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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Merriment, Mystery and Mutually Assured Destruction

Christmas in the Silver District had none of the jolly, joyous build-up Morrigan had come to expect from Nevermoor’s silliest season. No snowball fights (too undignified), no ice skating (the canals never froze) and – most disappointingly of all – no visit to Courage Square to watch the famous Battle of Christmas Eve. The Darlings had attended yet another elegant supper that night, and although Morrigan begged to go with her friends to the battle instead, the aunts were horrified by that idea. They seemed to think she’d never make it out of the Courage Square rabble alive.

Lying awake in bed and wondering idly if Saint Nicholas would know where to find her this year, Morrigan was seized by a sudden, unbearable yearning for festive cheer … and the realisation that what she craved was now only a short walk away, via Station 919. (Rather than moving her station door from the Hotel Deucalion to Darling House, the Liminal Transport Department had added a new door and kept the old one. Standard procedure for scholars with divorced parents, apparently.)

Morrigan was unprepared for how thrilled Room 85 would be to see her.

When she came through the wardrobe, for a moment it was like seeing her bedroom when she’d first arrived in Nevermoor: just a normal room with a single bed, a wooden chair and a window. But in a flash her fireplace reappeared, roaring to life and lighting up the whole room. The octopus armchair popped gleefully back into existence, trembling on the tip of its tentacles with excitement, while the plain little bed did a series of rapid-fire changes – a four-poster, a hammock, a racing car, a swimming pool, back to a four-poster. The walls grew creeping green ivy, then added bookshelves and stocked them with boxes of Morrigan’s favourite sugary cereals. She heard the bathtub taps start running and soon steam was billowing from the ensuite, the mingled scents of lavender and vanilla storming her nostrils.

‘Oh – sorry,’ Morrigan said, feeling a stab of guilt. ‘I’m not … I can’t stay.’

The taps stopped, and the fire began to dim.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I just came to … um. Visit, I guess.’

The vines all drooped and browned in unison.

‘I’m really sorry,’ she repeated, ineffectually. The octopus armchair reached out one tentative tentacle, and Morrigan gave it an affectionate squeeze. She wanted to say, I’ll be back soon. I won’t be gone for long. But she couldn’t.

Cloaking herself in shadow, Morrigan made her way to the lobby. The Deucalion seemed empty, except for a few staff in pink-and-gold uniforms left to hold down the fort. At this hour, everyone else would be on their way back from Courage Square after the Battle of Christmas Eve, and soon the place would be heaving.

She shouldn’t be here. But it wouldn’t hurt to have one quick look at the hotel decorations, would it? Just to see how bonkers Frank, the Deucalion’s party planner, had gone this year.

‘One quick look,’ she told herself firmly.

She reached the top of the spiral staircase and peered into the lobby, with its familiar checkerboard marble floor, gold-and-glass elevator and – her favourite thing of all – the enormous iridescent blackbird chandelier. Sometimes at Christmas it would spontaneously change into a golden sleigh, or a silver angel, or a polar bear wearing a beanie. But as fun as these seasonal transformations were, Morrigan was unspeakably glad to see the familiar vast, dark wings moving slowly up and down on their perpetual flight.

As for the rest of the decorations … well. They were a bit disappointing.

Frank had finally got his wish – this year’s theme appeared to be dark glamour . All black and gold and dripping red. The usual garlands of tinsel and greenery were replaced with swathes of wine-coloured satin and midnight-black velvet. The banister glittered with glass icicles, and instead of the fairy lights Jupiter loved, hundreds of white taper candles dripped pools of wax over every surface. There wasn’t a sprig of holly or shiny bauble to be seen.

It was elegant, for sure. Sophisticated. But she couldn’t help wondering if Jupiter had approved any of this.

It occurred to her that he might be off-realm for Christmas, and that made her heart sink a little, though she couldn’t say why. It wasn’t as if she’d come here to see him.

I just wanted to see the decorations, she reminded herself . That’s all.

A sudden clip-clopping of hooves from the forecourt heralded the arrival of carriages. Morrigan smiled at the sound of their resident soprano, Dame Chanda, leading a motley choir in a rousing canon of the Yuletide Hymn.

‘We sing to thee, sweet greenery

And wish for snow-white scenery

We ask for peace and Yuletide cheer

And blessings on those we hold dear!’

