glasses, his head finally offers, and something in James' confused brain clicks, because right, he needs those. 

He pats himself down and finds a pair in the pocket of his trousers, then takes a moment to stare down at the round glasses in his hands, wondering how they can seem so familiar when he doesn't remember getting, nor ever wearing them. He puts them on after another moment of consideration, the familiar weight on top of his nose greeting him like a comforting old friend, and the blurry shapes around him become finally distinguishable—though there's not much to look at except uninviting cold grey walls and about eight boxes filled with various stuff he has no interest in at the moment.

Still, at least he can see.

And right on time too, because James' box suddenly comes to a rattling hold—and somehow he expected silence to envelop him afterwards, but there are clear voices to be heard now, and they are coming nearer, too.

James presses himself further against the wall he is still propped up against, holding his breath in anxious anticipation. He briefly wonders if he is supposed to be here, because to be quite frank, the box doesn't really give much insight into whether James was a planned part of the apparent delivery or not. Truthfully, he's starting to guess the latter.

The ceiling above him opens—he didn't know the box could do that, though he is incredibly grateful to find out—and as even more light floods his surroundings, a man comes into view, staring down at James as if his arrival is inconvenient to his day. 

He seems young—early twenties if James would have to guess—with dark hair that effortlessly curls arounds his ears, strands of it falling into his face, framing the strikingly blue eyes that are studying James. Each time he blinks, his dark lashes kiss his high cheekbones—that could surely cut glass—and James most definitely spends a few seconds too long staring at his plush lips, judging by how dry his own mouth is getting. 

It's an unfair combination of gorgeous features really, all to be wasted on one single person. Though maybe not wasted, James thinks, continuously gazing at the man. Definitely not wasted. 

Something in his chest hums at the sight of him, though James cannot pinpoint what exactly it is.

"I'm Regulus," the man drawls, making a face at his own tone—which James guesses was supposed to come across as kind and inviting, but just ends up sounding straight up annoyed as if by default. 

Regulus shakes his head, grimacing as if this is more awkward for him than it is for James—which he highly doubts, because James is the one literally sitting in a box. He is starting to become overly conscious of his earlier cold sweat when Regulus leans down towards him, holding out a hand as if to help him up—which would be a nice thing if James wasn't completely starstruck and riddled with nervousness.

"That's a weird name," he states instead of simply grabbing Regulus' offered hand like a normal person would. 

And James knows that this was the wrong thing to say even before these beautiful blue eyes of Regulus narrow into slits. 

"Excuse me?" he mutters, crossing his arms defensively as sniggers arise from behind him. Are there other people around them too? James cranes his neck, but struggles to see more than a few mops of hair from his position. 

"Well, what are you called then?" Regulus demands after sending a wave of dirty looks around, causing the sniggers to stop quickly.

"James."

Regulus clicks his tongue, considers him, then sighs. "Ah, mate, that's the third one this week already. We lose them so fast." He shakes his head sadly, then looks around, focusing on someone to his left. "Go get our current James ready for their fight." He looks back down at James, who feels frozen in his box, joints locked together in shock. "We can only have one here, you know? Terribly tragic thing. But so are the rules."

It's deadly silent around him now, and James feels himself pale as Regulus' words sink in. 

"What? Are you—People with the same name fight to death here?"

Regulus shrugs helplessly at him, the corner of his mouth tugging up amusedly. "Sucks to have an ordinary name, huh?"

James gapes at him, then frantically looks around. Maybe the box can go back again, if only he finds out how—because James cannot fight, doesn't want to fight either, and everything about this is a complete disaster—

"Leave the poor guy alone," another young man laughs, coming into view with an exasperated shake of his head, light brown curls bobbing around at the movement. When he turns towards James, he can see the amused grin residing on his face—and the long scars adorning it, too.

"No one fights to death here, least of all over their names," he says kindly, eyes twinkling. "And you're the only James. Congratulations on that."

James releases an uncertain breath, eyes flicking back towards Regulus, who is rolling his.

"You lied?" James asks accusingly. Because who lies about things like that?

"Tends to happen," Regulus shrugs, not even looking at James anymore, as if he's already bored by him. James feels weirdly offended by that. 

"Remus," Regulus mutters, addressing the much kinder guy next to him while waving his hand around in lazy fashion, "show that idiot around. Tell him the rules, scare him a little, I don't care. Just make sure he behaves." He glances back down at James, expression unreadable as James openly stares back. "Marlene, get the supplies out of there. And make sure he didn't damage the serum." He throws Remus an annoyed look along the lines of, I told you so, then turns around and leaves. Just like that.

He doesn't look back, though James' eyes follow him until he's out of sight.

"Don't mind him," Remus tells him conspiringly, leaning down and offering his hand to help James out—and this time, James accepts without further comment. He only briefly glances at the scars on Remus' forearms, visible as his sweatshirt rides up over the movement of heaving James up. "He's a bit on edge today."

"Why?" James huffs, not quite ready to give Regulus the benefit of the doubt. James feels on edge too, but he is not going around lying to people about their imminent death, is he now.

"Got a blow to his ego," Remus answers with a wicked smile and a snort, and James figures there's more to the story, though he can't bring himself to ask, too busy taking in his surroundings—which are quite overwhelming, and nothing like he expected them to be. 

He's in the middle of a massive clearing, hundreds of metres of land going on to each side of him, housing little buildings, fields, and even a forest. 

There are a few people around him—around twenty, James would say—eyeing him curiously, some even smiling at him. So far, they all seem quite a bit more friendly than Regulus—whom he can't find around anymore, not even in the distance, and not that James is looking in the first place. 

What he does find though, are walls; several dozens of metres high up, covered in ivy but imposing still. They are hard to miss really, with how huge they are, and they are essentially caving them in as they go all around the clearing, creating one huge square.

It feels just like a bigger box. James releases an unsteady breath.

"Is this a prison?" he asks hesitantly, looking back at Remus, who is watching him patiently.

"The best you could get," he offers, shrugging. "It's home."

A woman walks by them, blonde hair blowing in the light wind before she jumps into the box and starts cleaning up James' mess.

"Sorry about that," he calls down to her, scratching his neck uncomfortably.

"Don't bother," she answers, only briefly glancing up at him.

"That's Marlene," Remus offers, both of them watching as she sorts through the boxes James incidentally brought with him with practiced movements. 

"What's in there?" James questions, nodding towards the boxes.

"Supplies," Remus says. "Food, clothing, meds, all the good stuff. Comes up once a week, and once a month, they throw in some new addition to our little family here. That'd be you this time, of course."

They study each other for a moment, Remus wearing a fascinated expression on his face, looking like this is much more exiting for him than it is for James—who would very much appreciate the chance for a nap right now, truth be told. Some quiet to sort out his thoughts and calm down his heart again, somewhere without a collection of strangers still hovering around him, watching him like he's some kind of attraction. 

"Stop gawking and get lost now, will you," Remus snaps at the overly curious bunch of people, having followed James' anxious gaze apparently. "Don't y'all have jobs to do?"

The group disbands at that, some muttering under their breath, some flashing excusing smiles. They wary in age, though most seem to be in their early twenties, a few older, a few younger. All of them are wearing more or less the same kind of clothing—dark trousers and grey sweatshirts, the same as Remus. 

Though Remus is missing a shoe, weirdly enough. James frowns at the realisation.

"Where is your shoe?" he questions.

Remus looks down at himself, then sighs. "Long story. Come on now, I'm supposed to show you around."

He shakes off his remaining shoe, then starts walking away—barefoot and without further warning. James hurries to catch up with him, throwing a last glance back over his shoulder and meeting Marlene's eye, who quickly looks down again and pretends she hadn't been watching them. 

He feels weirdly unnerved by that, reaching up with one hand to sort through his unruly hair—and the movement strikes him like lightning, because he doesn't actually know what his hair looks like, but the gesture feels familiar, almost fully working on its own. He stops it though—his fingers barely having grazed what he discovers to be a mop of voluminous curls—because when his sleeve rolls up, his eyes catch a vague blob of black ink on his right wrist. He holds his arm out in front of him then, brows drawing together as he stares intently at the numerals tattooed onto his skin. 42, the inside of his wrist reads.

James blinks in confusion.

It looks fresh still, the skin slightly red around each number, the lines still a little swollen. He flexes his wrist carefully, the stretch of his stressed skin hurtful.

What an odd choice of tattoo, he thinks numbly, then hurries after the shoeless stranger. He will have time to properly freak out later, he gathers.

At least he knows where he is, and at least he is not alone in this strikingly weird place, James tries to calm himself—although he would much prefer to know who he is, too. Who is parents are maybe, or what he looks like for example, his age, his last name, or even just why he, very recently apparently, got a tattoo of some random number on his wrist—because current without-memories James isn't quite so thrilled about that choice. 

It makes him feel odd, somehow; as if the tattoo doesn't belong to him, although it is now permanently etched onto his skin, irrevocably a part of him now. His stomach churns uncomfortably at the thought. He decidedly pulls his sleeve down again, forcefully hiding the for some reason irritating numbers.

"How old would you say I am?" James asks Remus when he's caught up with him, looking down at himself quizzically before reaching up to line out his face with tentative fingers. At least his features feel familiar, even if James cannot remember them.

Remus scans him up and down, then quirks a brow. "Forty."

James stops in his tracks. "I'm not forty," he insists, trying to sound more sure of it than he feels. He desperately hopes the number on his wrist isn't actually his age—because James doesn't feel like he is forty-two, and with the rest of the people around him very clearly being in their early twenties, James is starting to sweat at the idea of being so obviously secluded from them by age.

