Illyana was finished with her Tuesday class and was rummaging through her backpack, looking for a specific notebook. It was the one she wrote all her lyric ideas on when she was feeling inspired, and she’d had it since she was in junior high. Bent, faded, and worn to all Hells—it contained her joy, her sorrow, and her fears all in the form of poetry and phrases, spurred on by each emotion. She had brought it along with her to Pandora just in case inspiration should strike but hadn’t gotten a chance to write in it. Currently, she was feeling cheerful, an emotion she hadn’t experienced very much of a lot for the past few weeks. She felt a steady optimism spreading throughout her; as if maybe it wasn’t all bad and there was a sliver of light in what seemed to have been an endless tunnel of darkness.

Now only if she could find that damned notebook and write some of this stuff down!

A loud ’thump’ came from above and made her stop searching, tilt her head back and stare at the ceiling in a scrutinizing manner. The floor above was where the guys at the community college kept residence. What the heck was going on up there?


She shrugged it off and continued to look through the outer pockets on her backpack but was again, startled by another loud ’thump.’

She took in a frustrated breath before propelling herself off the bed and going to check out what or who was making such a ruckus. She grabbed the stair rail and swung herself 180 degrees around, taking two stairs at a time to the next floor. She saw some boxes in the hallway, right outside of the room above hers.

Moving boxes.

Suddenly Franz Schoulsburg stepped out of the room with another of the same in his arms.

“What are you doing?!” she asked with wide eyes.

He looked at her with a blank expression before unceremoniously dropping the box next to the others, which caused the loudest ’thump’ yet, “Moving out.”


Of course, he didn’t explain why. He never seemed to be the type to elaborate in any way—only concerned with answering as simply and succinctly as possible before moving on from the conversation. The shiner he sported didn't escape her notice and she wondered if that had anything to do with it. He disappeared back into his room and Illyana peered in after him. His room was bare bones, if he ever had anything on the walls, they were stripped off. The only things left were the furniture the room had come with, smaller boxes and some piles of books. She noticed a double bass leaning against the mirrored closet. She had forgotten he had even played it, only seeing it in action once upon a time at the Battle of the Bands.

He put a pile of books in a box, ripped a line of packing tape from a roll, and closed it up. She had to wonder why he was moving out but didn’t know if they had enough of a rapport that she could ask that and get an answer.

He stopped in the doorway, seeing her curiously looking into the room. “You have a vehicle, don’t you?”

Her gaze snapped up from studying the room to him, “Yeah, a Jeep, why?”

He seemed to clench his jaw before mumbling, “Could I ask a favor?”

Illyana raised her brows at the fact he was asking for a favor, but she knew immediately what it pertained to considering the prerequisite. Many people in Kashmire didn’t bother buying their own vehicles because the public transit systems were well-maintained and affordable. However, no one would use a taxi or bus to move their belongings from one place to another. Illyana didn’t have anything expensive or fancy but the old Jeep got the job done and that’s why her driving services had been requested on many occasions before from people who knew her. She would have been annoyed any other time but she owed Franz this—it was the least she could do after he let her rant out her frustrations at him. He absorbed it and yet deflected it in such a perfect way that she felt better and he didn’t feel worse. Plus, if she spent some more time with him, maybe he would explain to her why he was moving out of the dorms. Probable explanations flashed through her head—he’d failed his module, he’d given up on school, he’d run out of money…

She ended up nodding as he sheepishly asked if she could drive him and his belongings to his Mother’s home.

“You need help carrying things?” she entered the room and asked, looking around at what was left.

“I’d appreciate it,” he admitted.

She took a seat on his bed and peered into a box, “You have a lot of books.”

“I like to read.”

“What’s this?” she reached into the box she had been looking into to find a mask of some sort. It had a bad-ass pattern on it. She pulled the straps out and placed them over her ears then turned to look at herself in the mirror on the outside of the closet.

“It’s something I don’t need anymore,” Franz replied evenly, though, in that moment he reached up to touch the side of his face, nearly skirting the edges of the shadow on his eye, “keep it if you like it.”


She slipped the mask down to her chin to speak clearly, “It looks cool, thanks!”

He shrugged and picked up a box, nodding toward one at his feet as one she could carry.

“Oof, more books?” she asked lifting it up, and it was heavier than it had appeared. He made a half-smile but didn’t verbally confirm it.

