7. Hart

To: Nexus

Subject: Curse Diagnosis

I am writing on behalf of the Slatehollow cursebreaking team to ask for consultation on a case I'm currently working on.

It has yet to be confirmed as a curse as diagnostics have shown nothing, but I am almost completely positive it is one. I have attached the current notes I have of all the particulars for your perusal.

It's a curious case, and looking through past case files I've found nothing to match its details as of yet in our database. If you know of any precedent I kindly ask you to send me the case number or relevant files. Any other thoughts you have on this, please let me know at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

Hart

He reread the email before hitting send, checking that his daily affirmation for the team had also been distributed without any problems before pushing his chair back with a sigh.

He really needed a cigarette.

The secondhand whiff he'd gotten from Cane was now two days old, and it had faded until it wasn't taking the edge off anymore.

There truly had never been a case like this one. Curses just didn't appear and disappear at will. Not without some kind of intervention from a caster or cursebreaker. But he could just feel that something was afoot. Something was slipping by him, he just needed to work out what.

It was slightly maddening.

Which fit the person it was supposedly attached to.

Hart huffed as his brain pulled Cane out from behind the barred door he'd shoved him into. He was just such a…such a…brute. A heathen. An ill-mannered, casually violent, unbelievably attractive criminal that he wanted to lick all over—

His eyes shot wide open.

No, no, no.

That wasn't what he meant at all. Not at all.

He mentally dragged Cane back behind the door and locked it tight, pressing his weight against it, holding back every other thought and memory that threatened to spill out. He could feel his face was flushed, and he looked around his empty office like someone was going to appear out of thin air and accuse him of every secret thought and action. He patted his hot cheeks and readjusted his tie even though it didn't need it.

He was composed.

He was fine.

He was—

"Hart?"

"I'M FINE!" he shouted.

Fix blinked bemusedly at him from the doorway. "Clearly."

Hart's cheeks burned hotter. "Did you need something?"

Fix twisted his mouth and Hart could see the desire in his eyes to press the matter, but thankfully he let it pass. "The Cane case. I just got back from the twins' place."

"Oh, right, yes," Hart said, picking up his pencil pot and setting it back down in the same place. He then fussed with the files on his desk even though they were perfectly stacked. He was normal. Everything was perfectly average. He was not in a spiral. "I assume you found nothing on them?"

"Nope, same as with Cane. It's not anything to do with me as far as I can tell," Fix said, eyes following his fussing.

"Ash said the same thing." Hart sighed. "And Midas swept both the ring and the twins' apartment yesterday. No cursed objects in sight. No bond traces."

"Have you heard anything else from Cane?"

"No," Hart snapped defensively. "Why would I?"

Fix frowned and said slowly, "For the case?"

"Oh, right." Hart cleared his throat and adjusted his tie again. Why did it feel like it was strangling him all of a sudden? "No, he hasn't informed me of any other case-related details. Since that's the only reason he and I would be communicating."

Fix leaned against the doorframe and observed him for a moment. "Do you need to talk?"

"Absolutely not," Hart said, sending him a practiced smile and getting up from behind his desk. "Actually I just remembered that I need to go talk to Taylor about something."

Fix stopped him from passing him with a hand on his arm. "You've been out of sorts ever since this case landed in our laps."

"It's a confusing case."

"I don't think it's the case," Fix said pointedly.

"What else would it be?" Hart asked, holding his gaze and refusing to fold.

Fix sighed. "You can take your own advice sometimes, you know. ‘Emotional well-being is just as important as breathing.' You literally sent that out today."

"My emotional well-being is perfectly centered," Hart said, skirting around Fix. "But thank you for the concern."

He escaped down the corridor before Fix could stage an intervention for him. He passed by the open door to Wren's office and paused. His little brother was sitting at his desk using his new pet as a foot warmer while he mixed some kind of pet food in bags. His bare toes were wiggling happily on top of the jaguar's back.

Two yellow eyes glared at Hart from the darkness.

