2019-12-07 - Preemption

When Byron Thorne makes his way to The Surprise on Dock 47, it's catching the late afternoon sun as it sinks over the horizon, the vessel gleaming like a beacon and soaking up the rich colors of the sunset. There's light within its confines, suggestive enough that its resident, Isabella Reede, is home - as far as commute is concerned, she's an easy swing on the way home from business meetings and the like considering she's not situated all that far away from Bayside Apartments.

As he knocks on the door, though, she doesn't answer, strange enough in itself - there's quiet music in the living room, Nina Simone's breathtaking alto filling its space and reaching his ears, however very faintly.

If he tries it, he would find it unlocked.

Having just returned from the shop, it's not a Benz that's parked out at the marina lot, but the familiar Wraith . Byron's pretty happy about it and while a Mercedes Benz is a luxurious smooth ride, it was nothing compared to the comfort and luxury of his Rolls.

After having contacted Alexander to inquire about a few recent events, knowing better than to ask Isabella directly, Byron eventually decides to pay her a visit just to make sure that everything was fine. He's dressed in his usual get-up, a dark suit and tie and for the chilly late autumn weather, a heavy wool thrown over it. The sound of the car's alarm being set is heard as he takes hurried steps to cross over the docks to the Reede family boat.

Hearing the melodies coming from within, after the initial knock with no response, he calls out, "Izzy?" before reaching for the door handle to let himself in. It's not unusual that doors are kept unlocked, but he will make mention, aloud as he closes the door behind him, "After everything that's happened, I'd prefer that you not leave the door unlocked." Even though, that's the reason he's inside right now. "Isabella?" He calls out again.

Nina Simone continues to softly serenade Byron as he enters and he hears movement, easily, from the bedroom. There is only one living, thinking body in the residence.

"Ronnie?"

Isabella's voice floats, somewhat bewildered, from her boudoir and when the investor follows her voice, he would find her seated on the bed. She is dressed, but not for staying in - he was her closest friend in the city, and he knows that she tends to dress more comfortably than the way she's donned at the present moment if she intended it, in jeans tucked into boots, a long-sleeved shirt and her moonstone pendant nestled in an almost possessive way against the center of her chest. Her dark hair is pulled up in its usual twist - she has definitely been out. Bandages are wrapped around her hands and fingers.

And clutched within them are the bright petals of a familiar yellow flower - what had practically covered the Church the last time the two of them have visited Saint Mary's. Nothing so twisted as it would have inevitably been if it had been grown and cultivated in the Veil, but it's still familiar. The star shape of the cucotte lily in her grasp practically smiles at Byron.

Her expression is tight as her green-gold eyes find his darker stare, before they fall back on the flower in her hands.

"I was out with Alexander today," she tells him. "And when I came back, this was...by the pictures." She nods to the shelf that holds them, with one in particular holding a place of prominence - the photograph of the three of them together, life vests strapped to their bodies and beaming smiles aimed at the camera, taken one summer at the cove.

An idle look is given the contents of the room, his gaze lowered to regard some bits of mail on the table before his eyes lift once he hears Isabella's voice. Byron takes in her attire, before asking, "Did I come at a bad time or did you just get back-" Even as he's about to inquire, she already answers the question before he can get it completely out. And yet, his attention is drawn to the presence of that yellow flower.

Dark eyes are kept there for a curious moment, before lifting once more that his gaze may meet with Isabella's. He barely recalls what happened at the church, being so busy himself with the finding of that key (which is still in his possession), but what he does remember something mentioned then and this makes him quickly step forward to attempt to snatch the flower from out of Isabella's hands. "I'll get rid of it." The knowledge, however, that this was placed here by some mysterious figure, most likely this Peregrine, has him giving the interior of the boat, as a whole, a cautious look over. She may have already checked, but he's reaching out his own mind to see if there was anyone here with them, whether inside of the boat or lurking somewhere nearby. "How long," He starts to ask again, "Have you been back for?"