The lobby doors flew open and a crowd bustled in with a gust of cold air, filling the cavernous space with their loud, joyful singing.

‘Glad Yule to all and tidings fair

To fox and fish and bird and bear

To mouse and moose and hawk and hare

Glad Yule to all and blessings rare!’

From her vantage point at the top of the stairs, Morrigan spotted Frank in his red-lined cape and Jack in his weird green broccoli hat, and Charlie dusting snowflakes off Martha’s coat. Kedgeree herded the guests towards staff offering trays of gingerbread and pouring cups of masala chai (the warming, spicy scent made Morrigan’s mouth water, even at this distance). Dame Chanda was at the door, bidding goodnight to a small flock of fairy wrens and a family of raccoons that had followed the sound of her voice. Fenestra was impossible to miss, of course, with her fluffy tail and grey tufty ears towering above the crowd.

But no Jupiter. That confirmed it for Morrigan. Surely he wouldn’t have missed the battle unless he was off-realm.

‘At winter’s end, our forest friends

Will wake from slumber and attend

The warming of the realm in spring

And all will gladly dance and sing!’

Watching Jack reach up and playfully tug one of Fen’s ears before dodging out of her reach, Morrigan felt an aching, jealous homesickness unfurl in the pit of her stomach. She had a sudden urge to throw off her shadows, join in the singing and stay.

But she couldn’t. The certainty of it hit her like a wrecking ball.

Before she spoke to anyone else at the Deucalion, she had to speak to Jupiter. She had to tell him the truth about her apprenticeship with Squall, even if he’d kept the truth about the Darlings from her. Even if she was still furious with him. Even if it meant he never looked at her the same way again. Even if it meant she was never welcome back at the Deucalion (the thought made her homesickness roll into nausea).

Before she could change her mind, Morrigan turned and ran to Jupiter’s study. If she left without doing something , without taking some small step towards mending what was broken, then she might never come back here at all.

The decision made itself. She would write him a note.

The decision unmade itself. She would not write him a note.

‘ENOUGH of the martyr act and the pitiful excuses! I am sick to DEATH of covering for you. I’m sick of lying for you!’

Morrigan halted as she reached Jupiter’s study door. It was open the tiniest crack, and the sharp, angry voice spilling into the hall was unmistakably her patron’s.

So, he was home … but he didn’t attend the Battle of Christmas Eve. A fact so topsy-turvy, Morrigan felt she’d walked into an ankle-dangling Tricksy Lane and been upended.

‘Yes, you’ve mentioned that,’ said a second voice – bored, bitter, distinctly male. It was muffled under the roar of the fire but sounded vaguely familiar, Morrigan thought.

‘Is this funny to you? Do I look like I’m laughing?’

Jupiter had an edge to his voice that she’d rarely heard. It gave her an instant, visceral memory of their last conversation. The harsh words they’d exchanged. The fury and disappointment in his face.

‘Not remotely funny, dear brother .’

Morrigan’s breath caught in her throat.

Dear brother . Was this … could this be Jack’s father ?

She sent her reach beyond her in several directions at once, dimming the hallway gas lamps while simultaneously grasping for darker, thicker shadows to wrap around herself like gauze. Heart pounding, she pressed against the wall and crept closer to the crack of light coming from the study.

‘You’ll recall I never asked you to cover for me, nor to make my excuses,’ the low, muffled voice went on. ‘You took that role upon yourself, as always. Bold of you to call me the martyr.’

‘You could turn this around. It’s not too late.’ Jupiter again.

‘As if my presence would make a difference.’

‘You have no idea what kind of difference it would make, because you’ve never cared enough to SHOW UP.’ Morrigan flinched at the sound of a fist thumping on a wall.

‘Oh, enough. Enough . You don’t want me to show up to anything, because you don’t want anyone to show up … or to show you up. This arrangement is perfect for you! Admit it, Jove. You get to be the hero, like always – the responsible one—’

‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ Jupiter snapped.

‘—the noble one, stepping in to fix everyone else’s mistakes,’ the other man finished acidly. Morrigan frowned. Did she know that voice? She inched closer, wondering if she could chance a peek through the crack in the door. ‘’Cos you’re perfect, aren’t you? Captain Jupiter Amantius North, the golden boy. Always everybody’s favourite . Well, guess what? You can’t fix my mistakes, mate. They’re far too many and far too heinous.’

