Eight. Freaking. Hours.

It should have been simple. All Captain Chin needed to do was take him to the Base. Give Silverhand his belongings. Hook him up with a ship, and then he could be on his merry way. But no, leave it to the Navy to make simple tasks complicated.

Instead of giving Silverhand his stuff and being done with it, Dashard led him down a plain featureless familiar hallway on the base's fourth level. It wasn’t as though he knew this particular layout, but he recognized the sobering melodic tone playing on repeat from unseen speakers in the walls. What solidified Silverhands theory was Dashard putting his badge against a blank wall, only for the wooden wall paneling to slide back and reveal an interrogation room.

“Seriously!?” Silverhand asked incredulously, “Since you didn’t slap the cuffs on me, I thought we were good! You know I’m just going to make a mess breaking out of here, right?”

“Not if you want your stuff, you’re not,” Dashard said matter of factly. He crossed his arms and glowered at Silverhand, “You’ll go in there, sit down, shut up, and wait until we send some people in to check you out. Then we’ll discuss the terms of your release.”

Silverhand narrowed his eyes, “This is how you repay the person who risked his life trying to save you?”

Dashard pursed his lips, the action so subtle that Silverhand wouldn’t have noticed if they weren’t right in each other’s faces.

“Can you even consider it risking your life if you know you’ll survive in the end?” Dashard asked while looking at Silverhand with an arched brow.

Silverhand raised a finger to dispute that but paused when he realized he wasn’t sure. The corner of Dashards mouth curled into the beginnings of a smug smile.

“Fine, have it your way, but hurry up I don’t have all day.” Silverhand relented, stomping into the interrogation room while loudly grumbling, “Ungrateful Navy bastards.” Before the panel slid shut behind him, locking Silverhand inside the interrogation room.

That was eight hours ago, and Silverhand only knew the exact time because they'd sent the Dicina to give him a regular shirt and the once over. Probably to make sure he wasn't some kind of undead, which was fair.

Sure, he could've fought getting thrown in here, but Silverhand needed time to clear his head and decide what to do next. Things had taken one unexpected turn after another. Usually, he thrived in chaotic environments, but that worked best when he was alone. So that’s why Silverhand was trying to figure out what he was thinking about inviting Kaleon to leave with him. At the time, it was an off-the-cuff offer to get his mind off the impending doom, but Kaleon hadn't given him a yes or no answer. Silverhands silently chastised himself, hoping that if Kaleon was to give him an answer, it would be no.

Kaleon was a good guy, but that’s the problem. History taught Silverhand that good people didn’t belong with him if they wanted to stay that way, and he had no plans to repeat that lesson. Plus, with the way things were going and his luck, Silverhand was convinced that if he took Kaleon with him, he'd have to choose to save Nandi or Rynnelle. Silverhand already knew what his choice would be. He also knew that after, he wouldn't be able to look Kaleon in the eyes again.

Silverhand leaned in a metal chair with his feet on the table on a small sandy island in the middle of the ocean. Waves crashed around him, filling his nose with the smell of salt as a warm breeze riffled through his hair. It was meant to be a tranquil scene to set assailants at ease. Silverhand thought it was just patronizing.

An iridescent sheen washed over Silverhands sight as his vision shifted from the regular to the magical. Of all the newfound abilities Silverhand discovered himself to have, this one was the least used. There was nothing wrong with it exactly, if anything, it was actually pretty helpful, but Silverhand could only use it for a few seconds at a time without getting a massive headache from the sensory overload. Thankfully, interrogation rooms fell on the short list of places that were an exception to that.

Freed from the illusionary island backdrop, Silverhand looked at the room's Ininka walls, floor, and ceiling. Every surface was covered in glowing, multicolored glyphs representing over a dozen security enchantments.

Silverhand knew the standard enchantments, but there were a few new ones that he didn't immediately recognize. Although he had a sneaking suspicion as to what they were. Honestly, he felt a little insulted. If they were going to try and confine him, they could at least make the ways to break out so glaringly obvious. As it stands, Silverhand had fifteen ways to break out of here.

"I don't know why, but I'm feeling number six." Blinking his eyes back to normal, a small tuft of silver cloud stuff flew out of Silverhands palm as he talked to himself. Silverhand sucked his teeth as he considered it further. He tossed the ball up, the silver cloud stuff making a faint boom when it bounced off the ceiling, "Actually, what about lucky number thirteen? No no, six's fine. Let's not overcommit; I doubt I could convince them to give me a pound of flour."