Remus cackles. "Nah, you're not. You look about twenty, I'd say; twenty-two, twenty-three maybe." He shrugs, then looks him up and down again, more intently this time. "You look just the same as everyone else too, though your face is pretty enough."

He side-eyes James, as if challenging him to say something in response to that.

"Do you have a doctor here?" is what James settles on—much to Remus' surprise apparently, judging by the crease appearing between his brows.

"What do you need a doctor for?"

"I don't—I can't remember anything," James admits. "Just—"

"Just your name?" Remus asks, compassionate. "Yeah, we've all been there. They do something to our brains before they send us here, I'd guess. And it's only personal memories too, not basic knowledge about the world—our intelligence is intact, from what I've gathered so far. You remember and understand how the world works, you just don't remember how your world works. There's nothing actually wrong with our brains, so you don't need to worry. You'll get used to it, the lack of memories. Just think of it as a fresh start."

James, unsurprisingly, does not feel very comforted.

"Who's they?"

Remus shrugs. "Damn me, if I would know."

"Is there nothing we can do to bring them back? The memories."

Remus' answer comes slower this time, his eyes growing wary. "Nothing I would recommend, no."

"So there is something," James concludes, which causes Remus to sigh.

"It's your first day here, Jamie. I'd recommend to take it slow. You've got enough to learn already." He grabs James by the shoulder, then turns him around, pointing towards the forest covering the north-east area of the clearing.

"We have four important sections here," he explains. "There's our forest for one. I recommend not going in there alone, or at least to stay close to the edge if you still want to take a little exploration trip in there. It's a lot bigger and more dense than you'd think at first glance, so just try not to get lost. Apart from that it can also get a little creepy, especially when you come across the graveyard."

"The graveyard?" James repeats, forcing his gaze away from the large trees in the distance to fix his eyes on Remus instead, sure to have misheard. 

"From time to time, we've got someone to bury," Remus says darkly, not meeting James' eyes. "We do it in the forest."

James, feeling a little distraught over the unexpected information, thinks that to do something like that, the forest seems to be a rather fitting place at least. It gives the lost souls a quiet place to wander around, to guide them when they are ready to begin their next circle as a little sapling, or maybe as one of the birds James can hear chirping in the distance. It's a good place to rest, and a good one to come back to once more, he finds. 

He doesn't know where his certainty about their fate comes from, but it's comforting nonetheless, to be so sure of their next beginning. James doesn't voice his thoughts out loud though, just quietly gazes at the forest, takes in the way the treetops gently sway in the wind, appreciates the way the sun kisses their leaves and blossoms. It might be his favourite place here already, despite Remus' warnings.

After a moment of quiet, Remus clears his throat. "Next to that," he continues, pointing towards the north-east corner, "we have our fields and gardens. It's where we grow the food that doesn't come up in those nice little boxes—vegetables, fruits, and the likes of it. Pain in the ass to work there, but well, some people love it." He screws up his nose, in a manner that decidedly tells James that Remus is in fact not one of the people who enjoys working there. He holds back a smile at his obvious distaste, though his head is starting to spin a bit, struggling to keep up with his new environment.

"Who decides who works where?" James asks, at which Remus immediately holds up a hand.

"I'm getting there, Jamie. Do not rush me, please." He throws him a smile, then starts walking again, leading them further to the right, towards the edge of the clearing.

The closer they get to the large walls surrounding them, the more James struggles to look away from them. It's not a cage, their clearing, he realises now, not really—because there are square holes to be found, right in the middle of each of the four walls. And they are leading outside. 

James narrows his eyes, unable to see what lies beyond the imposing walls—which is essentially why he quickens his step, moving towards the nearest mysterious opening, willing to find out right about now. He can't help himself; he needs to see, just a small glimpse, needs to find out what—

It's Remus, who takes hold of his arm and gently pulls him back, a cautious expression on his face.

"Maybe I should have started with our rules," he mutters, running a hand through his hair in exasperation, glancing back and forth between James and the wall. "Because that's our biggest one, the most important rule—no one goes out there." His gaze locks with James', assuring himself that he is listening intently—which James struggles to, because his mind is still rather busy trying to figure out what lies beyond these walls. It's almost impossible to focus on anything else right now, as all his thoughts start desperately circling about the sudden urge to find out. 

Maybe he is losing his mind—James feels like it, at least, all insensible urges and lost memories.

"And if you're keen on keeping your life, you'd do well to follow it," Remus adds, though James' interest only perks up more.

"No one goes out there?" he questions, brows drawing together as he risks another glance outside. He can see stone floor, covered by more ivy, apparently leading to a dead end not too far away.

"Well," Remus sighs. "Some chosen people do."

"I—"

"No," Remus interrupts, once more taking James by the shoulder, leading him away. "You don't, I promise. Let's just take a look at the rest of the jobs that are actually available to you."

James lets himself be lead away, but not without another long glance over his shoulder, right at the opening that seems to be calling towards him. 

"What are the other rules?" he asks, looking back at Remus—who won't let go of James' shoulder, as if he's afraid of him running off, making a break for the forbidden outside. To be fair, James thinks he'd like to try.

"Firstly, you don't go out there, ever," Remus repeats once more with emphasis. "Secondly, we respect each other. And thirdly, everyone does their job, and their job only. Quite simple, all three of them."

"Sounds sensible," James nods. "So what happens when you don't follow them?"

Remus narrows his eyes at him in suspicion. "Bad things."

He doesn't elaborate, and James doesn't ask him to. 

They arrive in front of a little dark brown fence, ending at around the level of James' waist. It's only there that Remus finally lets go of him.

"This is our little farm," he states, gesturing around. "You might end up here if you are good with animals—we've got quite a few of them, as you can see."

And James can see them—chickens, pigs, sheep, even some cows strolling around lazily, slowly chewing grass. He cocks his head, wondering how on earth they got in here.

"That's Frank over there," Remus continues, pointing at a buff man feeding some pigs not too far away. When he becomes aware of their attention on him, he waves at them in a friendly matter, brown fringe falling into his eyes. James hesitantly waves back. 

"He's responsible for the whole area here," Remus explains. "We've got one chief per job, but you'll meet them all over the next few days anyway, so I'm not gonna overwhelm you with all their names."

He starts walking again, heading towards the last quarter of the clearing—which is occupied with several constructions. James guesses they are supposed to resemble houses, though the very clearly self-made additions to them do not look too trustworthy, in James' opinion.

"Kitchen and dining area," Remus says, pointing at the only actual house built out of stone and the questionable construction by its side, "next to that we've got our med house, and over there you can find our sleeping areas, though the original house is full by now." He pauses, smiling self-deprecating at James. "Our dining place and the added sleeping area are both results from passionate projects of our past time here, as you can clearly see."

James doubtfully looks at the two mentioned buildings, both brought to life by questionable team work and a dream, apparently. The houses in between them look startlingly different in contrast, one a steady wooden construction with two stories, well enough maintained and looking overall inviting, and the other wooden too, just smaller and with a few holes in its walls. 

James lets his gaze wander over to the makeshift addition to the house that Remus called sleeping area—which is essentially a hut consisting of eight wooden pillars and a thatched roof. There are no walls. There's not even a floor, just trampled grass. The dining place doesn't look much better, upon further inspection. 

James thinks back to the box, miserably concluding that it wasn't actually that bad.

"You don't have any architects here, do you?" James deadpans.

Remus snorts, eyes twinkling. "What gave it away? But it's not that bad, actually."

James shakes his head, smirking slightly, then narrows his eyes.

"What's in there?"

He's pointing at the smallest of the buildings, the one Remus had been deliberately ignoring. It's sat apart from the rest of them, made out of metal, with mirrored windows and an electric box next to its door, a red light on it blinking merrily. 

"We're not allowed in there," Remus offers with a careless shrug.

"What's it for then?"

"The runners," Remus grits out, intent on giving James as little information as possible apparently.

"And what are the runners?"

"The people who go out into the maze."

He realises his mistake at the same time as James does, shoulders slumping down as James perks up.

"The maze?" he repeats, eyes wandering over to the walls again. "Outside these walls is a maze?"

Remus sighs in defeat. "Technically, we are inside the maze, right in the middle of it. But I'm not actually supposed to tell you any of that this early. It's not protocol."

James ignores him.

"So this building is solely for the runners. But what are they doing in there?"

Remus considers him for a long moment, then says, "They draw maps."

"For the maze?" James asks, frowning at him.

The brunet nods briskly. "Time for questions is over now though, or else you'll get me in serious trouble." He claps his hands. "You know the rules, you've got the tour, now you need a job. Newbies rotate in their first week through all of our possibilities so we can see where they fit best. We've got the kitchen workers, the medics, the cleaners, fields workers, garden helpers, construction workers, and the animal caretakers. Anything of interest where you would like to start?"

James quirks a brow at him.

Remus groans.

"Could have seen that one coming," he grumbles. "Look, I can have a word with Regulus about the runner thing if you really want to, though newbies have little to no chance."

"Regulus?" James repeats meekly, feeling his heart sink at the realisation that if Regulus is the one making the decision about the job distribution, James' chances are quite a lot slimmer than just little to none.

"Ah, don't look like that," Remus says, bumping their shoulders together. "Regulus is fair and square, trust me. He goes after suitability, not personal preference—we'd have no runners otherwise. Let me talk to him and we'll see. But I need you to cooperate a bit here, get a taste of a few different jobs at first."

"Put me anywhere you like," James says, starting to feel a little overwhelmed again. He finds himself belatedly realising that this is his home now, this strange clearing surrounded by walls, apparently in the middle of a giant maze. James is not sure how to feel about any of that—and he's still trying to ignore the extant of how much the lack of his memories is bothering him.