Jupiter made a sound of disgust. ‘Oh, spare me . Do something better with what’s left of your life! Make up for your mistakes! I could think of one place to start.’

‘You sound just like …’ The words trailed off into a resentful chuckle.

There was a momentary silence, heavy with expectation, before Jupiter said, ‘You couldn’t even be bothered coming to the funeral.’

The man didn’t respond. The silence stretched, until finally it was broken by the unmistakable sound of tissues being pulled from a box, and the box thumping onto the desk.

‘Here,’ Jupiter said, with quiet contempt. ‘Wipe your face, Bertie, for goodness’ sake.’

Morrigan held her breath. Was the other man crying? Whose funeral were they talking about?

‘I didn’t come here to suffer the same boring lecture I’ve heard a thousand times,’ the other man muttered. ‘You wanted information, I gave you information. Exchange complete. Even stevens.’

‘ Far from even—’

‘Regardless, don’t expect me to go spying for you anymore. You’re going to get me run out of town.’

Jupiter snorted humourlessly. ‘Would you care?’

The man’s response was muffled by sudden movement in the study – feet shuffling, chairs scraping – the sounds of a meeting ended. Shrouded in darkness, Morrigan slipped away seconds before the door opened. She tucked herself into a far corner of the hallway just as the two men stepped out.

‘I’ll see you to the lobby,’ Jupiter was saying. Morrigan tried to catch a glimpse of the mystery guest, but she’d done too good a job of dimming the lights and Jupiter’s tall, broad figure was blocking her view.

‘I don’t require an escort,’ the stranger’s voice bounced back down the corridor as the pair moved away.

‘You will if Fenestra sees you. She’s not your biggest fan, either.’

All the way back to her bedroom, Morrigan debated whether to knock on Jack’s door before she left … only to be so distracted when she reached the fourth floor that she turned the corner and slammed into him. The shock of it made her fading shadowcloak disappear altogether, and she watched Jack’s eyes widen as he registered her sudden appearance.

‘You’re back.’

Morrigan was surprised to hear the relief in his voice. He squinted as if against a bright light, then moved his eye patch back into place from his forehead. ‘Have you and Uncle Jove—’

‘ Shush ,’ she hissed, yanking him into Room 85 and closing the door quietly. Her bedroom was now awash with warm light from dozens of lamps. The fire crackled merrily, and books and board games were piled on a table beside the octopus armchair. Morrigan felt her heart squeeze.

‘I’m not staying,’ she told both Jack and the room. The hearth dimmed again in disappointment.

‘Ugh. Just go talk to him, will you?’ Jack groaned. ‘Such a pair of idiots.’

‘I was going to, but he was busy talking to someone else—’

‘Whoever it was, I’m sure he’s not too busy to see the prodigal Wundersmith—’

‘JACK!’ she shouted. ‘ Listen to me . I think he was talking to your dad.’

Jack’s mouth fell open. He stared at her blankly.

‘Are you sure?’ He shifted his eye patch again, examining her face, looking for the truth. ‘How do you know? What did he say? What did he look like? How old—’

‘I didn’t see him,’ Morrigan said in a rush. Jack made an involuntary movement, almost lurching for the door. The sudden hungry, hopeful look in his eyes alarmed her. ‘I was outside the study. They were arguing, and he called Jupiter dear brother , so I thought …’ The words fell away as she saw Jack’s face change.

‘Not my dad,’ he said glumly, all urgency evaporating. ‘I don’t know who that was, but my dad wouldn’t call him that. Uncle Jove is my mum’s brother.’

‘Your mum.’ It wasn’t so much a question or a comment, but a hope that he might elaborate.

‘Her sort-of-brother.’ Jack shrugged. ‘In that stupid Wundrous Society way. They’re in the same unit.’

The air stilled. Morrigan had never asked Jack how he’d come to live with Jupiter. She’d wanted to. She’d wondered . But when they first met, each despised the other on sight, and it took six months to declare a ceasefire. Afterwards, as they found the rhythm of their peculiar, occasionally adversarial friendship, whenever their conversations meandered in the direction of his past, or his family, Jack would bat the conversation effortlessly in another direction. Morrigan could take a hint. She didn’t want him asking about her parents, after all.