"I beg your pardon?"

Silverhand paused, remembering that the Dicina who'd told him the time and was sent to check on him never actually left the room. He looked at the Yana across the table, who was clutching a notepad with a worried look.

Slightly distracted, Silverhand threw the cloud ball at a bad angle. The Dicina, whom Silverhand partially remembered introducing himself as Ehsan, ducted as the ball ricocheted wildly across the room. Ehsan dropped his things to cover his head as the ball filled the room with rolling thunder.

Silverhand's left hand detached from his wrist to catch the ball and idly toss it in the corner. "Sorry. Got in my head and went on autopilot, forgot you were here." Silverhand smiled apologetically, "What were we talking about?"

Ehsan looked like he wanted to say something. Thought better of it, and cleared his throat. "You've encountered these pirates before, so I asked if there was any more you could tell me about the kind of magic they use. We've healed those caught in the initial attack, but there's a lingering effect. No matter what we try, the disease reapplies itself even stronger than before and to make matters worse, it's starting to spread. Frankly, I don't know what to make of." Ehsan took a haggard breath, wiping the weariness from his eyes. Silverhand waited for him to recompose and flip through his notes, "You started telling me about a contest of...thieves?"

"Right," It actually took Silverhand conscious effort to not get swept away by the tide of emotions and thoughts associated with that time of his life. "There had been a point to the story," Silverhand chuckled, "But I guess you don't need all the details. I'll give it to you straight Doc, I don't know specifics. It was mostly through trial and error. The sun..." He looked around, "The real sun, should be out, which is good. Direct sunlight will keep the disease at bay. Radantum works, too, but not as well." Silverhand paused, a flash of another memory of some weird creature passed through his mind. The memory was murky, wrapped up in another slew of others he didn't want to get into, so he pushed it away, "I'm not sure what the cure is, but I do know there is one. I used to have a magic item that casts a light that healed over time. It kept me safe. Now that I think about it I didn't even notice the disease, until the people around me got sick. I'm not sure if it was that specific treasure or if you guys can come up with something similar, but hopefully, that will help enough so you're not starting at square one."

Ehsan furiously wrote notes on the notepad and nodded even before Silverhand was finished speaking, "That corroborates quite a few observations the Acolytes had made. Thank you. Is there anything else you can share?"

"Sorry," Silverhand's left hand returned to his wrist, ball in hand. "That's all I got that'll be useful right now."

Still writing things down, Ehsan stood up from his seat. "Thank you again."

"No problem," Silverhand tossed the ball in the air as a section of the wall slid back for Ehsan to exit. It was a strange sight, as if someone had cut a rectangular hole in space leading to a mundane hallway. The Dicina got a foot out the door when Silverhand asked, “Oh, and Doc?”

Ehsan paused, turning back to him, “Yes?”

“How long until you guys can read my aura signature?” Silverhand kept the same casual tone, but Ehsan looked like he’d slapped him.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean." Ehsan said, a little too quickly, "While that may be standard practice in the majority of these cases, Lord Reinard has explicitly stated that besides a standard physical checkup, no aura signature should be taken."

Silverhand looked to Ehsan then. The man tried his best to remain calm, but a bead of sweat rolled down his face. Silverhand didn’t know if they were taking it, but it made sense why they held him for so long. Ehsan’s nervousness all but confirmed it. Silverhand technically didn't know what they would find, but he had suspicions. They probably had several tests done, but the results may have been too strange for them to accept as accurate. If they had gotten them already, Silverhand was sure he'd be having a very different conversation.

Silverhand sighed, but it turned into a frustrated groan. “I really have to work on keeping a lower profile.” He muttered to himself. “One more thing Doc, what time is it?”

Ehsan, who looked like he was about to pass out at the weight of Silverhands gaze, reached into his coat and pulled out a pocket watch. “Uh…it’s a quarter past nine.”

Silverhand made a face as if deep in thought, then nodded to himself, “Alright that’s not too bad. Tell Captain Chin he has until noon.”

“Has until noon to what exactly?” Ehsan asked, only for Silverhand to arch an eyebrow that said, ‘What do you think?’ Before Ehsan stammered, “Right. Noon, I’ll pass that along.”

