𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙢 𝘿𝙚𝙨𝙖𝙞.

"I consider them one of the more trustworthy sources."

"Hook us up with what?" Sanam asked, brows furrowing slightly.

"I'm sure he does." Sanam looked towards her. "There's a lot of corruption in journalism, both in more serious news and in things like celebrity gossip. People with money and influence manipulate it all the time."

"It's... Lena, isn't it?" Sanam had brushed up on information about Lex Luthor before he'd gone and done his interview. His daughter had spoken out against him many times. "I suppose she's a good source of information."

Sanam nodded and looked out the window. There was a lot of wreckage left behind from the demons.

"I noticed you didn't question it when I suggested I might be in trouble... You believe the stories that he's dangerous then?" Sanam guessed.

Sanam laughed lightly. "I've never particularly wanted to be royalty... And that's decided by blood anyway, not by... Reincarnated souls.

It is complicated, that's for sure... We really don't know much about what this means, or what we're in for."

-- after they died, or a husband who decided to become a better person in the honor of the one he lost... If there is any design to life at all, it's going to be a complex web. You can only see your thread, your own connection to it."

Sanam looked down at his hands, clenching them when he thought of all those people who died in that room right in front of him. He swallowed, even though he knew he'd done all he could.

"There is always more you don't know... Maybe they had a sister who started a charity in their honor --

-- who got injured... I somehow ended up in his office, where the sword was, and when that demon attacked... I fell against it."

He looked towards Ivette. He looked a little bewildered as he spoke, but also a little in awe.

-- passenger side and slid into the seat, closing the door and fastening his seatbelt. "I'm not really sure what fate or destiny even is... But I think I believe in it now.

I wasn't even supposed to be the one to go to that interview at Lex Luthor's office... I was covering for a co-worker --

Sanam got momentarily confused when he saw which side of the car Ivette was heading towards, and had to remind himself that American cars drove on the opposite side. He hadn't done much riding in cars since he'd moved out here. He'd taken public transportation everywhere.

He came up to the --

Sanam placed his bag and the wrapped to sword into the trunk. "I'm still not really sure what to think..." Sanam knit his brows together thoughtfully. "I'm not anything special. I'm not a hero. I'm not even particularly athletic... why me of all people?"

-- while I'm holding it."

Sanam thought about it for a moment. He closed the door, locking it behind the two of them.

"I don't know... I suppose it does in the same way having any weapon does. Knowing you can do something instead of just stand there... I don't think the sword changes my personality or thoughts --

"So... like me as well, I suppose," he said thoughtfully. He opened the door of his apartment and held it open for her. "I don't have any sort of strength or skills. I don't have any power... but when I hold the sword... It sort of connects with my body."

"No, it's alright. I've got it." He smiled. "I hope this doesn't come off as rude or anything... Are you strong? Because of your... God...?" Sanam wasn't sure how to phrase the question. He was still pretty confused about how it worked. And the girl was quite small.

-- back.

"After everything that just happened, I don't think anyone's going to pay us much attention. They've got more important things to worry about than two strangers on the street."

Sanam slipped his arms through the straps of his rucksack, then slid the wrapped up sword between the bag and his --

"Are... you expecting someone to stop and search the car?" Sanam asked as he finished gathering everything he needed and zipping up his rucksack.

"That'll have to do, I suppose."

Sanam retrieved the sword from the bathroom. Luckily, if he wasn't holding the hilt, it wasn't glowing.

He set it on his bed and wrapped it up in a sheet.

Sanam stepped out of the bedroom, brows furrowed. "In your bag?" He repeated, looking towards it now. It definitely did not look big enough to conceal a sword.

"It's alright. Thank you."

Sanam headed into his bedroom and pulled a rucksack out of his closet. He then started grabbing some clothes from his drawers.

"I'm not quite sure how to transport the sword," Sanam called from the bedroom.

Sanam looked thoughtful for a long moment.

"Alright," he agreed finally. "I should pack a few things..."

"I don't know." Sanam reached up and rubbed his face with both hands.

"It still doesn't change the fact that I don't have anywhere I could go. My parents live in England, and I can't exactly reach out to anyone from work."

-- the demon teleported while it was dying... then I was in Gotham, sword in hand and demon on top of me."

Sanam took his hand down from his face and shook his head.

"No... I actually didn't even mean to take it. There was a demon that broke into his office while I was there. I grabbed for something to defend myself with, and the sword just... came free.

When I stabbed the demon with it, --

Sanam looked alarmed when she said that. He stood up quickly, then paused.

"... I... hold on—" he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I don't have anywhere else to go... even if I did, I can't make money if I'm in hiding... running isn't a practical long-term solution."

"No, I meant—I mean Merlin did mention something about destiny, about stopping some dark force that's coming... but that wasn't what I was going to say.

It's the sword... I got it from Lex Luthor's office. I don't think he's going to be all that pleased I still have it."

Sanam chuckled softly. "I suppose I should get some practice in."

He seemed to remember something, and looked up at her with a little more concern. "Right, there's... something else..."

Sanam nodded, his eyes turning up to her's. "Thank you... I... have no idea what I'm doing," he admitted, clutching the coffee cup between his hands. His fingers were long, slim, and delicate; the hands of a writer.