"Great. Accessory to murder and now responsible for missing bodies." Margrit pressed her lips together and looked away, though she glimpsed Alban shaking his head.

"Neither, Margrit. You acted in self-defense, and by human law, I acted to save another. Not that human law will judge me. We know how my people will rule."

A breath of laughter escaped her. "And I thought I was the lawyer here."

Alban returned her smile cautiously. "I may have learned a thing or two from you in the last week. Margrit-"

"No." She held up her hand, uncomfortably aware she was echoing Tony’s sentiment from earlier. "Not right now, okay, Alban? No apologies, no explanations, no anything. I need a couple of days. I can’t escape your world." She bit her lower lip, searching for the truth within her. "I can’t, and I don’t want to. But I need a little time to back off and breathe. This…has been a hard week. So give me some time, okay? I’ll be fine. I just need space."

"Are you certain?"

"I’m very, very certain. And right now you have to go, because Cole’s going to be out of the shower in a minute." She had never had the chance to tell Alban that Cole had seen him. The impulse to do so rose and faded in the same breath; it would not send the gargoyle from her balcony, and she needed him to go. There would be time later to deal with the ramifications of Cole’s discovery. "Just give me a few days, Alban. It’s been too much." Another wave of familiarity swept her; she’d pushed Tony away too often using that same argument. It was a mistake she didn’t want to make again.

For the first time in what felt like days a genuine smile broke over her face. Margrit stepped out the kitchen door, crossing the step or two to Alban and winding her arms around his neck. "I’ll come back to you, Stoneheart. Just give me a chance to catch up on my sleep, okay?"

Before he could speak, she stood on her toes and stole a kiss, heart hammering with joy that came from nowhere. Then, still smiling, she darted back into the apartment and turned to wave at the stunned gargoyle.

There was hope.

Alban watched Margrit slide the door closed, astonishment making him thick and slow. He had come in all expectation of finding refusals and goodbyes, and instead had been offered hope. Slow delight washed through him, and he turned to do as he was bade: give her space and time.

Seconds later he settled on the roof across the street, crouching where he could see her apartment windows.

She had not, after all, said how much space.