Silverhand watched as the man hurriedly shuffled down the hall. The wall slid back, once again trapping him on this illusionary isle. Silverhand put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes in thought. The room is filled with beating thunder as the cloud ricocheted across every surface, Silverhand exerting just enough control to nudge it away from hitting him.

"So it's been what? A little less than twenty-four hours, and-" Silverhand huffed as he mentally ticked off yesterday's events, "I'm out of a ship, loudly announced to the big wigs in Parliament I wasn't dead before immediately striking up a conversation with a pirate I hadn't seen in I don't know how long who then attacked, and kidnapped the future Lady. Then, to top it all off, I got killed trying to protect a captain of the Navy of all things. Which, in retrospect, I should not have asked to be brought back in a room full of people." Silverhand face palmed, not notice as the images of the illusion cloaking the room stuttered for a few moments before correcting itself. "And all that's with me avoiding the damn Dampayk in the room."

Silverhand groaned again. It had been eight months since he'd been back, and all things considered, it was a miracle he'd been able to keep a low profile for this long. Silverhand had hoped that when the inevitable news of his return turned from rumor to fact, it would've been someone getting a picture of him, preferably from his good side.

Instead, he was in an interrogation room, where it had undoubtedly scanned him for his aura signature. Likely multiple times just to confirm the readings. The question Silverhand had to ask himself was why he'd let them. Sure, he didn't want to fight the Navy in its current state, but Silverhand knew what they'd try and do the minute he'd set foot in here. Then he just sat there and let them do it. It was a stupid, unnecessary risk, and there was no way to predict how people would react. It took Silverhand a long time to figure it out, and when he did, it wasn't as comforting as he hoped.

Silverhand sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "God's i'm tired."

"I'd imagine so; you haven't slept since I brought you here." Silverhand opened his eyes. His right hand instinctively reached out to catch the ball, the condensed cloudstuff vibrating furiously between his fingers.

A part of the wall slid back, allowing Dashard and a woman to take a seat across from Silverhand. He studied the middle-aged woman, offhandedly realizing this must've been one of the other Navy captains. Her robes were glittering emerald and black instead of the standard white, grey, and blue. The outfit matched her nails, eyeshadow, and lipstick, which matched the hairpin she kept in her black hair styled like a beehive.

"Not the kind of tired I was talking about," Silverhand said to Dashard. Silverhand was about to comment how his partner was wearing enough green to make a forest envious when he noticed her watermelon-sized biceps, paired with a glare so full of contempt Silverhand found unnerving. Instead, he said to her, "Let me guess. Red is your favorite color?"

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The captain crossed her arms, and shoved a mountain of coal into the burning fires of contempt she flung in Silverhands direction, “Apostate.” She growled.

Silverhand arched an eyebrow at her. What’s her problem?

Dashard cleared his throat, “I see you’ve been using magic for quite some time while in here. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that ambient magic doesn’t flow through the interrogation room.“

“Yup, I’m aware,” Silverhand said while playing with the cloud in his hands.

“So if your personal magic supply runs short or out, we will not remove you from this room. You’ll have to suffer the side effects until we finish asking our questions, and you're sentenced at trial.”

“Yeah Yeah, I-” Silverhand paused, and his eyes narrowed at Dashard “What'd you just say?”

“Captain Mahonnet and I have some questions we need you to answer.” Dashard said, sounding disgruntled, “Cooperate, and-"

"No, no, no. Screw all that," Silverhand interrupted, sitting up in his seat and wrapping a knuckle of the table. "What trial?"

“You’re being tried as an accomplice in Captain Ketemah’s crimes. You’re charged with assault and murder of government officials, wanton destruction of property, both public and private, biological terrorism, and last but not least, piracy. Unless you tell us everything you know about where he would take Mrs. Odulfo, you’ll be tried and convicted before the end of the day.” Mahonnet explained. Her face didn't show it, but Silverhand couldn’t shake the feeling that she was getting a sick sense of pleasure out of this, “We’ve also sent a messenger to contact the closest Navy Admiral in this sector. Who will transport you to Onyeyo where you will be tried for the rest of your crimes against the tribe.”

“What happened to me sitting here and shutting up until you bring me my stuff!“ Silverhand shouted as he kicked his feet off the table and pointed an accusatory finger at Dashard, “I’ve held up my end of every deal I made on this island. You’re seriously going back on that?”