She isn't holding it too tightly, so Byron's able to draw stem and petal off her grip and it's his sudden and decisive movement that has Isabella shaking her head once, rising from the edge of the bed and sliding her hands in her pockets. "Just a few minutes - I was out helping Alexander on one of his cases." She watches him examine the boat's interior - she must sense his sudden tension, is prepared for the expertise of another reader to be brought to bear; she had just witnessed the investigator during that visit to the nursing home. "Around five minutes or so? I checked the rest of the houseboat, but nothing appears to have been moved..." And she would know, being a mover. "...or missing. My research is still here, what little valuable jewelry I have and personal effects..."

As Byron attempts to look around with his other senses he would find...that he can't. His abilities aren't working.

Or rather, his abilities aren't working in the houseboat. Nothing registers but things and objects in the space; he can hear traffic rushing past through the flanking streets, the water rushing against the docks and the seabirds cawing outside, but the extension he attempts is currently unavailable. Whoever had visited Isabella while she was accompanying her lover in the downtown areas of Gray Harbor had decided, for some reason, to transform the residence into a nullified space. The young archaeologist, herself, is unable to sense it and realize it - she's not a Mentalist.

Byron is, however, and the mundanity of it presses on his senses like an invisible weight.

With the yellow flower in hand, Byron takes a few steps forward before bracing himself to take this mental headcount of individuals within the vicinity. At first, he doesn't really notice anything different. He's come up with nothing before in the past. That's when he tries again. Failing once is one thing, but being unable to sense even Isabella's presence here when she's standing right in front of him is another.

He does't shine any light on this for now even if he's taken notice that something is amiss and despite his own growing concerns, he looks as if he's merely concentrating.

Feeling the soft petals of the flower in hand, if he can't sense those around him, he'll try to get a read on this. It's more out of curiosity now, even if he had intended to tap into the emotional residue that may be lingering on the flower since he snatched it away from her.

Nothing.

While Byron is a mentalist, he's never experienced being a nullified room before, though he'd only heard 'rumors' that it could be done. He'd tried conjuring up one himself once, but that led to nothing happening at all.

"If someone could easily break into your place, Bella. To leave /this/ here?" He draws in deep breath, "I don't think you should stay here. I'll help you pack. I can drop you off at Alexander's or you can come back to my place."

"Alexander's following up on other cases at the moment, and Isolde's..." Isabella pauses as she remembers what Alexander had said to her this morning, about always being welcome in his place. Some part of her digs her heels in, unwilling to leave a place that she's called her own for a few months now and while Byron can keep his calm, composed face, she also knows that he had come for a reason.

So instead, there''s a nod: "I wouldn't want to put you out," is what she elects to say, smiling ruefully despite the tension hinted at by the line of her mouth. If you can't be safe, at least be smart. "I've got a go bag in my Jeep, I started packing one after all my hospital stays. I just need to grab my laptop and some of my research materials for work." She moves then, finding a spare duffel underneath her bed so she could put her books and laptop inside it. Judging by the look on her face, brows drawn and concentrated, she's already attempting to work out the logistics. "I'll come with you first - Alexander knows where the spare keys to the Jeep are, once he's on his way back from whatever he's working on now, he can pick me up at your place." She assumes that is why he took the flower from her hands, before anything else could happen.

She remains utterly unaware of just how the space has changed, and she starts moving into the main living area so she can do just that, sorting through all the texts and scholastic articles on the coffee table quickly. "Were you able to...read...anything...?" There's a brief flicker in her expression at that, concern and reluctance there when she asks. She carefully shuts down her laptop and puts it in the protective, soft padding in the duffel bag's inner pocket.

"I'm sorry, Ronnie, this is...thanks, for the save. I wasn't expecting to see you today." There's an unspoken inquiry there, curiosity etched on her features - if she's worried, she's doing her best not to show it and the most effective method that she has discovered, so far, is to concentrate on something else. Here, it's Byron's presence.

"Is he still working on the Sea View murder case?" Byron asks, trailing behind Isabella now and lending a helping hand to gather up her things, all the while keeping a tight grip on the yellow flower. "I was watching part of the press conference regarding that on tv. Hopefully, they close that baby up and put it to bed." His mind really isn't focused on those murders right now, nor the casino. There's this curious look that he gives the room, as if he were searching for any signs of this ability nullifying field.