"How about medics?" Remus asks with a smile—that disappears when he sees James pale at the suggestion. "Or…not medics, got it."

"I'm not the best with blood," James explains apologetically. 

"What about the gardens then? Working with the plants is pretty chill usually, and it might be a good activity for you to come to terms with your new environment and all the changes it brings with it." His voice softens. "I know that the first few days are hard—we've all had them." 

James releases a shaky breath, swallows, then nods. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"Perfect! We—"

Suddenly, a commotion breaks out and Remus stops mid-sentence, turning towards the unexpected loud noises, expression tense.

"Help!" someone screams, and James feels the blood in his veins freeze at hearing the pure desperation in the calling voice. Next to him, Remus goes still too. "We need help! Someone, please!"

It's a man who stumbles into view—and James needs a few more seconds to make sense of the fact that he is coming from outside, right from the maze, which makes him a runner, apparently. 

And he surely is running right now, dragging a limp body with him as fast as he can, not even slowing down when they reach the safety of the clearing—or well, James hopes the clearing means safety at least. He starts panicking a little, because what if it doesn't? Never mind that he doesn't even now what the guy is running from in the first place—but it's got to be bad, judging by the horrified look on his face.

He is red-faced and sweaty, long brown hair sticking to his forehead as he stares helplessly down at the limp body in his arms.

It's a woman, and at first James thinks she is dead already—but then she moans weakly, very clearly in utter pain, and James thinks she would be better off that way, because he will never forget that noise, and how it turns into a painful sob, sounding as if she cannot breathe.

A door slams shut, causing James to whip his head around—because he is pretty sure of the fact that on the whole clearing, there is only one door that can actually be slammed shut—to watch Regulus run towards the two arrivals, his expression stormy, mouth tight.

He is fast, James thinks, which is a weird realisation in a dire situation like this, and most definitely not something James should focus on now. 

"When?" he demands as he comes to a sudden stop before the two runners—and he's not even slightly out of breath from his sprint. 

"Hours ago," the man answers, breathing rapidly as Regulus crouches slightly to peer into the woman's face, carefully brushing her knotted hair out of her face. "We were almost at the end of our route when it came out of nowhere—I had to carry her all the way back."

Regulus lets his hand fall away again, opening his mouth to say something to the frantic man in return, but James doesn't hear his words—because right at this moment, another woman runs towards them, and starts screaming over what she sees.

It's a drawn out, "No," turning into frantic wails of the repeated exclamation as she drops down to her knees a few metres away, eyes glued to the two runners in shock. Her round face is deadly pale, a stark contrast to the dark brown of her hair and eyes, which she hides behind her hands, as if she cannot bear the sight in front of her. 

"Goddammit," Remus mutters next to James, who is growing more and more disturbed, heart beating rapidly in his chest. 

He has no idea what is happening right now, but he knows it's bad—terrible even.

Regulus turns towards them, his eyes finding Remus without any struggle, skipping right over James as if he's not even aware of his presence. He inclines his chin, and Remus nods quickly.

"Look," he says to James, who stares at him wide-eyed. "I need to take care of that—"

"Will she survive?"

Remus draws back, shaking his head in surprise. "What? Of course! She'll be fine."

"She doesn't look fine," James states, stressed as his eyes follow the man carrying the woman away, with Regulus walking in front of them, snapping left and right at people to sod off. 

"Is some…thing following them?" James asks subdued, caught between not really wanting an answer to that and desperately craving reassurance.

"Nothing's following anyone," Remus assures him—though he's lacking conviction in James' opinion, eyes nervously flicking around the clearing. "Just—try to stay away from Evan."

James sucks in another breath, wondering who on earth Evan is now. "Is he…dangerous?"

In answer, Remus looks at him as if James said something deranged, his whole face scrunching up in confusion. "No, of course not. He's just a terrible pain in the ass. You won't be able to get rid of him—clingy as hell, that idiot. Talked to him once and now we're besties, apparently."

He shudders, warily glancing around himself as if he's expecting that Evan guy to pop up next to him—though when his eyes land on the still crying woman not too far from them, his expression sobers, the corners of his mouth tugging downwards.

"You just…take a nap, all right?"

"Take a nap?" James repeats, slightly hysterical. He's not sure if he can ever sleep again—at least not here, in this clearing, when something is out there, hurting people to this extent. 

"Yeah," Remus confirms, starting to walk away from James, backwards to keep up their eye-contact. "And stay away from the maze," he yells, holding up his index finger. "I mean it. I'll find you later."

He turns around, coming to a stop next to the woman still on her knees, whispering something to her that convinces her to stand up on wobbly legs, grabbing onto Remus' arm in support. They fasten their steps, and James watches them until they disappear into what must be the med house. 

Even after they have disappeared out of his sight, James stays rooted to his spot, anxiety fighting a war inside of him. Because when he looks back towards the opening the two runners came through, he is one hundred percent convinced that nothing could persuade him to get out there himself, not with the possibility of meeting whatever is out there, attacking people. 

So then why does the urge to run out into the maze still persist so strongly inside of him? Why can't he look away from it, stop his thoughts from circling around it so desperately?

James is even starting to rationalise the whole thing in his mind—because he didn't see any blood, so maybe there hadn't been an actual attack. Maybe the it that came out of nowhere had been a heart attack; maybe there was nothing out there to be afraid of after all. 

But then again, maybe there was.

In the end, he is rescued from his frozen state by someone stepping right into his line of sight, effectively cutting off James' rigid stare at the mysteriously horrifying maze.

"Planing on making a break for it?" the man suddenly in front of him asks. James doesn't answer, instead curiously taking in his newest acquaintance. 

He's got short blond hair, dark skin, and twinkling eyes full of mischief that make James narrow his in contemplation. He is forming a theory about who the guy in front of him is.

"I'm Evan," the man says, flashing his teeth and confirming James' thoughts.

"Of course you are," he sighs, then offers his hand. "James."

"Oh, I know," Evan smirks. "Heard all about you already."

"Did you?" James laughs, grateful for the distraction. "From whom? Regulus?"

He's fully joking, so the shock is understandable when Evan actually nods at his joke, still smirking at him. "The one and only."

"What—?" James splutters, alarmed. "Did he—What?"

"It's pretty easy to piss him off, though succeeding in annoying him during the very first two minutes of your arrival is certainly an accomplishment, I'll give you that."

Evan nods at him in respect, as if James' breakneck interaction with Regulus earlier is something to be proud of. 

"It wasn't too bad, was it?" James asks timidly. "Is he very resentful?"

"Regulus?" Evan laughs, for some reason delighted over the question. "Mate, I'm pretty sure he invented holding a grudge. You either—"

He gets interrupted by a scream, its sound so gut-wrenching that James' heart almost stops. It's such a painful wail, such a desperate cry for help, so audibly birthed by pure agony—a distressed howl of hurt that takes James' breath away as it burns itself into his memories. 

Everyone around him seems to freeze for a short moment, equally unsteady in what they have now fallen witness to as seconds stretch into infinity and time suspends. 

Evan gulps, tightly working his jaw as he looks over at the med house, from where those horrific sounds keep coming. James, respectively slack-jawed, with anxiety wiring his body until his muscles and joints ache, ready to snap, follows his gaze, thinking about the injured woman. He can't stop thinking about her; her weak body, pale face, sweaty skin.

Because it must be coming from her, the voice that keeps producing these sounds of utter torment—though her screams don't sound very human anymore. They sound like death, maybe even worse than that somehow.

After what could have been only a single moment or countless of them, movement starts up around James again, the people of the clearing slowly continuing to go their ways, though their faces stay drawn, their eyes dark. 

They already know this, James realises, studying the tense lines of their bodies, trying to find an answer to why no one is rushing to help as he himself stays rooted to the ground, heart pounding.

The screams and wails go on for so long that James is anxiously starting to think they will never stop—but then they do, disappearing as abruptly as they started. 

The air grows eerily silent in their absence, and James suddenly feels cold, shivering in the soft breeze blowing around him.

He can't bring himself to move.

Evan stays next to him too, eyes on James again, assessing. His face softens a little when James' wide eyes focus on him, full of obvious panic.

"Everything's fine," he says reassuringly, but James has been greeted in this strange place with a lie, and he does not trust a single one of them here.

"What was that?" he demands, voice shaking.

"Emmeline," Evan answers easily, as if people were supposed to make noises like this.

"What happened to her?"

At this, Evan scratches his neck, looking uncertain. "Well, about that…," He glances around, then grimaces over apparently not finding what he is looking for. "I'm not really supposed to tell you any of that stuff yet."

James squares his shoulders, trying to present himself as much more self-assured than he currently feels—which isn't that much of an achievement in the end, because James feels a little like someone pulled out the ground from right under his feet, and even just continuing to stand up portrays him as more stable than he actually feels on the inside.

"I deserve to know," he declares, resolute.

Evan only blinks, unperturbed. "Yeah sure mate, but you also deserve to keep your sanity. It's only your first day here, and we don't wanna overwhelm you with the whole shitload at once. Not risking that pretty head of yours to explode on me."

"I want answers about what is happening here. I need them, and I deserve them."

"And you'll get them," Evan says, holding up his hands placatingly. "Just not now, and not from me either." 

"So you just expect me to wait until y'all decide that I'm ready?" James asks incredulously, his voice rising in tune with his anger. "Am I just supposed to merrily start some job in this weird place of which I have no idea how or why I got sent to, all the while pretending to be fine with my lack of memories and the fact that there was some kind of attack today? Are you expecting me to forget the sounds of those screams?"