Dashards face took on a conflicted expression as he steepled his fingers on the table. “All I did was tell you to wait here for us to discuss the conditions of your release.”

Mahonnet added, “You’re lucky he humored scum like you at all. Only a fool would think they’d get to walk out of here after all you've done.”

“Lord Reinard wanted me to express that he strongly disagrees with this decision,” Dashard said before Silverhand could respond, shooting a subtle look of reproval at Mahonnet, “Under normal circumstances, the law allows the Lord or Lady of an island has the final say in matters like this. That changes when events on an island threaten the safety of the tribe as a whole. An exemption will be made for you due to the nature of your crimes. In addition to the fact you appear to be one of the few completely unaffected by the disease,” Dashard paused, then forced himself to continue, “After you leave, the entire island will be under quarantine until we find a cure.”

Silverhand let out a long whistle. Well, this sucks. It’s not like Silverhand thought it would be as simple as getting his things, then having Dashard angrily wave his fist at him while screaming, ‘I’ll get you next time Silverhand!’ As he flew into the sunset on a ship. Although it would’ve been a lie to say he hadn’t hoped for it.

“Silverhand, please,” Dashard said with a genuine softness that made Silverhand pause, "Despite what you've done in the past. I will acknowledge that you're the only reason we stood a fighting chance last night. You saved a lot of lives, including my own." He sighed as if saying that aloud, unburdened a load off his shoulders. "Personal feelings aside, someone who does that must be a decent man, even if it's deep, deep, down inside of him." Dashard finished, "So if there's anything you know to help us get Rynnelle back. Tell us."

Silverhand didn't say anything for a long time. He'd been expecting to do an under-the-table deal with Reinard for his freedom in exchange for pointing them in the right direction toward where Rynnelle could be. That he could do. Happily even. However, the only thing Silverhand could really give them worthwhile would be to point out that Kaleon is the one connected to the lantern, not him. Not a chance he was going to do that.

"Okay," Silverhand said, sighing heavily, "Okay, you the big guy on Ketemah's crew? Kaine?" He looked between Dashard and Mahonnet, both of whom showed genuine interest. Silverhand hesitated, then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "He claims he's seven foot tall, but he's really six-nine."

Dashards face dropped like a sack of bricks as Silverhand leaned back and kicked his feet on the table again. "Are you kidding? You're making jokes? Still?"

"Who's joking?" Silverhand tossed the ball up and down, kicking his feet back on the table, "Male insecurity is a serious matter, I mean a guy that tall still lying about his height? With that much anger issues? Yikes."

"Enough. Games." Mahonnet snarled as she stood up so fast the chair slammed into the wall behind her. When it collided, the illusion shorted out. One second, Silverhand was sitting across the table from two Captains on a deserted island. In the next, he was in a featureless grey room with Captain Mahonnet approaching him from around the table with murder in her eyes. "I told you, Captain Afram, there's no reasoning with pirates. Especially ones that have betrayed their tribe and God to sow terror in the hearts of the innocent. There is no 'decent man' here; he hasn't a shred of honor to his wretched name."

Dashard looked between Captain Mahonnet as her shadow cast over Silverhand's face and the now blank room around them. "Wow, that's a lot to unpack there." Silverhands hand detached from his left wrist as he started playing catch with himself, "We can start with the fact you worship a dead God."

"Impertinent bastard!" Captain Mahonnet screamed, grabbed Silverhand by the shoulders, yanked him up so his feet fell off the table, and slammed his head on the metal so hard it left a dent. His detached hand started to bounce the ball against the corner of the room. The faint but consistent boom of thunder faded into the background as Mahonnet demanded, "Tell us everything you know about the Eclipse Lantern, where you got it, what it does, why Ketemah wants and how all of that involves Miss Odulfo."

Silverhands kept his arms to his side, his right hand grabbing his left wrist under the table as he grinned broadly, “I would, but you forgot to say please.”

"You really think this is a game? Answer my questions or-"

"Or what?" Silverhand laughed, "You'll kill me? Believe me, It would be a waste of magic."

Captain Mahonnet tilted her head as if considering his words, "No. It wouldn't. Either you’ll die for good this time and stop being a nuisance to the Yanayin, or it validates your claims of immortality." That got Silverhand to stop laughing, which put a sneer on Mahonnets face. She twirled a stiletto nail above Silverhands temple, and a miniature green twister appeared an inch away from his skin. To Dashard, Mahonnet said, "The problem with trying to get pirates to see reason. Is that they're dogs pretending to be men, and you have to treat them as such. Negotiating gives them a false sense of power and barely yields worthwhile results.” He felt a prick as the twister pressed down into his temple, a bead of blood welling out before running down his forehead. “It's much easier to break them, teach them obedience, and show them what happens to dogs who get off the leash."