For a moment Jack was quiet. Then he said in a halting way, as if getting something over with, ‘Rosamund and Arjun Korrapati. Rosie and Arj. Mum’s an explorer for the League, like Jove. Dad’s an interrealm diplomat.’

Morrigan stayed silent, worried he might stop if she made the slightest noise.

‘Occasionally they’d be assigned a mission off-realm together, and I’d stay with Uncle Jove for a few days. He’d take me to the zoo or out on errands. Sometimes we’d stay in to have tea parties and rooftop bonfires. I loved those visits.’

Morrigan sat on the end of the bed, hugging a cushion to her stomach, while Jack sank into the octopus armchair. It drew its tentacles comfortably around him.

‘One time, Mum and Dad were going to an outer realm and had to leave me for two whole weeks,’ he continued, stretching his legs in front of him as the words poured out. ‘I was seven. Uncle Jove planned this mad itinerary. Science museum, aquarium, water-skiing on the Juro. I was so excited. Mum gave me a diary to write down all our adventures, so I could read it to her and Dad when they got home. I wrote pages and pages every night; I wanted them to know everything .’ He paused, squeezing the broccoli hat with both hands. ‘On the last day, Uncle Jove and I made this big welcome home banner and waited outside the Deucalion for ages. But they didn’t come. And the next day they didn’t come, and the day after that they didn’t come, and the day after that.’ He scrunched up his face. ‘That was eight years ago. I’m still waiting.’

Morrigan cleared her throat. It felt like her next question was trapped there. ‘What do you think … happened to them?’

He shrugged. ‘They’re not here, that’s all I know. That’s all anybody knows.’

‘Didn’t Jupiter ever go looking—’

‘Of course he looked for them!’ Jack said scornfully. ‘My mum and dad? His sister ? Of course he did. He assembled an interrealm search party, kept it funded and staffed for three years , but the League of Explorers wouldn’t keep it going any longer. Not officially. He’s still searching, obviously, or he’d have quit the League years ago.’

Morrigan’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘You think so?’

‘I know so. Uncle Jove hates realm-hopping. He never tells anyone, but it makes him nauseous. Fen accidentally let that slip to me once, years ago, and she made me promise never to say anything. He stays so he can keep searching for my parents.’ Jack glanced at her with a rueful smile. ‘That’s why he volunteers for so many missions that shouldn’t even involve him.’

Ah.

Morrigan bit hard on her lip, frowning. She thought about all the times she’d resented him being off-realm, away from the hotel, away from her , as if she was the only important thing. How many of those missions had really been about finding Jack’s parents? All of them, she supposed, indirectly.

And it wasn’t only Jack’s parents he was searching for, was it? Rosamund was Jupiter’s sister . How would Morrigan feel, she wondered, if one of Unit 919 went missing? How long would she keep searching for Cadence or Hawthorne – or Anah, or Francis, or any of them – after the rest of the world gave up?

However long it took, she realised, feeling her chest constrict. I’d keep looking forever.

‘That morning, in Jupiter’s study,’ she said slowly, ‘when you said he had an urgent assignment. Was it about your parents?’

Jack nodded. ‘He got a tip-off from someone in the Ministry for Interrealm Diplomacy. Possible sighting on Brian Jr.’

‘Brian Jr?’

‘One of the middle realms. They’re unlikely to be on a middle realm, mind you, but MID intelligence is usually good, so he had to act quickly. That’s why he rushed me home from school. Jove doesn’t tell me about every lead – most of them don’t go anywhere – but he always says if there’s any proper hope to be had, I should have some too. I think he really believed there was a chance this time.’

‘And?’

‘And nothing. Same as always.’

Morrigan inhaled deeply. ‘Jack, I’m really—’

‘I’m sorry,’ he rushed to say. ‘I know you don’t think you’re the centre of the universe, I was just—’

‘No, I’m sorry. I was angry about—’

‘Your mum’s family, I know. Fen told me. I would’ve been angry, too.’

‘I didn’t realise you were – I mean I didn’t think —’

‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘We were both stuck in our own heads.’

They fell silent, a weight of sadness settling in the room with them. Morrigan thought of her own mother, and those fresh feelings of loss that had been stirred during her time in Darling House. She’d never even known Meredith Darling, yet she missed her.

Jack knew what it was to have a mum and dad who loved and wanted him. And now he’d lived more than half his life without them.