"Look mate," Evan snaps, massaging the bridge of his nose. "I admit that the timing's pretty shit right now for you, but you can't stand there acting like you are some special guy. All of us went through the same circus of emotions you're jumping through now, and you'll just need to trust us about the fact that we're not withholding information to feed into your current misery, but because it's the best for now. You're safe here."

"I don't feel safe," James shouts. "In fact, I am starting to feel the polar opposite of it!"

"That's valid," Evan nods calmly. "But it doesn't change—"

"What on earth attacked that woman like this? Tell me, Evan. Please."

"I can't," Evan says, having the audacity to sound helpless. 

Can't or won't? James thinks grimly.

"Fine then," he huffs out loud, turning around to march off, leaving Evan behind to frown at his retreating back.

"Where are you…oh, no you don't," Evan huffs, following after him. "You are not just barging in there!"

Interestingly, he doesn't actually try to stop James though, choosing to stay behind him instead.

"Are you following me in order to hold me back or to watch the show?" James questions sharply over his shoulder, not slowing down on his way towards the med house.

"I'm still trying to decide," Evan answers, sounding rather amused with the whole situation. He is driving James a little mad, truth be told. "You are entertaining, I'll give you that. But let me just remind you once more that you are making a horrible decision right now."

James almost doesn't hear him, the blood rushing so loudly in his ears, spurring him on relentlessly.

"I don't care," he snaps angrily.

"I can tell," Evan hums, not rising to his provocations. "Just wanted to inform you either way. It's my duty as your new friend, don't you think? Might even say some nice words at your commemoration; 'Never got the chance to get to know him all that well, but his bravery truly was unmatched in the few hours he was able to showcase it.'" He laughs, then quietly hums to himself in thought, causing James to glance back over his shoulder once more, interest piqued against his will. 

"Do you have a middle name?" Evan muses, meeting his eyes. "That would make the whole thing even better, in my opinion."

James huffs, then turns away from Eva again, frustrated with…everything, really. "I don't remember."

"He says darkly, continuing his deliberate march towards his own tragic end," Evan narrates from behind him.

James ignores him, mind elsewhere already.

They are in front of the med house now, only a few more strides away from at least some of the answers James needs—about mysterious attacks and horrid screams and their horrible connection. Just so few steps away from the confirmation that the sick woman is still alive—like Remus and Evan promised her to be—against James' terrible beliefs after hearing what he did.

He tries to brace himself to find her lifeless body in there as he takes his last resolute strides towards the door—then he almost slows down at the thought of Regulus being in there too, all glaring eyes and tight lips.

Only almost, though.
James still throws open the door—with much more grandeur anyone ever needs to use while opening a door—steadying himself as he takes in…nothing.

He expected a huge room flooded with light, and beds rowed next to each other, housing several sick inhabitants—at least one of them desperately trashing in her death throes. But what he gets is a hallway, only a lone chair standing by the end of it. Its walls are panelled with cozy light brown wood, decorated with some pictures too. James frowns.

"Second door," Evan offers helpfully from behind him. 

And it's not that James trusts him—indeed, he does not—but he wordlessly decides to stop questioning his motives at least; there is enough going on in James' brain already for him to worry about.

It proves to be the right decision too, because when James moves forward to open said door—more hesitantly now as parts of his anger drop off of him, getting replaced by the anxiety of being somewhere he is very much not supposed to be—five familiar silhouettes come into view as he peaks inside the room.

This one is much more like the version of a sickroom he expected to find earlier—bright walls which are still wooden, but without the pictures on them now, a sink next to a long counter full of different equipment that James cannot name, a drawer, some chairs, and a bed in the middle of the room, four people in various degrees of distress to be found around it.

There's the man who carried the attacked woman with him, his hands gripping his hair in desperation as he rapidly talks, stumbling over his words too much for James to make much sense of them. He catches enough I'm sorry's and My fault's to get an idea of his stressed rambling though.

Then there is Regulus, who keeps interrupting the man with questions, shaking his head continuously as his own fingers tap anxious patters against his thigh.

Remus is behind him, sitting in one of the chairs and rapidly jotting down notes in a ratty notebook, worrying his lip whenever he looks up to study the patient resting next to him on the bed. The woman who sank to her knees in sheer agony sits on the other side of it, wringing her hands as if to keep them from reaching out, her eyes red but empty as she stares in front of her, unseeing.

Against all of his darkest fears, the attacked woman—Emmeline, James has to remind himself—is alive. Though if it were not for the very obvious rise and fall of her chest James wouldn't be too sure of it. 

He only just saw her, not even fifteen minutes ago—so there is absolutely no explanation to be found for why she looks halfway gone already, her appearance having changed so drastically in so little time. Her skin is still sweaty, but it is ghostly pale now too, her face some sick grey-greenish colour, her knotted wild hair sticking to both her forehead and cheeks in already greasy strands. There are dark circles under her eyes as if she hasn't slept in days, and they create a startling contrast to the tiny dark red drops of blood on her lips, escaping through the countless cracks dryness has put there. 

She looks horrible, James thinks—even before he notices that all of her veins have somehow turned black and pulsing. 

But before he can react to that, Emmeline's sleep-like condition changes and she starts trashing wildly, whimpers escaping her locked jaw.

"No," she screeches fearfully, her voice husky. She's starting to claw frantically at her eyes without ever opening them, as if to get rid of whatever she is seeing in her current fever dreams. 

Remus jumps into motion at once, effectively taking hold of her wrists before she can do any further damage than the few deep scratches she already succeeded in creating on her face—just as her body starts convulsing almost violently. 

She is shaking and trembling now, her joints locking and unlocking, her limbs flailing around as she tries to fight off whatever she must be seeing currently, whatever can bring these terrified noises she keeps making to the surface. She seems to believe herself to be some place entirely different right now, wholly unaware of her current surroundings as both Remus and Regulus try to stop her aggressive trashing. The other man starts begging for her to stop loudly, sounding terribly pained by the sight of her undoing, helplessly ducking out of her reach as to not be hit by her flailing foot.

It's a particularly violent throw that causes her sweatshirt to ride up—and James cannot help but look, his disbelieving eyes immediately drawn to the sight he cannot explain to himself. Because there is a wound to be found on the side of her waist, a swollen bulb of both angry red and deep purple at the same, oozing a sickening pus that is already smearing her whole side. Her skin around it seems stretched thin and almost translucent, especially considering the fact that the veins around the bulb have more than doubled their size and have turned a startling black—which James somehow almost managed to forget to freak out over at the sudden start of her struggles. Now though, he cannot look away from them, distraughtly observing their rapid pulsing—which is probably in tune to the frantic beating of her heart. 

Just then, Emmeline's waist lifts itself up, her upper body convulsing as shivers wreak through it and another helpless cry escapes her bleeding lips.

Like in a trance, James takes an uncertain step into the room, towards the trashing woman, wondering if he could possibly help, wondering what on earth is happening to her—when Regulus' eyes snap towards him, his gaze summoned by James' movement. 

And James has lost the entirety of his memories, but as Regulus' blue eyes narrow at him, flashing with anger, he is still pretty sure to never have regretted anything more than stepping into this very room.

"Get him the fuck out of here!" Regulus yells furiously as he struggles with protecting Emmeline from herself.

James doesn't even fight when Evan's arm curls itself around his chest, pulling James backwards and out of the room. The door falls shut in front of his face again, muffling the sounds of Emmeline's trashing. 

Though when her screams start up a minute later, the door doesn't do much to muffle those anymore; they find their way right into James' ear, burying themselves deep into his mind, creating more and more memories he wishes he could forget.

Meanwhile Evan—a mind reader, apparently—blindly leads James outside, coming to a stop not too far away. He is already reassuringly patting his back before James starts dry heaving—which quickly turns into honest retching.

"I didn't know," he heaves pathetically, "that it would be this bad."

"Try listening to the advice you're offered next time," Evan mutters, his pats turning a tad more forceful for a moment. "I heard that helps."

"I'm sorry," James croaks miserably, right before another wave of nausea overcomes him and he throws up some more.

"I know," Evan sighs, gazing back towards the house they just came from. "We all are, trust me."

***

The fire merrily crackling in front of him is warm, but James cannot quite manage to shake the cold from his bones. It has buried itself deep in them, comfortably settled inside his body now, maliciously reminding him of what he saw and heard. 

Not that James needs a reminder on that in the first place.

He is staring right into the flames, trying to burn those pictures out of his retinas, causing his eyes to tear up from a dangerous combination of the bright light, the smoke, and the disbelief over the terrible things that are going on in this weird place apparently. 

He wants to leave, desperately. James wants to go home.

Wherever that might be.

"You've certainly had a day, huh," Remus sighs, sitting down next to James, gently pressing their sides together. The weight of another human is startlingly comforting to James' anxious and tension filled body. He can feel his tense muscles relax a little—and he desperately wants to lean in, craves some comfort, just a little reassurance, but he stays right where he is, in front of a campfire, caught somewhere he does not want to be, with people he cannot trust.

"How do I find the way out?" he asks tonelessly, eyes not straying from the dancing flames.

Remus hiccups up a surprised laugh. "Tell me if you do." He crosses his legs in front of him, then sighs, growing serious again. "There is none, as far as we know."

"I don't think I want to stay here," James whispers.

He doesn't quite know why he's admitting something so vulnerable to this almost-stranger next to him, why he doesn't even try to hide the fear from his voice when he is so certain that no one on this clearing can be truly trusted. Maybe it's simply because this very thought makes James feel terribly alone.

"I know," Remus answers quietly. "Many of us don't want to, but we all get used to it, after a while. You've had the worst luck when it comes to first days here, I'll give you that, but you can't change being here, so try making the best out of it at least. Give yourself some proper time to settle in, talk to some people, actually listen to their advice, take it a little slower now. I promise you we are not withholding anything from you, Jamie. We're just trying to spare you the mental breakdown you seem so intent on giving yourself."