When she's got her laptop and other things packed, he'll reach out to take that from her as well, letting it drape over his shoulder, hanging down behind his back.

All in all, he looks ready to head on out, just as she asks him the question on whether he was able to read anything from the flower. "No." He won't lie to her there. "I couldn't get anything off from it." He continues, "After hearing the news about Carmichael's death, I thought I should check in." There's a slow shake of his head, "I've been pretty busy as of late and I know that you went through something that none of us should ever experience. And I just feel that I haven't really been there for you, you know."

Once everything is collected, he takes in the chilling breeze passing by outside of the boat. He'll try again to reach out his mind in search of anyone nearby. Sensing whether that oppressive feeling that he'd experienced earlier had gone away.

"He is," Isabella tells Byron, helping him pick out which texts she needs and which ones can be left behind, and once the duffel is filled with everything that she requires for work, she doesn't resist much when he holds out a hand to carry it. It dangles with a considerable weight on his shoulder, and there's a glance at the yellow flower still clutched in his grasp. Her lips press in a thin line, but she attempts to push past whatever apprehensions she might have to focus on his query about the Kruger case.

As they both head out of the houseboat, the archaeologist watches him as he tries to cast a wide net with his senses - and while Gohl's exit from their world has reduced their abilities' range, the career investor is still a formidable reader. Stepping out of his friend's houseboat feels like being unshackled, the oppressive weight of the field's antiseptic cling on his psychic senses slowly unraveling and letting go the further he steps away from the space. He can sense everything now, or at least as far as his effective range could allow - distant notes of joy from the nearby Boardwalk, frustration and indolence coming from the neighboring vessels, the harried tempers of passing drivers rushing to get to where they need to be. But nothing like what he or she may have experienced from the Church.

Whoever had been there is long gone, but in the grand scheme of things, that means absolutely nothing.

"Alexander said a few things about it didn't make sense," she tells him simply when they pause, momentarily, to grab her go bag from the Jeep and proceed to Byron's luxury vehicle. "About how the murder weapon was found. Apparently a drug robbery was connected to the entire affair, but from what his sources are able to tell him, it was as if Foster knew one was going to take place. So this robbery happens before the Krugers are murdered, who are slated to testify against the casino and somehow the gun that killed them ended up in plain sight for cops or Alexanders to find in the actual building, so maybe whoever orchestrated the robbery somehow managed to get ahold of the gun to plant it as revenge against Foster for trying to kill his guys. It's starting to look more and more like a turf war from my perspective, but I'm an outsider looking in."

His following words softens her expression considerably. "I've been thinking of reaching out to August to make sure he's alright, but considering how he knew the guy, he might be taking it hard. I'm giving him some time before I impose myself." His concern, however, draws a smile from her lips, as well as a playful nudge of her shoulder against his. "You're always there when it matters, though," she professes quietly. "Even when we were kids. If nothing else, I think that's probably why Sid was more than happy to teach you defense. He never trusted anyone else to back up my welfare and I kept telling him I didn't need that kind of looking after anyway but that didn't really stop him from viewing you as a go-to."

Her smile returns. "Anyway, I'm fine. Save for an accident back at the family house, I'm hale and healthy so don't worry - or at least try not to worry too much. Besides, even if you're busy, you already know what I'm going to say to that - I like the fact that you never stop cultivating your success. These days, you seem much happier, also. With Lil. It's honestly all I could ever ask from the world, for you."

She pauses after that, the palpable sense of his concentration hanging in the air. "B? What is it?"

Byron's been hearing bits and pieces surrounding this particular murder, so he gives a mostly mild listen as he continues to survey the area with both his abilities and a sweeping perceptive gaze. "So is there a chance at all that Foster has nothing to do with the murder then? Despite his security team, allegedly, being seen heading to the scene of the crime that day?" All that he he had witnessed was what he'd seen on his own security camera footage. "Time is money, as we all know, and Foster's only losing money by keeping the casino closed." Yes, he knows full well that Isabella opposes the idea, but Byron's thinking like a businessman. "Hopefully, for him, this clears up soon and whatever damages are done doesn't continue to haunt him."