“So…” she trailed off, looking down at her feet to make sure she didn’t miss any of the stairs as they descended to the first floor, “Why are you leaving?”

Franz slowed his pace, seeming to think of how to word his response. The dude was so guarded, but he’d always been like that from what Illyana could remember. Quiet and unnoticeable, that was until he went and bashed Nick’s head into a tree when they were nine years old. He'd been in a lot of fights, and it looked like not much had changed. She avoided him pretty much after that but it wasn’t hard to avoid someone who also wanted to be avoided.

“I’m moving back home to take care of my mother. She’s sick,” he said by the time they were at the bottom of the staircase. She certainly didn’t expect that in her probable reasons for his departure. She felt bad though, that his loved one was ill and the burden fell on him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? It’s not your problem.”

She stopped walking and twisted her mouth up in annoyance before blurting, “It just sucks! Can’t I sympathize with how much it sucks?”

Franz arched a brow and thought about it before nodding. Then he asked, “Can we stop off at a pawn shop afterward?”

She did a double take, “Why? What are you pawning?”

“My bass. I don’t play it anymore—might as well see if someone else wants to and get some money for it.”

Illyana would never be able to part from her instrument, even if she was desperate for money.

Illyana set down the box she was carrying, as an idea struck her, “Wait, I have something I can pawn as well.“ She ran to her room, deposited her new mask on the top of her nightstand, and pulled open a drawer below it to retrieve the item in question.

"My jerk-face ex gave this to me. I think I could maybe get something out of it. What do you think?” Illyana fastened a necklace around her neck and picked up the box again as she emerged from her room. Franz had seen that piece of jewelry somewhere before, yet couldn’t remember when.

“Doesn’t hurt to try but I’ve seen that necklace before. Things always lose value if they aren’t unique.”


“Really? Weird. He said it was an heirloom that belonged to his grandmother,” Illyana frowned but then it crashed into melancholy, “Though it was probably a lie. He never asked for it back and you’d think it’d be important if it was an heirloom. Maybe I won’t get much for it after all.”

Franz stopped abruptly, her words pricking a sense of déjà vu in him and he realized why. He took a closer look at the jewelry around her neck and blinked a few times before asking, “What was your ex’s name again?”

She’d probably said his name at least ten times to Franz in the periodic vents that she was allowed to throw at him but to be fair, it probably wasn’t all that interesting for him to take note of specifics, especially if she spoke so fast that her angry words slurred together and often transitioned into Espanian—the language originating and prevalently spoken in the regions south of Kashmire.

“Adam,” she replied as she set down her box in order to take the necklace off, now less sure she would get anything for it–she stuffed it in her back pocket and resumed carrying his box of books but not without another grunt of effort because of the weight of it.

He’d been so preoccupied with his mother and the bakery that he missed connecting the facts: Illyana’s ex-boyfriend, the one that had cheated on her, was the one and the same man that was now Fauna’s boy toy of a 'friend'. It was his sister’s choice to be with an asshole, and it was par for the course but Franz didn’t believe she was the type to continue to be romantically invested in someone if she knew they already had a girlfriend at the time.

“What’s wrong?” Illyana slowed her pace because Franz had stopped walking entirely. He didn’t usually lie, he didn’t see a point in it—but considering, Illyana had always been very angry when talking about Adam and if Franz told Illyana that his own sister was most likely the girl Adam had cheated on Illyana with, he could assume from previous experiences that Illyana would become angry again and possibly revoke her favor to move his boxes—which he needed right now.

“Nothing,” he said, feeling tired after coming to the conclusion and a bit bad for lying to keep Illyana in a good mood so that she would cooperate.

Illyana gave him a questionable look. She didn’t know him very well, so took him at his word.

“Illyana. Sanchez.”

She heard her name said purposefully, pointedly, and turned to see who had spoken it. Her cheeks suddenly felt warm and trepidation crept up her legs, rooting her in place. Her eyes widened in shock; she’d been dreading this moment, wondering if it would ever happen. Just her rotten luck that it did.


Franz could see she was in distress, and it was quite a drastic reaction just from her name being spoken by someone. In this case, the someone looked to be a man in a tailored suit and jacket—not old, not even his middle years yet—but some years older than them at least.