"Wren," Hart said.

Wren blinked up and Blu suddenly flapped over and landed on his head, chirping in answer too.

"How did you slip him past Taylor?" he asked, pointing at Sable.

"I didn't sneak him in, he followed me. He's lonely. I told you." Wren shrugged innocently, and it was hard not to cave to those bright blue eyes.

"There are rules for the workplace," Hart said. "You already have Mary as an uninvited guest. If the officials suddenly drop by the office—"

The jaguar grumbled at his stern tone, and Hart took a halting step back. "Well…we'll discuss this at home, I suppose."

"Okay," Wren said pleasantly, chomping down on a piece of the food he was supposed to be dividing up. It was better not to ask what it was.

Hart hurried away from the door and shook his head, massaging his temple for good measure. The desire for relief was almost too much to bear. His cravings always worsened when he was stressed.

"Hart! Hart!" Ash called, poking his head out of the office Hart had just passed. "You got a sec?"

He wanted so badly to say no and just disappear, but the core of who he was as a person wouldn't allow that.

"Sure," he said, stopping in the hallway and turning to look at Ash.

"Come on in," Ash said, and Hart dragged his feet into his office, barely avoiding tripping over the flamethrower that was being used as a doorstop. The lovingly painted ‘Betty' across the side was chipping a little.

The rest of the office was just as messy and chaotic, and Hart tried not to let it get to him. As long as it didn't overspill it was fine. It was fine. It was fine.

He settled down in a large chair next to Ash's desk with caution, spotting a framed picture of Morgan's ass lovingly placed on the corner. The frame read ‘To Ash' at the top.

Morgan was certainly…unique. And perfectly suited for his brother.

"What can I do for you?" Hart asked as Ash settled into his own chair.

Ash quirked a brow at him, sticking a strawberry-flavored lollipop into his mouth from an oversized pot of them on the desk. "Fix just told me about the twins."

"It's not his case either," Hart said for what felt like the millionth time. "It doesn't seem like it's anyone's case."

"And yet…" Ash trailed off, and Hart allowed his shoulders to slump marginally. He sank deeper into the chair and sighed.

"I know there's something going on," Hart said, looking at Ash.

Having recently come out of his own career-defining case, Ash knew better than anyone where Hart's head was at. Both professionally and personally. None of them knew how to do anything else but what they were trained to do, and failure at work meant failing at being who they were fundamentally. It was a tough pill to swallow. Especially for Hart, who thrived on being perfect.

"You know we believe you, right?" Ash said and Hart held his gaze as best as he could. He didn't like being the one who needed encouragement.

"I know," he said, voice thick.

"We'll get to the bottom of this. Together, like we do everything else."

"Thank you," Hart said, running a tired hand over his face, desperate to talk about something else. He caught sight of a pile of papers on Ash's desk. "Are you working on something?"

Ash lifted the journal from Morgan's house into the air to show Hart.

"Still trying to make sense of the whole thing," he said. "We filed the case with as much detail as we could and added in the professional opinions of the other bonding curse experts, but we're still missing a lot, and I have no clue where to even begin."

"The list of names?" Hart asked.

Ash shook his head. "Nothing so far. Black keeps chasing it at PUMA, but every last one of those names was a dead end. It's like someone is working really hard to stop us from finding out."

"You think so?" Hart frowned.

"You were there for the whole hacking ‘let it go' creepo moment. Which was untraceable, by the way. No one has a clue how they got in or out of our system, or who the hell they are. And when the largest curse-related law enforcement agency hits walls repeatedly when looking into something, you can't help but wonder…"

"Maybe the legal way isn't gonna yield any results this time," Hart said before he could stop himself, and Ash gasped so loudly the room echoed with it, making Hart squeeze his eyes shut.

"Excuse me?" Ash almost squealed, his voice reminding Hart uncomfortably of Black when he got excited about something. "I don't think I heard you properly there. Can you repeat that?"

"But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions," Hart said.