"If I ask you some questions, will you answer them?" James inquires, finally turning to look at the man next to him. Remus grimaces.

"Yes, along with repeated advice of dropping the whole matter for now and instead getting some sleep and food into you. But yes, I'll answer anything you want. Anyone here will."

James studies him for a long moment, eyes skipping over his face, searching for the traces of insincerity he half expects to find there—but does not.

"Here," Remus says after a long pause, holding out a previously unnoticed bowl of food for James to take with a smile. "You should eat something. You'll feel better—a little, at least."

James takes the bowl hesitantly, eyeing its contents warily. It's stew—a simple but good smelling one, with a wide variety of vegetables swimming in it. 

"I don't know if I can eat something," he admits.

Those damned memories won't leave his head.

"You gotta try," Remus shrugs, spooning some his own serving of stew into his mouth, humming. "Go give your poor body some vitamins or you'll drop unconscious tomorrow and I'll have to work overtime."

"You work in the med house, right?" James asks, hesitantly taking a spoon of stew, the taste of it pleasantly exploding in his mouth, unexpectedly igniting his hunger. 

Remus hums in answer. "It's usually much more chill than today, just some people coming by to let me look over some little cut or burn, mostly gardeners and cooks of course. I get them a salve, tame their worries, and pat their shoulders when I send them back again. Nothing too serious."

James ponders over Remus' words, slowly taking another bite of his stew. It's surprisingly well seasoned for their dire environment, he finds.

"Do you think you were some kind of doctor before…this?"

"I know about as much about my life before arriving at this dream destination as you do, Jamie—which is admittedly very little, yes. I can tell you some pretty cool facts about human bodies—especially about our brains—that no one else here seems to know—but I wouldn't count on me successfully following through with a brain surgery because of that. I don't know what that makes me, but it's not likely that I will ever find out, so I try not to worry about it too much."

James nods to himself, slightly envious of Remus' apparent carefree attitude towards the whole thing. James, on the other hand, cannot stop thinking about how fucked up everything about this seems. He keeps wondering why anyone would deliberately take their memories from them. Did they know something that they shouldn't? Or had they done something maybe, all these people around him, including himself? Something so horrible that it made them all deserve this—whatever this is? 

He even believes it for a few moments—that this clearing is their punishment for something awful they did—but then he remembers Emmeline's trashing body, and the sounds she made while she lost her grip on her own sanity. And James has to be wrong, because no one deserves that.

"Why did she start screaming so late?" James asks. "That woman, Emmeline. What did you…what did you do to her?"

"It's the serum," Remus explains gently. "It's an antidote, somehow, though it is much more painful than the infection is itself—at first, at least, in its earlier state."

James studies him, searching his eyes for a lie.

"So she was screaming because you were healing her?"

"Essentially, yes. It's not pretty, but it is much better than the alternative."

For once, James doesn't press for a further explanation. What he saw looked like pure horror to him already, and thinking about a fate worse than that makes him sick with fear.

"She will be fine now?"

Remus sighs deeply. "Her condition will improve over the next few days, and her body will recover fully from what we know so far. The rest…time will tell." He clears his throat, blinking rapidly as if he too, still struggles with what he saw. "This must all be a bit much for you."

James releases a startled laugh that lacks actual amusement. It's his repressed hysteria talking, at this point. "You could say that. But I want to know, to understand."

"We all do," Remus agrees quietly. "I think that's our own undoing, sometimes. This hunger for the very knowledge that isn't granted to us in here."

"Why do you think they keep it from us? This knowledge, our memories."

Remus shakes his head, his mouth turning down as it is now him who stares into the crackling flames, lost in thought. "I don't know."

They are quiet for a while after Remus' admission, the weight of the uncertainty surrounding them almost suffocating them, at least for James. 

But instead of going back to mindlessly staring into the hissing fire and hurting his eyes, James starts to look around himself now, trying to keep track of the surroundings he'd let himself grow unaware of in his earlier shock. 

He is behind the kitchen building now, sat on the same bench Evan deposited him earlier, patting his back and telling him to "stay put and soak in the warmth". James had been doing that, to be fair—though he keeps shivering from time to time, whenever he catches his mind wandering off towards what he saw. Even the fire in front of him doesn't seem to help much with that. 

There are other people around him, growing in number the longer he sits here. A few faces he recognises already, but most of them he hasn't seen before. They take care to stay away from him, giving him the space he probably looks to be in desperate need of. Though they do still glance at him curiously from where they are distributed on benches and at tables around the area, eating their stew. 

James is overly aware of their collective attention, their uncensored interest, the way he is the odd one out right now. They're probably talking about him as they slurp their food, whispering about everything he already did wrong in the few hours he has been here.

It helps a little, to have Remus next to him. James feels less of an attraction with him and more of a person, grows a little surer of his place here—or at least sure enough to stop wishing to be invisible.

It's why he doesn't look away, when he spots Regulus. He is all sharp angles and beautiful features, his expression tense as he looks around in a casual fashion, holding his own bowl of stew while searching for something. Next to him is Evan, intently focused on Regulus as he keeps talking to him, unconsciously adjusting his own pace to match Regulus' when the latter slows down a little, craning his neck now. It takes him a moment to locate what he is looking for—or who, rather, because his object of interest seems to be Remus. An irritated crease appears between his arched brows when he finds his friend sitting next to James—over whom his gaze skips altogether, as if Regulus doesn't even notice him there. 

James, respectively, feels himself grow a little irritated over that—Regulus could see him just fine when James stepped into the sickroom earlier now, couldn't he?—though he tries to breathe through his unfitting annoyance, thinking that maybe he should find some time soon to apologise about accidentally insulting Regulus and then continuously doing the opposite of what he was told to do. Maybe James' behaviour has indeed not be on its best so far.

Still, he thinks, grumbling slightly to himself, it's not necessary to full on ignore his existence. 

But, after having located his friend, Regulus does exactly that, casually fastening his step without an ounce of hesitation as he moves past the campfire James and Remus are sitting in front of.

"He's a curious one, our newest," James hears Evan say in amusement, having followed Regulus' brief gaze towards him apparently. He sends a slight smile in James' direction, then directs a wink at Remus, who concentrates hard on ignoring it.

As he glances back over his shoulder, briefly eyeing James, one corner of Regulus' mouth tugs itself upwards. "Not for much longer," he answers, a lock of hair falling in his face, which is illuminated by the warm glow of the fire. The light catches his eyes only for a few seconds, but James still finds himself unable to look away. 

Next to James, Remus frowns uneasily, watching his friends stroll away. Evan says something else, to which Regulus only shrugs, and then their conversation comes to a momentary stop as they choose to sit by the blonde girl James has seen a few times already—Marlene, that's what she's called, he thinks—who quirks a brow in interest as the two men sit down. She says something, causing Evan to laugh loudly und Regulus to splutter, and for some reason, James wishes he would know what they are talking about, wishes to sit at their table, to see the slightly annoyed smile on Regulus' face from a little closer.

"He's a nice guy, really," Remus says, snapping James out of whatever weird place his thoughts seem so keen on disappearing off to. He keeps wondering if something more than just his memory loss is wrong with his brain—because frankly, nothing is making much sense anymore up there.

"Regulus?" James asks, checking to see if he misheard Remus maybe—because truthfully, he can't really see it just yet…or ever. 

But Remus nods, smiling over James' disbelieving expression. "Yeah, Reg. He's got a lot of responsibility on his shoulders here, so he's gotta be a little stern, you know? But once you get to know him, he's actually a good one." His voice softens. "He's fair, and he really only wants what's best for all of us lost souls in here. The two of you just had a bad start."

James just hums in answer, his mind elsewhere already. 

"I need to get out there," he states without preamble as his eyes wander over to the nearest opening in the walls again, from where the glimpses of the outside are still whispering to him. He doesn't care whether Regulus is a nice person or not; James cares about why on earth he keeps feeling like he is meant to be on the other side of these imposing walls.

"What you need," Remus sighs, his expression grave, "is to follow the rules. And you need to understand that we aren't just a random collection of brainwashed outcasts here—we are a group, a community. There's no space for anyone trying to push back simply for their own sake, and if you keep doing what you are doing, you won't find the place here that you need to survive. We have worked years to achieve the kind of order you seem to disagree on so far, but we won't let it be taken away just because you feel like causing an uproar over something you don't fully understand yet."

James turns slightly, meeting Remus' stern gaze. "I don't know this place. Or any of you guys."

"You can change that," Remus answers, softening both his voice and eyes. "I'm not saying we have to be your family, but this is your home now, whether you like it or not. It's only your first day here, and it's been a tough one, but things will only get better if you allow yourself to try. Take your time, but find your place here, Jamie. It's not just about you anymore now—it's about all of us, and it's about safety, too. You already saw what exactly is at stake, didn't you?"

He swallows at the unpleasant reminder, then quietly admits, "I don't feel safe here." 

He doesn't know how else to put his worries into words, how to voice that he cannot see himself fitting in anywhere between the lot of them, not when his skin is already itching from the need to get away from here, every part of himself desperate to find safety again.

Remus, in return, somehow seems surprised by James' statement—as if the thought of being afraid never crossed his mind. His gaze flicks upwards, studying the sky for a moment. Then, he stands. 

"Come on," he says, gesturing at James to follow him. "This place is the safest you can get, and I'll show you exactly why."

James, not too sure about the whole thing, follows him hesitantly.

They drop off their emptied bowls in the kitchen—a comfortable looking room with much more kitchen appliances than James would have ever suspected, causing him to briefly wonder about how on earth they've got electricity here, apparently—then Remus continues ushering him towards the nearest opening leading outside. 