Once they near his vehicle, the sound of it unlocking as the alarm shuts off is heard and he moves to the trunk to toss in Isabella's duffel bag. It's only then, when the trunk is raised and that he's partially hidden from view does he give the flower another go as he continues to hold it within his grasp. For the time being, he's too focused on his concentrating that he has no time to respond to her inquiry.

"I think Foster had everything to do with the murder. Alexander read the gun, saw it kill the Krugers, and if he says that Foster's security team had spirited the murderer away, and your cameras corroborated the fact that he's definitely connected to their deaths," Isabella muses. "I don't think you can fake memories in objects since they're tied to emotional impressions, or if you could, and I've never heard of a case where a false memory is planted on an object, it would be really hard to forge because of that. I think it's more like Foster thought he could get away with it, but his rival managed to find the murder weapon and planted it in the casino. I think that explains why it's there when any enterprising criminal would just throw it away or get rid of it, if he really didn't want to get caught. Maybe Foster didn't know it was there for the authorities to find, because someone outside of his organization retrieved it and planted it."

His support of the casino has the archaeologist groaning. "That building can be turned into an aquarium, too, or a water-based rec center." They will probably forever disagree on the issue, and she must know that, because the words have no heat. "If it does end up being a cover for some burgeoning drug distribution hub, the ecological impact would be even worse. All that additional traffic in the water..."

She opens the passenger-side door and puts in the go bag that she retrieved in her Jeep. She glances at the top of Byron's dark-haired head just before the trunk is raised and he vanishes behind it, before she shrugs and closes the door, buckling her seatbelt.

The glimpse is short and fleeting. In his mind's eye as he reads the flower, he would get a first-person view of a pair of gloved hands, quietly whistling a tune that he would find familiar, because it's certainly famous enough: Javert's Suicide from Les Miserables There's a pair of gardening shears clutched in the man's left hand as the flower is snipped from what appears to be an elaborate funeral garland, before it's tucked away as the vision slowly fades.

"If my security team offed someone, does that make me the prime suspect?" Byron has to ask with an arch of a brow and a shrug. "While I won't say that I'm sure that you're both right, I will wait to hear the results of the proceedings. If Foster can't open the casino," A pause, "I'd take a bid for it." He'll ignore the mention of drugs. There's going to be drugs traveling in and out of anywhere, especially establishments such as that. But no one is rallying to shut down the Platinum Cabaret are they? When Isabella gives out other ideas for what the casino could become, he'll just offer her this easy smile, "It's a beautiful building as it is and, I believe, will draw in more tourist attention than say an Aquarium." Pause, "But we'll see what comes of it."

The silence coming from the Wraith's trunk is short-lived and eventually she'll hear it shut with Byron making his way to the driver's seat, settling in. The engine starts with a quiet purr. His mind is still processing everything that he witnessed, but she'll notice that the yellow flower is gone. Possibly tossed into the trunk with her baggage.

It takes a long moment before he decides to state, just after he'd backing the car out of from its parking space, "I couldn't read the flower when I was at the houseboat. I couldn't get a good sense of anything. That part was all blank." Turning to observe another car passing by, before he pulling out of the harbor lot completely, he continues with the conversation, "Like your boat was some kind of void. Heard about something like that. It came with this really heavy, oppressive feeling."

"Yes it does," Isabella tells Byron simply, because his line of thinking is an extremely logical one. "But they have to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt in court, also. That's why a murder weapon is always so important in homicide trials - at least, that's what old episodes of Law and Order tell me, anyway. Jack McCoy, Patron Saint of Lawyers." There's an impish grin at that when her friend finally joins her in the car. There's also a pause when he mentions bidding for the casino. "Is that an industry you're thinking of sinking your teeth into?" she wonders. "I read somewhere it's been hard since the Wall Street bust, unless you're in Vegas. You're the money guy, though. You'd know better than I ever would."

