"What is?" Theodore asked as he looked through the lens, adjusting it to get a better look. 

     "How we're supposed to be learning to save lives, but we're always so close to the things that cause death."

    "It's all important," Theodore replied simply. He missed Monty already. Yet, Linington spoke nothing of the sort for the rest of their work, only speaking to contribute to their assignment. At least, that was, until the end of the lab.

     "Have you heard from-" he glanced around, then lowered his voice, "them, recently?"

     Theodore did not need to ask who he meant.

     "No. I haven't." Linington, packing up his bags, responded simply.

     "Alright. Just thought I would check."

     When Theodore got back from Kennedy's class, the first thing that seemed wrong was that Ashton was not in their room when he got back. He looked over at the desk, where a nearly full cup of tea sat. When Teddy touched the cup, it was somewhat warm. He looked around for a moment longer, eyes landing on Ashton's assignment. 

    He had stopped in the middle of a sentence. Ashton never did that. So where was he-

    Oh, shit.

     Theodore tossed his bag onto his bed, turning and rushing out of the room. He beelined for the staircase, climbing up a floor and walking down the hall. He knocked twice before opening the door to the room.

     Sitting on the floor were Monty, who sat with his legs spread and a bucket between them, leaning down over it, and Ashton. The latter had his arm around his friend, face somewhere between confused and concerned. He turned as Theodore walked in and locked the door behind himself. Monty didn't move.

    "He came down around ten minutes ago," Ashton explained as Teddy sat across from them on the floor. "I'm worried that he got Dansworth's flu."

     "No," Theodore replied, reaching forward to put a hand on Monty's knee. Monty glanced up at him. "It's not the flu."

    As if trying to make Ashton think Theodore was lying, Monty looked down again and gagged into the bucket. He reached up, pulling his glasses off of his face. Theodore took them from him, reaching over to put them on his desk. With a groan, Monty reached up to rest his head in his hands.

    Ashton reached up to grab a cup of water and offered it to Monty, but the boy pushed it away.

    "Can't," he said hoarsely.

     Ashton, rubbing Monty's back, put the cup down on the ground next to him. He watched Monty for another moment, then glanced at Teddy.

     "It's the other thing, isn't it?"

    Monty and Theodore both looked at Ashton, waiting for him to elaborate.

     "There's a reason, I assume, why you miss class. Why you only drink water when we go out, and you never smoke with Dansworth even though he said you two had your first cigarette together."

     Theodore did not know the final story, but now most certainly was not the time to ask. Monty groaned again, leaning back over the bucket. He choked into the bucket. He did so again, grabbing the side of it as he vomited. His sleeves were pushed up, and there was a large bruise on his left forearm. Ashton waited by Monty, reaching a hand up to squeeze the boy on the shoulder. 

     "I think he needs to know, Monty," Theodore ventured to say. Monty glanced up at him. "It's never a bad thing to have people in your corner."

     Monty shut his eyes, turning his head up like he had in the cathedral. Then, he spoke.

     "God, give me the strength I've lost," he muttered to himself, then turned to Asthon. "Thank you for coming."

    "I-" Ashton looked between Theodore and Monty. "Of course."

     Theodore moved to stand, reaching for the bucket.

     "Are you good for a minute if I go to wash this out for you?" Monty nodded, leaning back against the wall. "Alright, I'll be back in a jiffy."

    That at least got Monty's mouth to turn upward at the corner. 

     When Theodore returned, Monty was curled and leaning against Ashton, who was staring at the wall uncertainly, his arms around Monty. 

    "He told you?" Theodore presumed. Ashton nodded. "Right."

     "Is there anything we can do?" Ashton asked, looking down at Monty. Though the latter was taller, he'd leaned over in a way that had his forehead resting on Ashton's shoulder. 

    "No," he replied tiredly. 

     "Why don't we get you off of the floor and into bed?" Teddy offered. "You've earned a rest."

    Monty nodded at that, so Theodore and Ashton helped him up and over to his bed. Once he was situated, they looked at each other and exchanged a knowing nod.

    "You rest. One of us will be up to check on you in a bit if that works."

    "That works," Monty replied, sliding down on his bed and staring at the ceiling. "Thank you."

     Ashton said nothing of Monty's illness, and Theodore did not press him, either. It was neither his to ask about nor an easy thing to process. Either way, Teddy would not introduce the topic himself. For the rest of the afternoon, he spent time writing out his notes for Monty, catching up on readings, and, quite frankly, just trying to stay on track with his schoolwork. 

    When Teddy finished the notes, he went up to drop them off and check on Monty. The boy was asleep when he opened the door, and Theodore stayed quiet so as not to wake him. When he'd gone back down to his room, telling Ashton that Monty was asleep, Ashton finally said something.

    "He said you found out by accident."