Silverhand didn't fight to get up, but he couldn’t help but say, “I don't know about you,” Silverhand said, intending it for Dashard, "But I don't think green bee over here should be allowed to own any familiars." He thought it was a good joke, but Mahonnet said otherwise, using his head to make another dent in the table.

He knew the Navy was at the top of the 'people that hate Silverhand' list, but Mahonnets level of intensity was something else entirely. Even as the wind bore into his skull, memories flashed through his mind. He’d lost track of how many people had tried to intimidate, and he only needed one hand to recall the times it worked. All the Captain was doing was prolonging an already extended delay in his otherwise busy schedule.

Dashard shifted uncomfortably in his seat and kept his face neutral as his eyes shifted from Mahonnet to Silverhand. “Just tell us something. Anything, and we can end this.”

“Yeah sorry,” Silverhand said apologetically, “I don’t know why but I’m feel like an air head right now, so nothings coming to mind.” Mahonnet scoffed, grinding Silverhands face further into the table. He could feel the razor wind of twister drilling through flesh and bone, its colors shifting from green to yellow and finally blood red.

Dashard wiped his face, “Captain Mahonnet. Silverhand made his choice. We’ll conduct the trial and ship him off with Admiral Kaenin when he arrives. We're done here.”

Mahonnet didn't react as the room went silent, all except for the boom boom boom of the ball still bouncing against the wall. A vein on the verge of bursting bulged on her forehead. Captain Mahonnet's grip on Silverhand's hair tightened as she leaned to whisper something in his ear, “You should never have lived this long." That sent a shiver up Silverhand's spine, "You and your kind disgust me. I hate that you have the gall to continue to live, knowing each breath you take is given by a God that you renounce. I hate how you can fool everyone into believing you're worthy of a sliver of compassion when we both know you're undeserving. But do you know what I hate about you the most?"

“I don’t really care," Silverhand said mockingly, "But you clearly have something you want to get off your chest.”

“Captain,” Dashard said, his tone a warning.

Mahonnet tilted her head away to regard Dashard, "I respect your leadership and approve of them allowing you to lend your strength to the Guild. But remember that you are not one. Of. Us. What happens to this scum will be at the hands of a Yana, not yours." Mahonnet said with a challenging glare.

Dashard didn't back down from her glare, but he also didn't move.

Slowly, Mahonnet focused on Silverhand, and the red twister disappeared inside a three-inch hole in the side of Silverhands head. She continued, “I hate that I could never figure out why you, of all those impure Silvryn heretics, managed to survive long enough to become the face of terror in the Iega.” Silverhand felt his eyebrow twitch in irritation, and he could feel Mahonnets smug smile as she spoke, her lips so close to his ear they almost touched, “But I've seen your things. Captain Afram may not recognize a totem of a pagan God, but I do. Silverhand," Mahonnet said his name like a snake spitting venom, "I'd say you let that false God Boye turn you into a monster, but we both know you're worse than anything he's ever conceived."

"Alright. That is enough," Dashard demanded, rising to his feet.

Silverhand mumbled something incoherently, and Mahonnet pulled his head back. With a triumphant smirk, she asked, “What was that?”

"Captain Mahonnet, unhand him. Now or—"

“You’re right,” Silverhands whispered. The sound was so quiet that Dashard was surprised to hear it over the constant booming thunder.

Dashard paused, suddenly realizing that silence had overtaken the room. Mahonnet noticed it too, and both looked in the corner, where the silver hand of wind clutched a vibrating ball of clouds in a vice grip.

A tsunami of unseen force slammed into the captains, flooding the room with its presence and drowning them in its oppressive weight.

Dashard's breath caught in his chest, and his eyes were wide as saucers. A trembling hand reflexively reached for his sword, only to paw at an empty hip. His body shifted like he would leave the room, but Dashard planted his feet. Even though it took all of his resolve for his knees not to buckle.

