It has been ten years since he entered the hunter’s domain. Lorne finds himself employed by an eccentric man by the name of Louis Dalton. Dalton has a fortune backing his exploits though everyone in New Orleans knows that he did not earn a dime himself, but inherited it all from his long-deceased father.

Lorne walks through Dalton’s manor, only idly listening to the man prattle on. His eyes are drawn to the various trophies stood on stands and hanging from the manor’s walls. There are stuffed wolves and a single white stag, but a number of antlers that Lorne suspects are from the species.

Dalton pauses before a door, nodding to the guard that stands before it. He turns his beady eyes onto Lorne and tells him to never go in this room alone, it’s dangerous. Lorne lifts a brow and waits for Dalton to elaborate but he doesn’t. He opens the door and nods for Lorne to follow him.

The room is relatively small but at the back stands a large tank. A strange feeling settles over Lorne as he hedges closer to the glass. At first there is nothing but the sound of stirring water but then Dalton hits a switch and the tank flares to life, backlit by lights stationed behind it.

What Lorne sees is a distant memory given new life. Glittering scales shimmer in the light and Lorne is stricken speechless. He knows this creature, he has lived within Lorne’s dreams since childhood. Over the years, Lorne was convinced what he experienced on the that beach in Ireland was nothing more than a trick of his imagination. Now he knows the truth.

Dalton speaks on about how it’s a pity the creature won’t live much longer, as he’s refusing to eat, and wonders over the best way to preserve the specimen when it passes. Lorne pays Dalton no attention, he is fixated on the merfolk floating within the tank, and doesn’t even notice the way his hands shake.

He is called away by Dalton, the tour over, business needs doing. It takes a colossal amount of effort for Lorne to tear himself away from tank. He is given a task and Lorne leaves to accomplish it. That night, in the solitude of his hotel room, Lorne nurses a beer. His thoughts circulate around the creature in the tank. In truth, Lorne hasn’t stopped thinking about him since he laid eyes upon those familiar features.

Always reckless and slave to his own instincts, Lorne’s features set grim and he is off towards the manor. The door guards allow him entrance, seeing him as one of their own, and as Lorne treads down the hallways towards his objective, he can hear his mother’s voice as a mantra in his mind.

Be good.

There is a guard in front of the room and he is struck suspicious by Lorne’s presence. Lorne simpers and says he must’ve taken a wrong turn, where is Dalton, he needs to speak with him. The ruse lowers the guard’s defenses enough that Lorne can reach out and grapple him, slamming the man down, his head striking a nearby table. He is left bleeding and unmoving on the floor, Lorne steps over him and enters into the display room.

He fondles the wall for the switch and finds it. Once again, the tank flares to life. Lorne stands before it, his features stoic, brows knit. He is pensive, wondering over the living memory in front of him. Finally, Lorne takes a step forward and speaks.

“You don’t remember me…but I remember you,” Lorne’s never forgotten. “I owe you.” He presses a hand against the cold glass, peering at the creature within. “I’m going to get you out of here. I’m going to get you safe.”

A MacNamara always pays their debts.