Words didn’t find their way to her as she stared back at Tony, the man she had met at the casino, who stood assuredly in front of his expensive sports car. Somehow he had found her. He didn’t look as angry as she thought he would be considering what had gone down the last time they saw each other. His lip had healed though, so the damage she had dealt was minimal.

“Excuse me, but who are you?” Franz cut through the silence.

“Me? I’m a business risk assessor,” he replied and Illyana dropped the heavy box in a quick movement, her frown plunging into a glower and her hands thrown in the air with frustration.

The movement caught both men’s attention and Illyana pointed at Tony with a growing rage, “You are not a business risk assessor! You are some sleazy casino manager who can’t keep his hands to himself!”


Tony looked taken aback and then let out an abrupt, amused, laugh and took a step forward. Franz set down his box, ready to fight if need be but Illyana was the one who put up her fists, “Come any closer and I’ll punch your lights out again.”

He did stop advancing. Her threat had merit.

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Does it matter?” she growled.

“Our families go way back,” he said and then cautiously reached out, holding a business card he had plucked from the inside pocket of his jacket. His statement startled her and she swiped the card out of his hand after a moment of consideration—to see that his business title really was what he claimed it to be. What he had said made her wonder if their meeting at the casino was happenstance, for what were the chances of her running into someone who knew her family? Well, what family that she had left in any case…


She re-read the name on the card and didn’t recognize it one bit. Her facial expression told as much.

“Surely your mother must have told you…”

“Told me what?” she snapped and then clamped down on her burning curiosity, shaking her head, reminded of his unsavoriness. Before he could answer that she snapped out—“Look guy, all I know is that you are bad news, I don’t like you, and don’t trust you as far as I could throw you. Just leave me alone.”

Tony looked her over and then nodded with slight acquiescence. “If that's what you really want, I will. It’s just a shame you don’t want an opportunity to take back what was yours, you have the same fire in your heart as he did.”

That burning curiosity only grew into a wildfire with the simple pronoun. He turned away from them, honoring her request with a slight hand raised in farewell. It tore at her so badly. A part of her was thankful he was leaving but the more risky, rash, and short-sighted portion of her mind all but made her blurt in question, “as who!?”

Tony stopped and glanced over his shoulder, flashing that same handsome, yet infuriating grin that led her to believe that he knew much more than she did, “Your father, of course.”

Franz was the only voice of reason that prevented Illyana from running after Tony to demand more of an explanation. Franz reminded her that she had agreed to help him and she wasn’t the kind of person to flake out on a friend. She had to think about that because she didn’t know she considered Franz a friend until just now—but she supposed that is what he was to some degree…for knowing hardly anything personal about him.

Tony drove away without so much as looking back at them but he did keep that knowing smile as if he knew she would seek him out for answers soon.

Franz loaded his boxes into the back of her Jeep as Illyana leaned against the driver-side door, wondering about Tony and what he had said. She didn’t know how long she had been standing there, but what seemed a lifetime later she felt the body of her vehicle lurch as Franz fell against the Jeep next to her.

“So…” he said, seeming to struggle with a thought before finishing, “What’s the deal with your father?”


Illyana blinked a few times, seeming to come out of a daze, from trying to reach into the absolute depths of her memory for anything about the man but came up empty, “He died when I was a baby, but it feels like a part of me has always been missing. I never knew him.”

Franz nodded and it occurred to Illyana that Franz just might feel the same way. She knew what they said about him, about his mother—but never had given it much thought. She turned her head, expecting to see his usual blank expression but there was a definite sadness in his eyes. “You know how it feels, don’t you?”

Franz put his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped slightly, and nodded.

Illyana knew her father’s name, and how he died, but other than that, all she had were the memories of others in her family to piece together what type of man he was. From what she knew, it was very little. He was tall, and strong, loved them fiercely, and put a lot of effort into making sure the family was provided for, but her mother couldn’t seem to talk about him without getting emotional. So Illyana had learned to stop asking.

“I’m sorry,” she said and noticed Franz frown slightly, again, at the fact she was apologizing for something out of her control. He didn’t say anything but only nodded in agreement because he knew why she was apologizing and it did suck.

She flipped the business card over and over in her hand, going from the stark black to stark white; the logo of a business, to the letters spelling out a name–Antony Biacotti–who was a man that for some reason unknown to her, had a vested interest in her and her family. That ominous shiver she had felt the last time she had seen him in Pandora felt more than warranted now.