Disclaimer: Sorry, not Libba Bray.

A/N: Right-o, last chapter! And yes, Kartik is a natural romantic. Who would have guessed?

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I waited anxiously in my little room. I sat down in the wooden chair, only to spring up again, unable to sit still. I resorted to pacing back and forth, and then stopping, and then sitting again. For the last two weeks I had been this way, but not only within the confines of my little space. I had seen more of London than I had even seen before, roaming the streets when I became bored of my room.

Questions flitted through my weary mind in an endless circle. Where is Gemma? Is she all right? Is Circe destroyed? What of the Temple? Will she forgive me? Where is she?

I tapped my foot on the floor repeatedly, imagining her face for the hundredth- no, thousandth, time. Imagining her when I would see her. If I would see her.

There were two expressions that came to mind; two options, two choices. I remembered her smile, sometimes shy, often bold. But I also recalled the vehemence in her eyes after she had discovered what my second task was. That was the look that I feared most; that image of pure hatred, which my dreams would most often evoke in my feverish mind. Would that be her face? Would those be her lips, those full lips curled into an abhorring glower? Would those be her bright green eyes filled with revulsion for me? Those tears of anger that ran down her cheeks?

I did not know. I stood. Seeing her with that expression would be better than not seeing her at all. She would hate me, but I would love her still. She would hate me with those tears, those eyes, those lips…yes, I wanted to see her face again far more than anything else I could imagine. If she never came, then I would look for her. I had nowhere else to go. The Rakshana would never take me now. Amar, forgive me.

I heard a sound at the door and hurried towards it; it was the sound I was waiting for, the sound of those rusty little hinges creaking open to admit the only other person who knew of this place. Gemma.

She pulled the hood of her cloak from her face, and I saw that her expression was filled with neither love nor hatred. Her face was careful, her eyes commanding, her lips set in a grim line. She seemed different, more mature. But it was still her, still Gemma, and I was eternally thankful.

"You remembered," I said softly. It was not a question. I had no more questions anymore.

"I remembered."

"Gemma-Miss Doyle, I-"

She raised three fingers, and I fell silent.

"I shall be brief. There is work to be done. I could do with your help, if you are willing to offer it freely and without obligation to another. You cannot serve both our friendship and the Rakshana."

I smiled. She was here. She wanted my help. I could give it her, certainly, there was no more Rakshana for me…

…I couldn't help her, what help could I possibly have to offer? The Rakshana didn't need me, why should she?

To my great surprise, my eyes filled with tears. I blinked, hard, trying to get rid of them. "It…" I cleared my throat. "It seems a necessary point that I am no longer wanted by the Rakshana. Therefore, it may do your cause no favor, being championed by one so disgraced."

"It shall have to do, I suppose. We are a rather ragtag crew."

I swallowed my tears and nodded. I still didn't understand. How could I help her?

She searched my face. "It seems you've changed your destiny after all."

"Unless it was my fate to do so," I countered, grinning.

"Well, then," said Gemma, pulling her hood on as she advanced to the door. She's leaving.

"And allegiance to the Order…is that the only fealty you require of me?"

She stopped, but did not turn to face me. I waited hopefully.

"Yes," she whispered at last. "That is all."

I watched her as she stepped through the door without turning to close it, her cloak trailing behind her. The drape that hid the door from sight fell down as she dropped it, concealing the doorway, and shielding her from my view.

I closed the door and sat down in my chair. I wasn't quite sure if she had forgiven me or not, but she did want my help. What help I could give her, I couldn't possibly know. But at the moment I didn't care. I was lost in the scent of jasmine, and the image of her coppery curls, so much like fire, those curls. And her eyes were imprinted in my mind, forever, I was sure.

She is my tormentor. She is divine.

FIN

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A/N: It's a bit shorter than the last one, I know. But I quite like it, despite Kartik's feminine mindset.

I'll be starting a new fic now, Correspondence Courses. Anywho, reviews are appreciated!