"While I'm gone, watch over Hope for me," Bill said at last. "I'll come by to visit her once I've gotten through the first part of my training, but until then… just make sure she's safe. Please."
"Also, please tell Wallace and Steven that I've gone," he continued. "Eventually, I'll be ready to train with them as well."
Tate closed his mouth. The blue light continued to flicker through his eyes for a few more seconds.
"And tell Lanette that I'm sorry," Bill finished, his voice softer than it was a moment ago, "and that someday, I'll make this right." Then, with one last glance to Tate, he smiled once more. "Thank you."
Then, he bit into the back of the feebas and held it in his mouth like a cat holding its prey. He dropped to all fours and darted into the underbrush that way, tail disappearing under the bushes before Tate could say another word. Behind him, the psychic only stared at the vanishing arrowhead as Steven returned to the end of the Caravan, this time accompanied by Wallace. Steven cast a curious glance towards the psychic, who finally turned to his companions.
"I think I'll ride with you guys this time," Tate told him. "I need to talk to you about Bill. He's in serious trouble."
"The fire-type?" Wallace asked as he climbed onto Metagross's back.
As Tate leaned down to scoop up the Master Ball, he replied, "No. Worse."
He stopped, examining the ball carefully. Its purple surface glinted in the sunlight no matter which way he turned it.
"Much worse," he said.