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"Yes." His voice was soft, quiet; Lecter had pondered his own mortality a thousand times over and it was not a thing that perturbed him any longer. The deaths he had seen, the lives he himself had taken — it had hardened him to the inevitability that he would die.

Ira, for once, seemed to be listening, and Lecter mentally marked the day in his mind, mocking the younger wolf inwardly. He did not want to pass his craft off to the vulgar, crass youth, but he was Jinx's own, and as such, a fitting heir for the magick Lecter had long since held as lore. Icewater eyes narrowed. "It is an important thing I pass to you, Ira. I will not do it if there is a chance you will leave Jinx, or die without first passing this knowledge on. I cannot teach you all things. Some you must learn for yourself."

"You are fated for leadership, Ira, but you must learn valuable skills before you become such. You must know how to heal as well as how to kill, and killing is part of the art I shall teach you. I know it is your chosen craft."

Summarily, the man fell silent, awaiting Ira's response. He did not know how the boy would answer, or if he would at all. It was a great task he would lay across the gilded withers, a great trust. And he loathed to do it.