The force physically pushed Mahonnet back, slamming her into the wall. Her hairpin clattered to the floor as she stared in slack-jawed disbelief. She clutched the hand that held Silverhand close to her body. "This is-you can't-" Mahonnet could barely get the words out as her heart beat unfiltered terror through her veins.

Silverhand put an arm over the back of his chair to look at Mahonnet, and she froze. His golden eyes bore into her, and Mahonnet watched the gaping hole she'd put in Silverhands head close. It felt like a phantom hand scoured her soul, forcing the terror inside to the forefront of her thoughts.

Mahonnet swallowed hard, forcing the anger and hate to keep her steady. "That power is a blessing of Hewa, it doesn't belong to you or your filthy kind. No-I refuse to believe this. That has to be some kind of Silvryn trick!" She angrily accused Silverhand, but the desperate need for understanding was there. Mahonnet knew what this was, and the fact that Silverhand could do it shook the foundation of her faith. Good.

Silverhand threw back his head and cackled like a man possessed. The sound echoed through the room, sounding louder and harsher than Silverhand's voice naturally allowed. When he stopped, a mocking grin spread across his face. “Says who? The Vozwatä? The Parliament of Isles? That dead lizard you pray to? Power is power, contrary to what they'd have you believe doesn't belong to any one person.” The detached hand threw the ball at the wall with incredible force, making both Captains jump as it ricocheted across the room in a blur. Silverhand drew the power back into himself and filled the room with faint rolling thunder. Silverhand drew the power back into himself and caught the ball in his right hand, “It only belongs to those that can keep it."

Dashard nearly collapsed, gulping ragged breaths of air while putting both palms on the table to steady himself. Mahonnets face was a twisted caricature of existential dread, and she slowly moved back to the other side of the table. Never taking her eyes off Silverhand.

Silverhand let them take a moment to recompose themselves, taking the time to wipe the blood from the side of his face. "Y'know, this little chat reminds me of something my friend told me once." He rolled the ball back and forth against the table. Silverhand spoke casually, but his tone gave his words a brutal bleeding edge, "Honor is the solace of dead men who let others tell their tales for them. Both of you think you know my story. Know who and...what I am. A pirate who lied, cheated, stole, and murdered his way to the upper echelons of infamy. If that makes me a monster, so be it." Silverhand shrugged, then put an infernal glare on both of them, "But we're not going to sit here and act like I'm the only one. You enforce laws as if they're etched in stone when those in power look at them like they're the words of a child written in sand. You want to know why I became the 'terror of the Iega' when I have more in common with those at the top than below?"

He paused, intently studying each of their faces. Unsurprisingly, Dashard's resolve held him steady, and he stared at Silverhand as intently as he was him with a look of weariness and curiosity. Mahonnet had also recovered. Her faith had taken a massive blow, but hatred was a cancerous thing, silently radiating off her in waves in Silverhands direction. He could see in her eyes that anything he said would be dismissed or used to justify her views, so Silverhand focused on Dashard.

"Half of it is because of bigots like her. Claiming to be honorable when the truth is they're so blinded by self-righteousness they don't realize they're just as bad as the people they claim to be monsters," Silverhand said coldly, earning him a sneer from Mahonnet.

"And the other half?" Dashard asked.

Silverhand kicked his feet up again, leaning back to bounce the ball against the ceiling, "Because the only thing they hate more than the Silvryn. Is a Silvryn that fights back when pushed around."

Mahonnet scoffed. That being the last straw of him she could take. The wall panel slid back, and she stomped out of the interrogation room without another word. Dashard looked like he was in thought but turned to leave too. He lingered in the doorway momentarily before facing Silverhand again and asking, "Why did you save my life? No games. No jokes. Just tell the truth."

Silverhand opened his mouth, ready to let a joke fly despite being told not to. He changed his mind when he glanced at Dashards face, seeing the genuine need for understanding behind his eyes. So he said, "We got unfinished business."

Dashard lingered half a minute longer, nodded, then left out of the room into the hall. Leaving Silverhand alone with his thoughts.

Silverhand threw the ball again, letting it bounce across the room at incredible speed. He knew he should break out now. Sneak around in the chaos to grab his things, steal a ship, and go. There'd be some guilt for leaving Kaleon behind, but he could send him a letter or something to point him in the right direction. It would be better that way.

That was the best plan he'd made so far, and yet Silverhand didn't move. There was one last conversation he needed to have before leaving. He'd been putting it off for a while, and it was the one he dreaded most.