You let out a slow, deep breath as you watch the others vanish from view. You feel rather than hear Dorian approach behind you and relax back into his touch when he rests his hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently.

“What will they find inside the caves?” your partner asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice low. You slump back into his arms, letting your head rest on his shoulder, and focus on your breathing.

You don’t stand there long before you hear a car engine. You step out of Dorian’s arms, turning round to watch as Grant’s car parks next to Dorian’s. The driver’s door opens and a blond young man, about the same age as Grant, gets out. He glances uncertainly at you and swallows, before standing up straight and setting his mouth in a determined line. “Where’s Grant?”

Your eyes slant towards the cave Grant entered before you focus on the younger man once more. “Are you Paul?”

He nods. Once, firmly. “It’s okay. I’m not….” He breathes in deep and closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again and looking at you. “I haven’t slipped. Not yet. I’m not here to try and stop what you need to do. I just…Grant needs me.”

“He’s gone to retrieve what’s inside the cave,” you say. “It’s important that the item is brought straight to me.”

“I can go after him?” Paul’s voice is hesitant.

“I’m not stopping you,” you answer.

Paul gives a quick grin and then breaks into a jog, running towards the cave Grant had gone into and ducking inside.

“You’re lying to them.”

You flinch at the accusation from your partner and glance at his face before swallowing and lowering your gaze. You want to ask how he knows that; how he can be so sure. You want to tell him that he should have more trust in you; that he can’t call you a liar without any proof. And that even if you were lying, he shouldn’t be questioning you.

But all of those words die in your throat. Shoulders slumping, you suddenly feel the weight of all the centuries you’ve been alive crashing down on you. Turning slightly, you wrap your arms around Dorian’s waist and press your face into his shoulder. “I don’t know,” you admit hoarsely. “I don’t know if I’m lying or not. I don’t know.”

“This isn’t something you’ve dealt with before?” he guesses.

You take a deep breath and then force yourself to nod. Remind yourself that you chose to let him into your life and to share this burden with you. He won’t use the knowledge of your weakness against you. “I’ve never been in this kind of position before,” you admit. “I’ve not heard of any guardian dealing with corruption on this scale before.”

Dorian squeezes your shoulder and then says, in a low voice, “I want you to go and cut me a switch.”

You flinch at the words and pull back, staring into his eyes. “I didn’t lie to you.”

He meets your gaze without fear or hesitation; a far cry from how hesitant Grant was in meeting your eyes. “I think you’ve been alive for so long, you’ve forgotten how to empathise with humans anymore. You need a reminder that your job, as a guardian, means protecting all humans. That includes the ones who have been stuck here through no fault of their own.”

“All I did was prepare them for the worst case scenario,” you protest. “I don’t think that deserves the switch.”

“That is not your decision to make,” he answers. “You’ve made choices that have hurt other people. Even if your intentions were good, you lied to them when it wasn’t necessary to do so.”

A myriad of different protests flitter through your mind. That this land isn’t your responsibility. You chose to come here. And you don’t even know if you can help them or not. You can’t make promises if you don’t know that you can keep them.

But he’s right. As much as you hate to admit it, as much as you don’t want to be switched…he’s right that you lied. And maybe this land isn’t your responsibility and the residents here aren’t your responsibility, but you accepted it when you left the hospital and came here with your lover. So you don’t voice anymore arguments. You walk over to one of the trees at the edge of the deadland and you take out a pocketknife.

Selecting a thin, sturdy branch, you cut it free from the tree. You place a hand on the trunk, apologising to the spirit dwelling within and thanking it for allowing you to take what you need. Then, you carefully strip the branch of every twig and leaf. Every sharp edge that could potentially cut your skin.

Because you know Dorian doesn’t want to damage you. Even if you will heal.

After what seems like both an age and over far too quickly, the switch is ready. You gently slash it through the air, the whistling making you tense involuntarily. Then, without dragging your feet, you carry the switch over to Dorian. Without a word, you hold it out to him.

He takes the switch from you, casting a glance over it before he nods. Then, taking a firm grip on your shoulder, he leads you over to his car. He doesn’t need more than a touch to guide you into position, bent over the hood, standing on tiptoe so you can hang onto the edge on the other side and your backside is elevated as high as you can comfortably get it.

The switch whistles through the air and, a split second later, it swipes across your backside, leaving a line of fire in its wake that burns even through two layers of clothing. You inhale sharply and exhale as you grip the edge tightly.

The switch lashes down a second and third time, each landing a little lower than the previous. When it lands on your thighs, you can’t help the whimper that escapes through your tightly clenched teeth.

The switching starts over from the top, painting lines of fire over skin that’s already received attention. You begin to shift from one foot to the other, gripping the car so tight, your knuckles are turning white. You can just about see that through the tears that are now blurring your vision.

You’ve lost count of how many times the switch’s landed across your aching, burning backside. By the time Dorian stops, your whole body’s slumped and your breath is hitching in quiet sobs. When he touches your back, you push into his touch and whimper out, “I’m sorry.”

He helps you up and wraps his arms tightly around you, holding you close as you calm down and the tears quiet. But even after your sobs die down and the burning fades to a stinging ache, you don’t let go of him. But you do raise your head and press your lips to his.

Dorian kisses you back, his hand brushing over your lower back as it deepens and intensifies. Even when you break the kiss, you cling onto him.

“They’re coming back.” Dorian’s whisper breaks the silence.

Wiping a hand over your eyes to get rid of the last of your tears, you turn round to see who’s exiting the cave.