The warehouse, when they finally found it, was dank and dark, its crumbling walls overgrown with sundry weeds and creepers sprouting from every available nook and cranny. Ruban flicked on his flashlight, holding it out in front of him even as he drew his sifblade from its sheath and into his free hand. Ashwin followed close behind, stepping into the building cautiously, although he seemed more at ease with his surroundings than Ruban currently felt. The Zainian’s hand shot out to steady him as he stumbled over what had probably once been a part of some sort of automobile, even as the young man himself skipped lightly over the obstacle as if he had seen it a mile off.
“Careful,” Ashwin said, his voice hushed as if in deference to their surroundings. “Don’t want you breaking your leg someplace this spooky.”
“No, I daresay you don’t. The only proper place to break one’s limbs is obviously in a well-lit parlour, preferably in one’s family manor.”
“Precisely,” Ashwin sniffed the air delicately, although whether it was because he actually smelt anything or he was just being his usual obnoxious self, the Hunter couldn’t tell. “If there ever was an Aeriel here, though, it’s not here anymore. This place is empty, and has been for some time now.”
“What, your grandma gave you super Aeriel-sensing skills now?” Ruban growled, flashing his torch into the shadowy corners of the cavernous warehouse. The place was littered with what looked like abandoned machine-parts and other random detritus left behind from a more prosperous time. If there was anything living in this place, Ruban had to admit it had certainly eluded him so far.
Even in the darkness, the Hunter could practically feel his companion frown irritably. “Don’t be ridiculous. The dust on every surface is almost an inch deep. Aeriels may be light-footed but they’re not weightless. Nothing’s moved in here in a couple of days at least, most likely more.”
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“Aeriels have wings, in case you hadn’t noticed. It could’ve just been flying,” Ruban retorted, though the words sounded unconvincing to his own ears. It wasn’t so much that he actually disagreed with the Zainian, but it was the principle of the thing. It didn’t feel quite right to let the foreign princeling go entirely unchallenged.
Ashwin looked around the dank confines of the abandoned structure disdainfully. “Flying? In here? Quite apart from the fact that it would be entirely impractical, not to mention uncomfortable; it’d still disturb the debris, scatter the dust if nothing else. No, if Reivaa was ever here, she’s long gone.”
Ashwin shook his head, looking resigned, just as something glittered under the light of Ruban’s still-roving torch; something incongruently glossy in their grimy surroundings. “What’s that?” the Zainian breathed even as he moved quietly towards the shadowed corner where the flashlight had briefly illuminated something small and glossy, lying discarded under a broken piece of equipment. Ashwin bent down, picking up the object of their interest and holding it gingerly between his fingers.
“Looks like a photograph. Well, part of one anyway,” Ruban said, moving forward to stand next to the Zainian, squinting down at the bit of shiny paper. He sank to one knee, passing the flashlight under the large chunk of discarded factory equipment to check for anything else out of place. “There’s more of them. Looks like someone tore up a photo in here.”
Ashwin fell to his knees beside him, passing a searching hand over the grimy surface of the floor on which the flashlight illuminated several scattered pieces of glossy photo paper. “Wanna put it together?” he asked, collecting the shredded pieces into both his hands as he stood up. Walking over to a protruding piece of wall that had probably once been a shelf, he dumped his findings onto it, spreading it out for convenient sorting. “Bring the flashlight over here,” he said, gesturing Ruban over to his side of the warehouse. “Let’s see what the Aeriels are after now.”