"Oh no." Ash shook his head. "No, no, no, no, no, you are not proverbing your way out of this conversation. You, Saint Hart, just suggested illegal avenues of obtaining information."

Hart shook his head. "I did no such thing."

"Yes, you did," Ash sang obnoxiously. "You totally did. I heard it. And I'm pretty sure Taylor heard it somehow. Pretty sure she has the place bugged."

"No, I don't," a voice said from nowhere, and both Ash and Hart jumped in their seats, looking around but finding nothing.

"Creepy," Hart said.

"Not creepy enough to change the subject," Ash said. "Cane has rubbed off on you, I see."

Hart blanched at the words, trying desperately to stop them from flooding his brain.

"Nobody has been rubbing off on me," Hart said.

"I think that might be the problem," Taylor suggested from wherever she was, and Ash actually nodded in agreement.

"She has a point."

"She doesn't."

"You know I do," Taylor said.

"Cane would a billion percent bend you over if you just asked," Ash joked, and Hart felt his stomach drop at the onslaught of images those words produced in his mind.

Of him bent over. Taking it. Being taken. His fingers clenched against the armrests of his chair and the tie around his neck felt like it was tightening. Like fingers wrapping around his throat. Squeezing. Controlling his breath.

"I won't be asking," he said through clenched teeth, fighting against the visuals.

"You might not have to," bodiless Taylor said, and Hart frowned. "He might be here to offer it himself."

"Here?" Hart asked, jumping out of the chair with his heart in his mouth, followed by Ash.

They rushed through the hallway toward the lobby, skidding to a halt at Taylor's desk. Fix followed them just a few seconds later, and a random guinea pig shuffled behind Fix, clearly intending to join whatever was going on.

On the other side of Taylor's desk, Cane stood in all of his humongous, tattooed, pierced, and angry glory.

Hart felt his knees buckle for a split second before he locked them tight and stepped forward.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and Cane zeroed in on him, eyes narrowed and predatory.

He looked tense and…tired. Like he hadn't been sleeping well. He had dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks looked hollower than they had just days before. Whatever was happening was clearly eating at him.

Hart wanted to tell himself he didn't care. That Cane was an adult and he could take care of himself. But the truth was, the dead ends ate at his own sanity too. He felt shaken and bothered by the lack of progress. And Cane, looking like he did, felt like living, breathing, walking proof of Hart's failure.

"It happened again," Cane said.

He was vibrating with pent-up anger, and Hart didn't want it heard outside of their offices. Fix, apparently, was of the same mind.

"How about we take this into the meeting room?" he suggested. "We can talk there."

Cane wanted to argue, Hart noticed, but he shook his head at him. He walked over and stood behind him, forcing him to take a step forward.

"We're all here to listen, okay?" Hart assured him. "Just come with us so we're not in the open while we discuss sensitive matters."

"So you believe me?" Cane demanded, listening for a change and walking toward the meeting room with Hart. "Despite all your little magic things telling you there is no curse."

Hart walked him into the meeting room and offered him a seat, Fix and Ash already settled around the table.

"We believe you," Hart said, looking to his teammates for confirmation. They all nodded.

"We've contacted other teams for consultation, and we're actively trying to find any sort of explanation for what's happening," Hart said.

"You said it happened again?" Fix prompted.

"This morning," Cane said. "I went to one of our storage units. Only a handful of people know about it as it holds some very…valuable items. It was completely empty."

"How much are we talking?" Ash asked.

Cane curled his lip. "A couple hundred thousand."

"Fuck," Ash said.

"Language," Hart said instinctively, and Cane shot him a look.

"Language is the least of my problems here, sweetheart," he said. "Shit is getting worse every time something happens. I need this handled."

"We've done everything we could think of so far," Hart said, trying to keep his voice level.

"Except be there when it happens," Cane said, and they all fell silent.

"The fuck are you saying?" Ash asked.

Cane shot him a look. "I'm saying we're a step behind whatever is happening, and we need to find a way to catch it in action."

