---
By the time he returned, the mist had thickened and the night air bit with cold. He stoked the embers with a few dry sticks until the fire was steady again.
Fizz yawned. "Wake me if another ugly thing tries to eat you. I am too beautiful for back to back heroism. I need my beauty sleep."
John spread his damp cloak near the fire to dry (it became wet when he rolled on the ground) and finally lay back on the bedroll, staring up through the branches. The stars blinked faintly through the shifting mist, and his eyes grew heavy.
Exhaustion tugged at his body, but his mind stayed alert. He thought about the battle, about the revolver, about Fizz's words and his own mistakes. He needed to be sharper, stronger, smarter. If he was going to survive and unlock the black hole core within him, there could be no more hesitation, no more forgetting.
