Break practices every morning, without question. It helped him get his anger out after the Sinclairs. It kept him fit once he settled down with Liam and Pandora. It moved him to regain his confidence and his strength after the surgery, and here in the mansion, it's been a link to the familiar -- a ritual, of sorts.

But it just hasn't been quite the same without his music.

Which is why, now that he's done his morning yoga and he's run through all of the sword drills his younger counterpart has been teaching him, there's a stereo off to the side blasting one of his favorite Nightwish songs. His knives are in his hands and his hair is in a ponytail and his shirt is off and he's dancing.

They're not moves anyone in this world would know, of course, and he doesn't see it as that, but it's exactly what he's doing. He's slipped into that place still in the back of his head that fights so instinctively he may as well be a machine, and the beats of the song guide his movements -- down, up, down, away -- as he spins and slices and destroys imaginary enemies. Now and again he flips his grip on his knives to punch at the air and then slash back down, or drops into a roll only to spring back to his feet a moment later, so smoothly it's as though he were pulled up by something unseen. His movements are graceful and controlled, and for the most part, unlike the other Breaks, he stays in one spot -- he can't run like they can.

What he doesn't realize -- or care about, really -- is that his music is loud enough to be heard out in the hallway.



[Takes place during the modern mansion event; private to smallkindnesses.]