    "That's right," Teddy confirmed. "I wanted you to know, but-"

    "It's not your story to tell. Don't worry, I'm not upset." Theodore's shoulders relaxed as Ashton sighed, shaking his head.

     "I hate to think of him going through it all alone."

    "He has Dansworth," Teddy replied. Ashton nodded. "And his family. And now us."

    "I know, I know," he replied, looking down. "He always seems to enjoy life. It just doesn't feel right."

    Teddy considered it, sitting on the edge of his bed.

    "I admire that in him. To know that kind of thing and still not let it impact you. I suppose that he thinks it's best to enjoy however much he has left."

    "God, that's depressing."

    "Yeah," Theodore replied, looking to the window. "It's always depressing to remember that life is finite."

    "'The fear of death follows from the fear of life,'" Ashton replied, glancing at the books on his shelf.

    Theodore looked over at Ashton, replaying the words in his head.

     "What did you say?"

    "'The fear of death follows from the fear of life,'" Ashton repeated, "'A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.' It's Mark Twain."

     Theodore stood, reaching for his coat.

    "Where are you going?"

     "There's something I need to figure out. I'll be back as soon as I can."

     "Is it anything I can help with?"

     Theodore paused, considering for a moment.

     "I don't want to overwhelm you with information today. But I'll tell you where to find me."

      The lantern cast its usual glow on the books as Teddy walked among them, looking at each spine as he searched.

    Theodore feared death because he had not had a chance to live yet. Because he saw a future for himself. He didn't know his purpose, but he had one. 

    Many people were scared of death. Perhaps even Livingstone himself. Perhaps, Theodore had to wonder, there was more to the man's hesitance than he had originally anticipated. If Silvae's father knew Livingstone, then he could punish him. Kicking Silvae out of school could mean the family killing the man who had done it.

     Livingstone was not acting out of loyalty. He was acting out of fear.

    There, yearbooks. Theodore looked along the line of them until he found the year: 1899-1900. He picked it off of the shelf, sitting on the ground and starting to flip through it. The students were arranged alphabetically by year, so it was not difficult for him to find Livingstone among them. 

    It was jarring to look at the man who ran the institution before he even had his degree. He looked innocent enough. Perhaps too innocent; like he never should have become part of these schemes.

    Theodore flipped to the fourth years, looking among the names for-

    Julian Ratcliffe. The resemblance was uncanny, he would admit. Teddy was not sure what he was looking for, but he could at least realistically confirm one thing. The man was certainly related to Silvae. If only Theodore could-

    Teddy turned at the sound of the trapdoor to the library opening. Then, he heard voices as the ladder creaked under someone's weight.

    "What do we do now?"

    "We take care of him first, obviously-" That was Silvae. In a panic, Teddy put out his lantern and slid the yearbook back onto the shelf. Staying behind the books, he looked in the direction, trying to see them. A light appeared as a lantern was lit. 

     "That's two, Silvae. It's never two."

    "Amicus," Silvae chided. "We already started with extras."

    "So? You're getting too carried away here, I swear-"

     "We just need Pauperis, and I'm done."

    "And what if all of this is happening because St. Raphael doesn't want Pauperis dead? What if we are wrong?"

    "We're not wrong," Silvae snapped at his co-leader. "No. This is right. It's always the ones like him."

     Theodore's heart felt as though it may pound out of his chest. He put a hand over his face to try to minimize the sound of his breathing.

     "So what do you want to do?" Amicus asked. "You said-"

    "I know, and I will. I need to. I just need to find a way."

     "We've done enough for him. Letting those other three join just to ensure that he did."

     "He almost didn't. You said it yourself," Silvae replied. "Besides, you think I wanted those three? I would have preferred the typical thirteen."

     "Figure it out, Silvae. This is getting exhausting."

    "I'll figure it out." Then, quieter. "Pauperis delenda est."

     A door closed, and when Teddy looked back again, Amicus and Silvae were back in their office. Quietly, hiding among the shadows, Theodore began to move toward the exit. They had left the trapdoor open; all he had to do was climb the ladder and run back to his room. He brought the lantern with him, not wanting to raise suspicions by leaving it with the yearbooks. 

    It was a game that Theodore knew well. Acting quietly so as not to be heard was an expectation that Carson often had of the footmen, even if they rarely followed it away from his gaze. He placed the lantern back in its spot on the table, then went for the ladder. He climbed as quickly as he could, wanting to get out before Silvae and Amicus decided to leave their office. As he reached the top, Teddy went straight for the doors of the chapel.

   He stepped on something on the way out. It was an odd enough feeling that he stopped to see what it was. 

   As the red glow of sunset shone through the dark stained glass of the chapel, it cast its light across the hand that had been under Teddy's foot. Theodore swallowed, following the arm up to where its body lay on a pew. 

     The red light cast itself over the person, shining against the lifeless face of Felix Linington.