‘I’m so sorry about your parents, Jack.’ She didn’t know what else to say.

Jack stared into the fire, lowering his voice. ‘When I turn seventeen, I’m going to join the League of Explorers and find them myself. Jove doesn’t want me to. He says it’s too dangerous. But the League are desperate for me to enlist.’

Morrigan raised her eyebrows. ‘Why?’

‘Because I’m a Witness. We’re rarer than dragon scales, and we make interrealm exploration about ten thousand times safer. Why do you think they’re so desperate to keep Uncle Jove? His mission success rate is unbeaten.’ He scowled, angrily picking bits of lint off the sleeve of his jumper. He seemed furious at the League, even as he talked about joining them. ‘They come to Graysmark every semester, you know, and ask to meet with me. They think they’re being clever, circumventing Uncle Jove, getting to me through my school. Jove would explode if he knew.’

‘Why haven’t you told him?’

He smiled a disconcertingly vicious smile. ‘Because I want them to keep coming on their little fishing expeditions. I always decline to speak to them, but I’m letting them see my resolution waver, and in the spring term I’ll finally, reluctantly agree. Then my plan begins.’

‘What plan?’ Morrigan asked, nervous to hear his answer.

‘I’m playing the long game. Laying the groundwork for a negotiation. If they want me to enlist, I’m going to be the first person in history to become a ranked officer at eighteen, after my year of academy training. As a lieutenant, I won’t have to wait four years to travel to outer realms like the other academy chumps.’ His eyes locked on Morrigan’s, blazing with reflected firelight. ‘And on my very first outer realm mission, I’ll abandon ship, set out on my own, and find my parents.’

Morrigan felt breathless. It was entirely possible she’d spent the last three years living with an evil genius and had only just realised it.

‘That’s quite a plan, Jack,’ she said quietly.

‘Yes.’

‘It sounds dangerous.’

‘It is dangerous.’

‘And if you told Jupiter—’

‘He’d try to stop me.’

‘And what makes you think I won’t tell—’

‘Because one day you’ll have your own dangerous plans, and you’ll want me to keep them secret. And I will, Morrigan. You can count on me.’ He held out his right hand. ‘Can I count on you?’

She felt like she was being asked to spit in Jupiter’s face.

But Jack was her friend. More than that … he was the closest thing to a big brother she’d ever had. He trusted her. And if he wanted to get his parents back, she wouldn’t be the one to stop him.

‘You can count on me, Jack.’ She went to shake his hand, then stuck out her little finger instead. ‘Pinkie promise.’

As they solemnly hooked pinkies, some of the tension left Jack’s face. His fingers slackened as he let go but, seized by an irrepressible impulse, Morrigan gripped tighter, holding him in place.

‘Jack.’

‘Yes?’

‘I signed an apprenticeship contract with Ezra Squall on Hallowmas. I’ve been having secret Wundrous Arts lessons with him ever since. I haven’t told Jupiter yet. I don’t know when I will.’

Jack stared at Morrigan for an excruciating nineteen seconds (she counted), frozen, looking like his brain had short-circuited.

Finally, withdrawing from her vice-like grip, he began a slow clap. ‘Oh, well played, Morrigan. Brilliant.’

She scowled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, you’ve got me there, haven’t you?’ He leaned back in the armchair, rubbing his eyes and sounding genuinely, if reluctantly, tickled. ‘Because I really want to tell Uncle Jove what you just said. I mean I really, really, really, really, really want to go right now, this second, and tell him the absolutely bonkers, stupid, LUDICROUS thing you’ve just told me.’

She gasped. ‘Jack! You said—’

‘I know!’ His laugh bordered on hysterical. ‘I know I did! I made a solemn vow – a pinkie stupid promise – AND I told you my biggest, most secret secret, the one thing I can never tell Uncle Jove. So now I’ve got to keep what I don’t mind telling you is the WORST and DUMBEST and possibly MOST DANGEROUS secret of all time, instead of fobbing it off on to Uncle Jove so he can worry himself sick about it! I’ll have to do his worrying for him, all because I’ve just sleepwalked into MUTUALLY ASSURED DESTRUCTION with the biggest idiot I have EVER met.’

‘JACK!’

‘Sorry – second biggest idiot, obviously, after me.’