This time, it is James who slows down. 

"I thought we're not supposed to go out there," he questions tentatively, thinking this might be some kind of weird test. 

He's not sure what he would do now, when faced with the option of leaving. He still wants to, still feels that odd urge to discover what lies beyond the clearing, but he cannot shake the images of Emmeline trashing and screaming, the way her black veins pulsed tattooed into his brain. She came back like this from out there.

"We're not," Remus snorts, coming to a stand. "But it's almost time."

"Time for what?"

"Just watch."

James doesn't even get the time to grow frustrated over the once more delayed answer—because only seconds later, a loud scraping noise makes him pause right in his tracks. He starts looking around, trying to figure out where it's coming from, when he notices that Remus' eyes haven't moved from where they are fixed onto the nearest opening. 

James frowns, then follows his gaze, watching intently, waiting. 

And as if on cue, the walls move. 

Well, it's not the huge walls themselves that are moving actually, but only the parts of them that create the opening he finds himself so interested in. The left and right side of it are inching towards each other, the loud creaking and grinding noises hurting his ears as they work on erasing the opening—like a huge door slowly coming to a close. And it's not just happening with the opening the two of them are currently standing in front of—James can see the lower parts of the walls moving together all around the clearing, the very same occurring at each of the four openings apparently.

"Are those doors?" James asks, a little out of breath from simply witnessing the spectacle.

"They close every evening at the exact same time, then open every morning again," Remus nods. "So for each night, they are closed."

Caging them in, James thinks.

Then, Or locking something else out.

What is out there, he silently asks, too afraid to actually get the words out.

He quietly watches the door in front of him move closed, the two walls meeting with a startling banging noise, the sound multiplied by the simultaneous closing of the three other doors, loud in the following silence.

Next to him, Remus cocks his head. Their eyes meet, and slowly James nods in understanding. 

"We're safe here," he states, surprised over how relieved he sounds.

"We are," Remus confirms with a small smile. "We'll tell you the whole rest during the next few days. You've seen enough for now. Gotta give that brain of yours some time to start processing it all before we accidentally overload you."

In answer, James yawns, the load of today catching up to him without warning as if his body decided to drop down his defences after being informed of its temporary safety. Remus' expression softens towards him.

"We should get you settled now, let you get some sleep."

"Uh, can I show him around?" asks an exited voice from suddenly right behind them. Remus closes his eyes in resignation even before James realises that it is Evan who has just spoken.

"How do you do that?" Remus huffs, exasperated as he glares over his shoulder.

Evan grins, stepping between the two of them. 

"Wouldn't you like to know," he gibes, poking Remus' shoulder with his index finger. "Let me show our little troublemaker his bed. Reg wants to see you anyway."

Remus sighs in resignation, his shoulders dropping down. "Is he being moody again?"

"You know Reg," Evan shrugs. 

"That I do," Remus agrees, sounding pitiful. "All right, best not to let him wait for too long then. I'm going to leave you with Evan, and neither of the two of you will make me regret that, are we clear?"

He fixes first James, then Evan with a prolonged stare of distrust, the resignation over probably regretting his decision in the not too far away future written clearly on his face. 

James smiles meekly at him, positive that at least now, there's no reason for the wariness in Remus' eyes, because finding a bed and getting some sleep does sound rather promising to James.

Maybe he'll wake up to find out that everything about this has been an utterly silly dream, and he will laugh about in the morning, together with his family. 

He doesn't actually believe that, though. Not really.

"Will you still talk to Regulus about the runner thing?" James inquires before Remus can leave and take this opportunity with him.

"Already making requests?" Evan questions, eyes glimmering in interest. 

Both Remus and James ignore him.

"I'll make sure to mention it," Remus sighs, then holds up his finger. "That, and your willingness to cooperate. So don't you forget about that either."

"I won't," James promises, and Remus, after once more narrowing his eyes in their direction, turns around and walks off, disappearing to find Regulus.

James watches his retreat, wondering. His thoughts effortlessly circle back to one of their new favourite topics—and it's not the maze around their clearing, this time.

"Is everyone always doing what Regulus says?" he asks, not quite sure why this seems to be bothering him. He doesn't even really know that guy, for god's sake.

"More or less," Evan offers, studying him in interest.

"Why?"

"Force of habit?" Evan shrugs, causing James to frown.

"Don't you guys think something along the lines of democracy would be of more use than just following orders issued by one random guy?"

Evan cackles, then slaps James' shoulder in amusement. "Let's send you off to sleep, little revolutionary. We don't want Reg getting wind of the trouble you're trying to stir up—poor guy is gonna pop a blood vessel from all the stress."

"I'm just saying," James mutters.

"I hear you," Evan grins. "But we've got about forty people in here, and everyone gets to say what they want, whenever they want. Even have a cute little counsel, if it soothes your just heart. Reg is not our violent leader, he just makes sure things go the way they are supposed to—and everyone is more than fine with it, I promise."

"So it's just me he doesn't like?"

"Oh no, that sentiment belongs to mostly everyone," Evan says, making it sound like a reassuring statement. 

James does indeed not feel very reassured. He sighs.

"Sleep sounds good," he says, because honestly, it does. Right now, he'd very much like to bury his head in a nice pillow, hide under a good blanket, and try to forget the crazy place he's landed himself in. He can still worry about the Regulus-situation tomorrow. 

"Don't sound too exited though," Evan says, starting to walk. "The house is full already, and the alternative is not furnished, but it's comfortable enough."

James makes no move to follow Evan, instead staying frozen exactly where he is. 

They have got to be kidding him.

"I am not…getting a bed?" he repeats incredulously.

"Beds are a limited resource here," Evan cackles merrily, ignoring James' put off expression. He doesn't even stop walking. "You've seen the amount of people here, haven't you?"

"Where do I sleep then? On the ground?"

"Bingo," Evan confirms, flashing him a smile when James finally catches up to him, brought into movement by sheer disbelief. "But it's not as bad as it sounds."

By now, James is growing wary about all the things that apparently aren't as bad as they sound. He's starting to think it's their slogan here, and he's getting the feeling that they are lying too—because so far, things seem even worse than they sound.

"Did you get used to it?" he questions dejectedly.

Evan's eyebrows climb up in surprise. "Me? Oh no, I've got a bed."

"'Course you bloody do," James mutters.

He thinks back to the makeshift addition on the side of the house that he saw earlier—the hut-like construction with grass as its floor and no walls. It comes into view once more as Evan leads him towards it, and James curses himself for thinking bad of it earlier, because having to sleep there now must be some kind of karma for his misbehaving today. Even sleeping in the slowly starting to fall apart dining area seems more inviting now than sleeping outside sounds.

At least he won't be alone, James thinks darkly, eyeing the few people that have already made themselves at home on the trampled grass, curled together under thin blankets.

"A huge construction mistake, in my opinion," Evan states, following James' gaze. "Don't know why they keep sending people here when the beds are all full already. Maybe they've expected more of us to die." He shrugs. "Anyway, you'll stay out here with the rest—or you find someone inside the house willing to share with you." He winks, and James feels himself blush against his will. 

His mind unhelpfully conjures up images of startling bright eyes and dark hair—and James tells himself that he needs to go to sleep very soon, because he is not dealing with any of that right about now. There truly must be something wrong with his brain. He might have to mention that to Remus in the morning, just to be sure.

Evan is already walking away again, continuing to talk over his shoulder. "Spare blankets and clothes are inside the house too. Come on."

James hurries to follow him inside the house, which seems to be a little poorly maintained upon entering, but cozy nonetheless. The floorboards are well worn out and creak under his steps, but its general state is not too bad. He would like to sleep in here.

"The rooms to your left are the only ones of interest to you I'd day," Evan explains, stopping in front a row of doors, of which he opens the first one. When James glances inside, he gets an eyeful of high rows of lockers covering two of the walls, and huge chests standing in front of the remaining ones. It's very packed, truly.

"Storage room is in here. Blankets, clothing, sleeping bags, whatever you find. Just take anything you need out from the chests and find yourself an empty locker to store it in when you don't need it. Keep your hands off the other lockers though, we don't deal very nicely with thieves here. If something you're looking for isn't to be found in the chests, just let someone know and we'll add it to the list."

James nods, too tired to start questioning what list Evan is talking about. Maybe they've got some kind of grocery store hidden in the forest, who knows. James probably wouldn't even be surprised. 

"The other rooms are bathrooms," Evan continues, moving along. "First door is toilets, second is showers. Pretty self-explanatory, if you ask me. We're almost always out of hot water, so get used to cold showers. Soap and stuff is in the chests too." He studies James. "You all right so far?"

"Yeah," James agrees, sounding as unsure as he feels. "I think I just need some sleep."

"Tomorrow will be easier already," Evan agrees, smiling. "Do you want me to stay with you for a bit?"

"No," James declines quickly, craving some solitude. "I'll be fine. Thanks though."

"If not, just talk to literally anyone. We're all your friends here now. It's us against them."

James huffs out an uncertain laugh. "Thanks, mate."

"Sure thing. See you in the morning then, all rested and ready to make new bad decisions."

He slaps James' shoulder once more, grins, then leaves with a wave.

When he is gone, James releases a shaky breath, leaning against the wooden wall that is nearest to him, closing his eyes for a moment. He is not panicking, but he is also not too far away from panicking. It's all a little much—the memory loss, the clearing, the maze, the mysterious accident, and the people here. He doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

He's also not quite sure who he is anymore, which certainly adds to the problem at hand.

I am James, he tells himself, though it doesn't help much. Who is that now, and who was it before today?