The lack of the yellow flower, left out of sight, unwinds the subtle strain of tension over her shoulders, her usual easy manner returning. As she waits for the car to start, she quietly listens to what Byron tells her. What he ends up telling her, though, surprises her visibly.

"...when Gohl was happening over the summer, I heard about that, also," she tells him. "Minerva offered it. Hyacinth, too. I think extremely practiced readers can do it." Contemplative eyes turn to her houseboat, and if she's apprehensive, she manages to keep a set and determined face. "From what I gather, everything and everyone is normal within the space...but that doesn't mean people can't attack you outside of it with other means. The human race has a horrifying facility for thinking up ways of inventively killing one another since the beginning of Time."

She glances out the window, expression turning contemplative. "I can't think of any void that lasted over twenty-four hours, though. But that's assuming this Peregrine guy is human. Javier said he shot him, though. So maybe he is."

"Of course, I'm interested in sinking my teeth into that casino. If I had the resources, I probably would've set up shop a while back, but I had other fish to fry." Byron explains, speaking of his other endeavors, most of them taking place outside of Gray Harbor. "The casino itself, will bring in tenants, part-time or full. High rollers, especially with the lure of an ongoing Masquerade every year. Trying to tie everything together to give this time more life. And to get the cash rolling in. That's my big plan." A pause, the edges of his eyes crinkling when he smiles, "When it would be a lot smarter to get the hell out of dodge. I know."

Then he quiets, listening to Isabella. His jaw tightens when she mentions 'accomplished readers'. In /his/ mind, he was an accomplished reader. "And how, pray tell, do they realize they are able to even do something like that? One day, do they magically conjur up some sort of nullifier and realize that is what they'd done?" He holds any annoyance and sarcasm from his tone as best he can. But he will add, "I'd heard about that. I've never been able to do something like that myself, so I had my doubts."

Listening to her further, he keeps from looking at her, as stubborn as he can be. "Is that so? I mean, it makes sense. The room itself is nullified, the structure that it's in, anything on the outside, is not." A pause, "But Gohl wouldn't have been able to do anything from outside of the room, could he?" He finally turns to regard Isabella, she can see the hardness in his eyes. "He would have had to destroy the room and the inhabitants within." Facing forward again, he says in a flat tone, "As a healer or mender, that seems doable enough."

When she mentions the 24 hour thing, he has to roll his eyes, "Have they tested that out too? Minerva and whoever?" /This/ is said in a wry tone. "Is that something she learned to do with her witchcraft?" He's slightly curious about this, "Magic and what we do can't be that different, I /guess/." He will state, however, "Does it matter how long it lasts? What matters is that Peregrine or whoever this is can get into your place and conjure something like that up. If he can do it once, he can do it again. And who is going to stop him?"

"Have you talked to the city about that, yet?" Isabella wonders curiously, turning her eyes to look at him. "Turning the Masquerade into an annual, Gray Harbor-wide thing? I can't blame them for using the first year as a test run, but have the numbers come in yet as to how much it made once the festival was over?" There's interest on her features; these days, their conversations tend to be around their mutual acquaintances and the goings-on in their hometown, but she can't recall the last time she had spoken to Byron about his ventures. Her lips turn up in a half-smile, inclining her head slightly. "Once a few things are put to bed, we should probably revisit that treasure hunt," she tells him. "See if I can get you and Lil in for a meeting with the other financiers."

As usual, her friend has a knack for asking good questions and while she glimpses the tightening of his jaw, she levies a long look upon the side of his face - this isn't the first time she has witnessed him react this way as far as abilities are concerned, before she continues: "I think it's different for everyone," she tells him. "Some people are born naturally talented at it, others need to work on it. Hyacinth was probably taught, you saw the way Margaret and Thomas shone when we met with them. I'm not sure about Minerva, but she was struggling with the Talent since she was very young. Alexander..." Her frown deepens. "...he floundered and used, put himself at risk without knowing. I know for a fact that he didn't have any help until he was maybe around our age. Honestly at this point, I think it's a combination between nature, nurture and experience. Sid..." She tilts her head back. "You knew Sid, how talented he was and how willing he was to spread the knowledge. But sometimes I wonder if he didn't come across someone who taught him a thing or two."