"How do you suggest we do that?" Fix asked, holding his hands up when Cane puffed up his chest to argue. "I'm not saying you're wrong. Just trying to work out the logistics of it."

"Hart can come live with me," Cane said, like it was that simple. "I'm always in the middle of everything, and he can shadow me day and night until we catch shit going down. It's not just at the fight ring this shit is happening. It's anything of mine. He can intervene in real time that way."

Ash widened his eyes at him, mouth agape.

Fix tried to stay neutral as always, but Hart could see he had a lot to say about the suggestion.

"That's not happening." Ash broke the silence first. "Hart has nothing to do in your filthy apartment and definitely nothing to do in that den of depravity you call a business."

"You're happily there all the time, Cursebreaker," Cane said.

Ash leaned across the table toward Cane. "I'm there because I want to be. Not because someone told me I had to be."

"I agree with Ash," Fix said. "That place is not appropriate for Hart. And staying at a client's home is also only done in emergency cases."

"Hart is a grown-up who can make his own decisions," Cane said.

"Hart is a part of the team, and we make decisions like these, as a team," Fix said calmly.

Hart listened to the mayhem, head spinning.

He didn't want to go. Ash was right. Fix was right too.

But at the end of the day…

"Cane is right," he said finally, and it was like dropping a bomb into the room.

"Hart!" Ash shouted, playing the part of the explosion.

"Every good piece of work needs the right person in the right place at the right time," Hart said, striving for more calm than he felt.

"But…"

"We've been trailing behind whatever this thing is. Curse, sabotage, doesn't matter. We need to find a way to get ahead. The best way to do that is to be there when it happens. Catch it in action."

"Why does it have to be you?" Ash asked.

"Because we already ruled everyone else out," Hart said. "Nobody is tied to anything, there is no cursed object tied to each of these cases, and I'd say being down a few hundred thousand slates rules out this being a simple nuisance curse."

"Are you sure about this?" Fix asked, a deep frown between his brows, his voice shaking with worry.

Hart ignored Cane's eyes drilling holes into the side of his head. "I don't like it any more than you do—"

"You're hurting my feelings, sweetheart."

Hart glared at Cane to shut up before continuing, "But this is the best course of action for now. I'll be careful and do my best to keep you informed at all times."

"Check in every few hours," Fix said.

"And call us if you need us there," Ash said. "I know my way around the warehouse, at least."

"No, you don't," Cane said.

Ash chuckled. "Shows what you know."

"I'll pack some things and be there this evening," Hart said to Cane, ignoring the bickering around him.

"I'll wait for you," Cane said, his tone telling him he didn't want Hart out of his sight.

Hart shook his head adamantly. He needed a second to catch his breath and contemplate exactly what he had just agreed to. This wasn't just Cane's working space. He'd agreed to enter Cane's apartment. To sleep there. Inside the belly of the beast. "I need some time to get everything ready."

Cane scowled like a kid denied something he wanted, but kept his mouth shut as if sensing he couldn't win. Cane was a fighter, at the end of the day—he knew how to pick his battles.

"You can head out," Hart said, shifting a pad and pen across the table and snatching his hand back before they could touch. "Leave your address here for me and I'll meet you there. Unless we're sleeping at the warehouse, which, for the record, I refuse."

Cane hesitated for a split second, as if he thought Hart would just skip town the moment he left the room. But he realized he had no other option and scrawled something on the paper before standing up and stomping away.

He paused in the doorway, turning his head slightly to the side and catching Hart's look out of the corner of his eye.

Hart held his breath at the intensity there, at the thought of being left alone with it and having it focused solely on him for however long it lasted. The heat from earlier returned full force and he felt like he'd combust if he didn't find a way to stop it.

He broke the eye contact, gripping the paper with Cane's address.

Cane stalked out of the room and Hart closed his eyes against the onslaught of questions and concerns from both Fix and Ash.

He agreed with all of them.

He had no idea what he had just gotten himself into.