He wisely decides on going to sleep before inevitably working himself into a frenzy, pushing off the wall again and studying his surroundings. He's alone in the hallway, distant noises from both outside and upstairs telling him that other people aren't too far away from him. As he takes in the uneven staircase leading to the first floor—its steps well worn and faded from use—he thinks about taking off on another discovery mission, searching through the rooms until he finds something worth his attention. 

But James is dead tired—and looking for answers on his own hasn't done him much good so far here, so instead, he tears his gaze away and shuffles back into the storage room, grabbing a new shirt, some soap, and a blanket.

There are no mirrors in the bathroom—which annoys James, who still has no idea what he looks like, and apparently isn't very likely to find out anytime soon. He spends some time washing his face, fingers tentatively mapping out his own features, brushing over his eyes and mouth, trying to get himself to remember. 

He doesn't though. He is a stranger to himself now, his own body unfamiliar terrain. 

With more force than necessary, he turns off the running water, fighting for control over his emotions. There's no time to spiral, he tells himself resolutely. Tomorrow morning, the doors will open again, and James will leave. He'll find a way out of here, is somehow even certain of the fact that he can. The whole rest of people can stay here and embrace their happy life in the clearing—James doesn't particularly care. 

He watches them, the people around him, as he makes his way back towards the grass that's supposed to serve as his new mattress now, sees them laughing with each other, so casual in their existence, so used to it already.

James won't stay long enough to make these walls around him start to feel like something normal. It calms him down, the certainty of his thoughts. He can count on himself—that is something he knows.

James lies down on the hard ground, next to one of the pillars, eyes on the setting sun as he pulls the blanket tight around himself, protectively curling his body into something resembling a ball. The thatched roof doesn't do much to filter out the orange light coming from the sky, but paired with the soft sound of carefree people around him, it almost makes James forget where he is, and how dangerous this place might be—in the morning at least, because for now, the doors are closed. He is safe, as much as it gets.

When his eyes droop closed, he immediately drifts off to sleep, finding himself somewhere else, some place better, safer. Someplace where his thoughts don't follow, but where a dreamless calm wraps itself around him, soothing him, in ways that he knows, but cannot remember.

***

James cannot have slept for long when he suddenly finds himself ripped out of his dreams—by a hand pressing itself over his mouth, startling him awake in seconds. 

The nightmarish images of the latest events are still visible on the back of his closed eyelids, combining themselves with the horrors of his current reality as James opens his eyes wide, starting to struggle out of the grip he finds himself in. The pained screams of Emmeline are all he can hear, her urgent trashing all he can see, and his thoughts are utterly panicked as they yell at him to run—because he might be next.

"Shh," a voice hisses—and James actually pauses his hectic attempt on escape, some sense coming back into his brain, because he knows that annoyed tone.

And sure enough, when he wills his eyes to focus as good as they can without his glasses, James can make out the already familiar features of Regulus in the darkness. He is crouched next to him, hair falling into his eyes as he glares down at James.

In return, James squints in confusion, then releases a shaky breath against the hand that is still covering his mouth. At least he's not being suffocated—though James most definitely is struggling a little to acknowledge the fact that said hand apparently belongs to Regulus, who for some reason decided to go from ignoring James' existence to ominously hovering above him, eyes glinting in the dark and essentially making him look like a feline predator.

Warily, James thinks he's probably as dangerous as one, too—albeit with startlingly beautiful eyes. They really are a magnificent shade of blue, James finds, gulping at the unwanted observation.

"Don't wake up the whole clearing," the owner of said eyes hisses sharply before removing his hand, decidedly wiping it on his trousers as if to get rid of any lingering traces of James, successfully evoking James' annoyance.

"Choose a better way of waking people up then," he complains as heat shoots up his cheeks. His heart is still struggling with the fact that there's not really a threat ambushing him, going miles per hour and refusing to slow down.

Regulus arches a brow. "Why, how would you like to be woken up then, dearest? With a kiss to your forehead and gentle words softly whispered right into your ear?"

"How about with a simple shake of my shoulder? I thought you were trying to choke me to death!"

At that, Regulus seems to be taken aback, a small crease forming between his brows as he tries to think of a reply. "You'd know if I were trying to annihilate you," is what he settles on—though that's not a very reassuring thought either, in James' opinion. 

He shakes his head, trying to clear it but failing. His thoughts continue wildly spinning around, unsure on what to focus. He dejectedly deems his brain too tired and alarmed to work properly, his voice resigned when he asks, "What time's it, anyway?" 

As the question leaves his mouth, James yawns, starting to be overcome with tiredness now that his heart is calming down again, apparently not regarding Regulus as very threatening—which James himself isn't quite so sure about. He rubs his eyes, then reaches for his glasses, blinking a few times when Regulus comes into better view, his features sharper now, his scowl more obvious.

"Three in the morning," he offers tonelessly.

James reels back a little. "Don't you sleep?" he gasps irritatedly. 

Overly conscious of how Regulus just keeps staring at him, James tries to inconspicuously sort out his hair. He's got a feeling he was right earlier, about his theory of having rather unruly hair, especially after being so rudely woken up—though he doesn't quite understand why it should matter right now, in Regulus' presence. For some reason, it just does. 

James gladly leads it back to the fact that in comparison to James, Regulus seems startlingly put together, impeccably dressed and radiating casual carelessness in the middle of the fucking night.

So, James feels like he should at least reign in his hair, if he can't help himself against the general state of overload he finds himself in otherwise.

But judging by Regulus' once more arched brow, James' tries are neither very casual, nor very successful. He drops his hand down again.

"I have more important things to do," Regulus drawls, offering a belated answer to a question James almost forgot asking already.

"What on earth is more important than sleep?"

But instead of another answer, James gets an exasperated eye-roll, which matches the irritated expression on James' own face.

"Are you coming?" Regulus snaps, moving to stand up in a single fluid movement—which James very much follows intently before he even realises what he is doing. "Or else you won't find out."

And well, James is awake now, so why shouldn't he follow Regulus? Chances that Regulus would actively try to hurt him are pretty slim, right? Remus said something about him just wanting to keep everyone safe earlier—and James gladly counts himself as being included in everyone on this, even if it is just to sooth his anxious mind. He doesn't truly believe Regulus to have any malicious intents though—he totally could have simply choked James to death but didn't, which surely has to earn him some kind of credit.

The stakes are low, James thinks miserably.

But still, he resonates, James definitely needs to take any chance he can get at persuading Regulus to allow him to become one of the runners—and some late night talking could be the perfect chance for that. They might even become friends!

So, James scrambles up into a standing position, all flailing limps and uncoordinated movements, which cause Regulus to glance back over his shoulder, glaring at him. 

"For God's sake, try to be quiet," he hisses, clearly annoyed.

"Sorry," James mutters quietly, looking around himself to try to see if he actually managed to wake anyone up and consequently risked Regulus' unrelenting rage—which he kind of hopes to avoid, though it seems to be proving difficult. 

He freezes in surprise when halfway through James' observation of his surroundings, his eyes unexpectedly meet Marlene's, who is laying on her side only a few metres away, turned towards James and undoubtedly awake. She doesn't flinch at being found out, but instead holds the sudden eye contact as if she planned for it, causing the two of them to simply stare at each other, James a little crazed and overwhelmed, Marlene cool and calculating. Her eyes flick towards Regulus, then back to James.

"Run along," she mouthes without any expression on her face, then moves so her arm rests under her cheek, though her eyes stay on James.

Suddenly, James finds himself missing Remus—or even Evan—both of whom at least smiled at him. 

A smile would be nice right now, he thinks to himself meekly, rubbing his arms against the cold he feels overtaking him. Though he pauses his movements only seconds later, suddenly conscious of the fact that his surroundings are not actually cold at all. James expected the temperature to drop during the night, but even now, right in the middle of it, the air around him seems to be of the perfect degree—the exact same careful balance between warm and cold it had been during the day, too. 

He frowns, then decides that the weather really should be the least of his worries. Instead, he focuses on following Marlene's order, quickly making his way over the sleeping bodies around him to catch up to Regulus—who of course, is not waiting for him. 

At least he glances at James in recognition when he falls in step next to him, even briefly scanning him over before looking away again—only for his eyes to find their way back to James just moments later, doing a double take. 

"What?" James asks hesitantly, frowning down at himself. He looks all right, as far as he can tell, nothing wrong.

"Nothing," Regulus answers immediately, resolutely looking forward, his jaw tight. 

He swallows, and James watches his adam's apple bob.

Wisely, he does not press for an answer. 

Instead, he channels all his concentration into suppressing his growing urge to ask where they are going, determined in his newly found quest of not pissing off Regulus—at least not before James got his chance to ask for his desired job position. 

And weirdly enough, walking next to him fills James with the kind of calm he hasn't felt since he woke up in that horrible box these few hours ago, the kind that puts his heart at rest a little, that makes him want to drop his guard a few inches. Inexplicably, he is starting to feel safe—in an environment that is most likely the opposite from it, and with a person that would probably gladly shoot daggers at him when presented with the opportunity none the less. 

Is it Regulus, who makes the darkness wafting around the clearing look less threatening, makes his ears want to stop straining to catch any potential sound of whatever lurks outside these huge walls, makes James want to stay right where he is?

He doesn't know him, so why is he reacting like this, trusting like this?

"You're staring," Regulus states unhelpfully, though his tone is lacking the malice his glare tends to holds.

Still, it serves as enough of a reminder to James that he is thinking utter nonsense.

It must be the exhaustion, he thinks grimly, shaking his head over himself. He must be tired enough to simply embrace his new conditions, resigned enough to adapt to the danger around him—because it cannot be Regulus, who makes him feel safe. Maybe he is projecting, hallucinating even. Losing his goddamn mind.