His hard stare is taken in, also, though she keeps her level stare on him even after he looks away. "A gun would work just as well, in a trap like that," she tells him simply. "There are simpler ways without using our abilities." After a few moments, she shakes her head. "Anyway, just because you can't do it at the time you tried doesn't mean you will never be able to do it in the next attempt, or a later one. I've come across people with...broken...abilities." She does not say that she is one of them. "People who will never reach the potential you could no matter how brilliantly they burn. On any of the aspects."

The twenty-four hour limit has her quietly pondering for a moment. "I'm not sure, I said I haven't heard that effect lasting for more than a day, but that doesn't mean it can't. If you're curious as to how Minerva managed to learn what she has, though, I could ask her. It could be her magic, we know from the Gohl incident that whatever she does, works. And you're right, it doesn't matter how long it lasts. I think the bigger question is why." Her fingers drum lightly on her knee. "He knows Alexander is a reader and that the two of us spend time together, I heard something about them fighting with lightning, which as far as I can tell, readers can only do, and if you can detect what happened in that room and I couldn't...and he doesn't seem like a stupid guy, to me. So why do that to my residence when he knows I've got reader friends who stop by regularly?"

She's still watching him, and perhaps it is because of that which inspires the next thought. "...unless he wants to see who else I knew who could. Or maybe he already knew." Her lips press together. "The flower was placed in front of the picture of us."

"It drew in a lot of attention from all over, but I've been in talks with them regarding making this an annual thing-- which is what my intentions were when I initially pitched it." Byron starts off with, "I can't say that vacancies have gone down in my apartments, but any damage done there, I have the summer to thank." His jaw clenches when he mutters this. "There is interest, however and I've received praise from those who I'd invited just for the Masquerade alone. So we shall see." His eyes flicker in her direction when she brings up this treasure hunt and he nods slowly, "Right. I definitely have an interest in that. Though while I may be profit motivated, the reason for this exploration has got me curious now as well."

Listening to Isabella speak about how each individual, similar to him in powers, had come into their own. Not much is known, because he never told anyone and was probably confused about things at the time, but Byron had struggled with his abilities his entire life and in part. It's what led to Stephen Thorne's downward spiral, but Byron only has theories regarding that from everything he learned once his father died and then looking back on things as an adult.

If there's any bitterness regarding Byron's own power, this is where it stems from. All of these brilliant individuals full of light and Talent. If things were different-- In his mind, he may be one of those individuals who will never reach his full potential and for someone has competitive and who had worked hard to get what he wanted, just that thought was a crushing blow.

He makes no further comment regarding their powers, his gaze lifted to take a glance at his rear view mirror before he turns to pull in towards the Bayside Apartment Gates, "I'll inquire with her." A pause, a curiosity if Alexander Clayton has been able to hone his skills to reach that 'accomplished reader' status, but rather than voicing his curiosity, he says nothing more instead.

"Then he should be harassing those people who can do it." Byron says with some annoyance and despite the harshness of his words, sending this psychopath to someone else's doorstep, the firmness in his tone says that he meant every word. "I don't know, Bella." A silent exchange with Frank has the gate opening for them immediately. "Why does he want to be found out? Why does he want us to know that he can do this?" The mention of their picture together brings back memories of that day, knowing full well which photograph it was. He has thoughts that Peregrine might know of Isidore's whereabouts, but as that's a mere assumption, he refrains from bringing it out.

Mention of the summer darkens her expression, but Isabella says nothing else about it - as if invoking it too much would cause their hard-won efforts of banishing Gohl to reverse, leaving him to haunt them all over again. "I can't talk about it because of the non-disclosure agreement, but you can circumvent that if you become an official investor in it. It's the lifeblood of most exploration companies - they retain experts from all over, but the money has to come from somewhere. Investors are credit on the find, also, and receive a cut of the proceeds depending on the contracts drawn up. But I'm glad the Masquerade was a success. Just means another Byron Thorne maneuver has managed to pay off dividends."