By the end of this tirade, Jack could barely breathe for laughing. Morrigan knew she should be offended, but his laughter was contagious, and soon she was wheezing along with him.

‘Maybe … I shouldn’t’ve … told you,’ she admitted a few minutes later, still struggling to catch her breath. ‘Sorry.’

‘Course you should’ve told me, you numpty.’ Jack threw the broccoli hat at her half-heartedly. ‘You should have told me two months ago, but no time like the present. Spill . ’

So, she spilled. She told him how Squall had helped her destroy the Hollowpox and bring the Wunimals back from the void. She told him about the Hush, and what had happened in the Receiving Room at Darling House, how she’d used Tempus without meaning to. She detailed all she’d learned in her lessons so far, even leaping up to give demonstrations at Jack’s request, and beaming when he made no effort to hide how impressed he was.

And when she finished, Morrigan felt lighter. Maybe because telling Jack was the closest thing to telling Jupiter, without actually telling Jupiter.

‘Wait here,’ Jack told her, and he ran to his bedroom, returning moments later with a small but artfully wrapped gift. He insisted she open it on the spot, waving away her embarrassment over not having anything for him.

‘Oh!’ Morrigan’s eyes widened when she saw the three small sheets of supple, silvery-black paper inside. ‘Jack, really? Can you spare them?’

It might have looked like a disappointing present to anyone else, but Morrigan knew how precious they were. ‘Blackpapers’, as Jack called them, were a tool of the so-called Black Mail – a communication method he and his friends used to pass secret messages at boarding school. They were bonded to Jack himself, so if Morrigan wrote on one, said his full name – John Arjuna Korrapati – three times, and then burned it to ashes, the note would appear in Jack’s hand, whole and undamaged, wherever he was. (Pretty impressive, she thought, considering it was invented by some kid called Tommy who just wanted to cheat on a test.)

‘That’s my semester’s allocation – Tommy’s less generous since he nearly got expelled. But you need them more.’ Jack folded his arms with the grimly determined air of someone who was about to deliver a lecture and couldn’t think of anything he’d enjoy less. ‘Listen—’

‘Yes, I’m sticking with the apprenticeship,’ she cut him off.

‘Obviously you’re sticking with the stupid apprenticeship, since it’s finally turning you into a proper Wundersmith. I can see that even with my eye patch on.’ He sighed. ‘I was going to say … are you coming back, or have you permanently abandoned us for your rich relatives?’

‘I haven’t abandoned anyone, I’m just …’ She trailed off, throwing her hands up. ‘Look, I don’t have a plan. I don’t know what I’m doing now or what I’m doing next or if I should stay with the Darlings … or whether I should’ve gone there at all! But they’re my mother’s family, Jack. They’re my family. I have to give them a chance.’

‘I get it, believe me.’ He sighed again, glancing at the blackpapers. ‘Look, just … keep those on you, yeah? And when you need to use one, use one. Even if it’s not an emergency.’

Morrigan snorted. ‘What, like … Dear Jack, fancy a chat? ’

‘Yeah. Like that.’ He looked at her seriously. ‘Or like … Hi Jack. I’m off for a Wundrous Arts lesson with the incorporeal projection of a notorious murderer. I’ll be at X location, and expect to be finished by X o’clock, when I will send another message to confirm I’m still alive, which is the least I can do since I burdened you with the knowledge of this terrible, stupid thing I’m doing because I’m such a big dumb idiot. ’

‘You’ve given me three blackpapers, Jack, not three hundred.’

‘Cut them up,’ he said. ‘Paraphrase. Write small.’

Morrigan nodded and, tucking the precious gift safely into her pocket, headed for the wardrobe door. But as she pressed her W imprint to the circular seal, she suddenly saw that little seven-year-old boy again. Standing outside the Deucalion, clutching his Welcome Home banner. Looking hopefully up and down the street as the minutes and hours ticked on. Trudging back inside with Jupiter, sad and frightened and worried.

Turning back, Morrigan closed the distance between them in three long strides, threw her arms around Jack and squeezed tight.

‘Jolly Christmas, you big dumb idiot.’

For their first ever hug, she thought it felt less weird than it might have. After a moment of shock, Jack even hugged her back. A bit.

‘Glad tidings of Yule,’ he replied, laughing quietly. ‘You absolute loose cannon.’