"Where are we going?" James asks then, forgetting all about his mission of keeping quiet until the words are already out, hovering in the air between them.

Regulus sighs, the sound plaintive. "I'm going to show you something."

"Sounds ominous."

Another sigh. Then, "It has come to my attention that you want to be a runner."

James whips his head around, startled. 

"Yes," he confirms eagerly, the answer flying off his tongue before he can even properly acknowledge the wary tone resonating in Regulus' voice. "I know I'd be good at it."

Regulus stares at him disbelievingly, his tone slightly mocking when he asks, "Did you wake up here with intact memories of an earlier track star career?" 

"No," James answers, serious. "It's just this feeling I have. It's like it calls to me."

"We'll see all about that little feeling of yours," Regulus mutters, fastening his step. 

They are walking towards one of the walls; James' pulse picking up its pace once he realises where they are heading. He keeps his mouth shut this time, though he does periodically risk a glance at Regulus, waiting for him to change course—but he doesn't. They come to a stand right in front of the eastern wall, its massive presence looming over them, seemingly going on for forever when James gazes up at it. 

He stares at it in amazement until Regulus steps into his line of sight, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms in front of his chest. He studies James for a moment, chewing his inner cheek, then cocks his head.

"What exactly do you think a runner does?"

James hesitates, eyeing the nearest door in contemplation. It's closed now, of course, though even opened it probably wouldn't help James much with his answer.

"They…run outside and scour the maze? Search for an exit? Or does it change maybe, its layout?"

"Ten points," Regulus says drily. "It does change, yes, and every day, too. The one thing that does not change however, is that there is no exit." He holds up a hand before James can interrupt. "Trust me on this, or I will be personally sending you out there without a map to go check for yourself. You have been here for not even a day, James, and I've been here long enough to know the maze inside and out."

"But if there's no exit, why do they keep going out there?"

Regulus huffs out a dejected laugh, the unexpected sound of it startling James. "Because we hope against better judgement that there still is a way out. That we've been just collectively overlooking the exit we all dream about."

"You're a runner too," James deduces in surprise.

Regulus inclines his head. "I am, yes."

"And you won't make me one," James states, sounding resigned.

"I normally don't go around allowing new additions to our humble group to risk their lives outside of here during their first few weeks, no," Regulus agrees, pushing himself off the wall. "But I heard that you are already quite persistent on that matter."

"I am. I told you, it just feels—"

"Pardon me, but I don't particularly care what you feel like," Regulus interrupts. "I do care about the lives of my runners, and I won't let them risk it for someone who doesn't even know what they are asking for. Because you don't. You think we go out to the maze, run around a little, have a nice chat about our discoveries, and then head back, right? Is that what you picture when you say you so desperately want to be a runner?"

James pauses, unsure. "I haven't actually thought about it," he admits—because he hasn't. There is some kind of urge rooted deep inside himself to go out there, to see the maze for himself, discover its every nook and corner—but he has never actually pictured what going out there would entail. He thinks back to Emmeline, her pained screams echoing in the silence their sudden absence left, how her mutilated body trashed and fought. She came from out there, and the man who was carrying her had been saying something about an attack, hadn't he? Something vicious enough for her to need an antidote against, too.

"That's what I feared," Regulus says darkly. "I need you to pay close attention now. I'm going to show you something, and afterwards you will go back to sleep, and think very intently about the rules we have here, and how you will abide them. Are we clear?"

James nods—truly, what else is he supposed to do here—and Regulus turns his back towards him, ripping away some of the ivy covering the wall to reveal glass, slightly filthy with dirt.

"Is that a window?" James questions, fascinated.

Regulus doesn't deign himself to answer, wordlessly stepping aside for James to join him in looking out of it instead. 

Eagerly, James takes in the new scenery the window presents to him, his eyes struggling to track everything at once. 

There's not that much to see in the end though—it's essentially just a long passage, about five metres wide and stretching to both left and right for longer than James' gaze can follow. The wall opposite from him looks the very same as the ones around their clearing do—dark, huge, and covered with ivy, whereas the ground is trampled and dirty, some footprints still visible in the soil covering the stone floor. The overall picture the maze seems to be painting is a sinister one, lonesome and creepy as only the dim light of the moon illuminates its grand outlines.

It's a bit of a let down, to be completely honest, and once more, James isn't too sure about why on earth he wants to be out there so desperately. He thought it to be more imposing, that finally seeing it would envelop him with a feeling of rightness maybe, justifying this weird urge inside him to get out there and explore.

He feels silly now, as he stares at the quiet dark corridor that essentially promises him nothing. 

Then, Regulus hammers against the window they are standing in front of—four times, loudly and in quick succession. The sound echoes around them until it gets swallowed up by the quiet night once more, and James questioningly turns toward the man next to him, who only shakes his head.

"Keep looking," Regulus murmurs, eyes still focused on the outside, as if he is waiting for something. 

"What is out there?" James whispers back, just moments before he finds out. 

After, he wishes he never would have had to see the thing.

It's ugly—no, horrendous even—the monstrous creature Regulus apparently summoned willingly. Some kind of horrifying mixture of spider, scorpion, and slug somehow—almost eight feet tall and easily filling out most of the corridor as it makes its way through it on its eight legs, fluid and sure in its movements, intent on searching for the prey it suspects to be near. 

Its legs are equipped with spiky claws, producing loud clicking noises—that make James wonder how thin the glass in front of them must be in order to hear them—as it lashes out around itself, thoroughly checking its surroundings. There are long spikes on its back, unevenly distributed and coated by some kind of greenish slime that covers its whole bulbous body too—though the biggest sting seems to be on its tail, perilously glinting in the low light as the thing throws it around in angry movements. Its mouth is dropping what James thinks at least resembles saliva, and when the monster hisses threateningly, he can clearly see how well equipped it is with countless of sharp teeth, all ready to tear apart and devour whatever it comes across.

James wants to gag.

"We call them Mourners," Regulus offers quietly, and James visibly flinches at the sudden reminder of his presence next to him, "because in the dead of the night, they sound like they are weeping."

"How poetic," James breathes, not quite able to look away from the creature sniffing around right in front of him. "Though I'd say they sound more like they very desperately want to kill something."

"That too, of course," Regulus snorts, then steels his expression back into neutral territory of controlled disinterest before James can get a glimpse of the amusement on his face. "They come out every night, and they are as deadly as they look. It's rare to find them during the day, but it happens from time to time."

"And one of these things got Emmeline?" 

"Yes."

He sounds pained at the reminder of her, the corners of his mouth slightly downturned. James starts absentmindedly worrying his lip.

"What happens then? When these things get someone."

"Nothing good," Regulus says quietly. His pupils are almost fully dilated when James turns his head to study him, albeit still keenly aware of the Mourner clicking around on the other side of the window. "You heard and saw enough, you don't need to know the rest of the details yet. But for cases like her, we've got the serum. She will survive."

But she won't be fine, is what Regulus doesn't say. James still understands. It's the same implication Remus had made earlier.

He stares back out at the Mourner, his eyes following its movements as it so obviously tries to find them. It's the first time today, that James is really glad for the walls caving them in—because maybe this is not a prison, like he originally thought when he came out of the box, but a safe haven, a protection from the horrors looming behind these walls. 

"Still overly keen on wanting to become a runner?" Regulus asks from next to him, a smirk playing on his face.

And well, of course James would very much prefer to never have to meet one of these ugly monsters face to face, but if they only rarely come out during the day—

But James doesn't get to finish his line of thought, because he gets interrupted by Regulus merrily pounding against the glass once more—this time only twice, though the sound is still just as loud as it has been minutes earlier.

James stares at him in utter bewilderment, panic ready to take over as Regulus just keeps smirking—and the Mourner whirls around to face them through the window. It hisses loudly, saliva flying everywhere, its tail whipping around in agitation as James cannot do anything than stare at it, wide-eyed and fearful, until the monstrous creatures lurches forwards and throws itself right against the wall separating them.

James jumps back several steps in shock, landing on his back only to continue to scramble away from the rattling window as the Mourner keeps banging its hairy legs against it, its spiky claws causing screeching sounds as they slide over the glass repeatedly.

"Thought so," Regulus states drily, still standing in front of the window, having not even flinched. 

He takes in the miserable picture James must be depicting right now—all fast breaths and shaking limbs and wide, crazed eyes—then makes a grab for the nearest string of ivy, covering the window once more.

And James might not be able to see the Mourner anymore, but he can still hear it—though he doesn't need those awful noises as a reminder of the horrendous picture it painted. It's another image that burns itself into his emptied brain, creating memories he does not want to keep. James keeps staring at the place where he knows the window to be, still half expecting for the glass to burst and the Mourner to come through, attacking them, devouring them. 

Regulus, clearly unaffected by the spectacle, strolls towards James, then crouches down behind him, following James' frantic gaze.

"Sweet dreams," he whispers, breathing down James' neck, causing goosebumps to rise up on his skin that are the least of his worries right now. "And don't forget the rules."

And once again, he turns around and leaves without another word.

James stays rooted to his spot for quite some time, breathing shallowly until he cannot hear the Mourner anymore. Only then, he numbly stumbles back to his cot, burying his shaking body under the thin blanket, trying not to be too loud as he hyperventilates. He lays there as still as possible, all the while wishing he never would have started asking all these questions, because now that he's got his answers, James doesn't know what to do with them.

He doesn't take off his glasses, too scared to leave himself vulnerable like this, and sleep doesn't come at all—he isn't even sure if he closed his eyes even once to try.

James doesn't need to be asleep for his brain to produce nightmares though. 

He is starting to think he might be living in one already.