This wouldn't be the first time that she's caught a glimpse of those insecurities; tensions have been rife between them because it had come up on several occasions over the summer, but as far as she thinks she knows, Byron has been fixing that because of his friendship with Tobin, and he had mentioned that he would rather go to him than Alexander. It makes sense, in her mind - the Gilford son was his best friend and as far as she can tell, just as potent as Lilith and Alexander in terms of his gifts. Not that she couldn't understand it, or doesn't emphathize - once upon a time, she was that.

And now, she will never be again.

"I think she's away, but she should be back at some point. Her brother made it in town, a lawyer, I think. Divorced. Lil was talking to him during the Thanksgiving event. I don't know what practice he's in."

The harshness is taken with good stride, and some part of her agrees with her friend, clearly, because she simply looks exhausted thinking about it. As she gives a small wave to Frank as they're allowed through the gates. "I don't think he's picky about his targets, or if he is, we don't know what the pattern is, yet. Alexander thinks he might be circling back to unfinished business from the Church, which is why J.J. Carmichael is dead, but I don't know if that means that he's going after everyone involved in it, or just the ones who ruined his production. That would mean Alexander, Javier, Eleanor, August, Erin, me..." She shifts her gaze back to him. "You. You were the one who found me. And Alexander seems to be convinced that he wouldn't mind it if he got killed - but he won't do it himself. I don't know either, B. We don't know a lot. All we do know is that he's probably working for Them. Like the people who dragged us into that meeting connected with the invitations."

Just means another Byron Thorne maneuver has managed to pay off dividends

Byron had come so far from nothing and he should, and in a sense, does, feel proud about all of his accomplishments. But he knows that he can do more with his talents. More /using/ his talents and yet he feels as if he's hit a roadblock. It's been so long since he'd been quietly honing his abilities once he realized that he had them. He's almost resigned to believe that this potential, the inner light that he sees within so many, is just something you're born with. Thinking back on the past, his father had shone so brightly too.

"I think I remember him, back when we were kids." Byron's thoughts are brought back to the past once again. "I'm working with a new lawyer, as I told you earlier, but it's always good to know of others to reach out to... just in case."

Isabella then explains her thoughts on Peregrine's 'pattern' or possibly lack-thereof. "Has he been harassing anyone else as of late? I haven't heard anything from Erin." And the rest of those mentioned, he barely knows, aside from Alexander. "And why does Alexander think that..." He then sighs heavily, "I will just assume that Alexander assumes that this Peregrine or whoever he is seems weary? Tired? Because, really, who wants to die?" Speaking of the invitations, he comments, "I asked Clayton about that." He jumps from Alexander back to Clayton in addressing the man, "Curious as if he would be singled out since he was scooped up like the rest of us. Or /why/ he wasn't drawn through the Veil or what have you. If I were him, I'd be concerned."

With the car parked, he'll escort her to the elevator, going from the garage straight up to the penthouse.

There is a pause. "I know he had a conversation with Alexander...and a more significant one with Javier," Isabella tells Byron quietly. "Captain de la Vega, I mean. I know he obtained some CCTV footage and went out looking for him, connected with him mind-to-mind. He wouldn't tell me what they talked about, but whatever they did, it got to him. Alexander might be right - after the wedding, he talked to him, and then the Captain, and then went off to kill Carmichael and I don't know who else. I know Alexander reached out to a classmate of his - Yule? I didn't get a last name, but his name is Yule and he's the city's new medical examiner, to see whether there's something off with Carmichael's body. But I haven't heard anything from Alexander on that end, either."

When Byron points out that Alexander had not been part of the group, she nods at him grimly. "When I got back from that debacle, the first thing I did was look for him and nearly lost my shit when he didn't return my texts. He was fine, he needed a couple of days to himself." There's a slight frown there, remembering something - a conversation with Hailey Stevenson that prompted it. "But I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, regarding that. All I can do is look out for him, and hope it's not too bad."

Once the Wraith is parked, she eases out of it, grabs her stuff, and follows Byron to the elevator.

"Thanks again for this, B. I appreciate it."