Gray woke, too warm, and his pulse beating too hard.

He rolled onto his side, seeking coolness and to disrupt the dream. He slipped his hand out from underneath the blanket.

He focused on the sounds of the dying fire.

His pulse steadied.

Better.

The air outside the blanket held a lack, though.

The lack was strange enough that Gray, against his every desire, made himself open his eyes, and pushed himself into full wakefulness.

He was on the bedroll. His hair had grown back as it always did, ever determinedly shoulder-length. He blinked through the dark strands in his face. The room was shadowed, lit only by the flickering orange light of the fire, and a sputtering lamp on the dining table.

Killian sat in a chair at the table. Papers were piled in front of him.

He was so still, he could’ve been sleeping.

When Gray clumsily pushed himself up, though, Killian’s eyes darted to him. The firelight was reflected in his dark gaze.

He’d been reading, Gray realised. There was a tattered book on his lap.

Gray glanced around the room.

‘What’s wrong, kid?’ said Killian.

Killian put the book onto the table, straightening up.

Gray frowned.

‘Who’s here?’ said Killian.

Gray cast another glance around. Killian must’ve gone in and out of the room at some point, because the dresser was back in its usual spot, away from barricading the door.

The door was slightly ajar.

Gray’s frown deepened.

That’s when Gray noticed it.

The giant bed.

Empty.

‘Where’s Frostvine?’ said Gray.

Killian glanced over his shoulder at the bed.

He leapt to his feet, the chair tumbling over. ‘Fuck.’

He barged into the bathroom. Out, his hand clutched in his dark hair.

‘She moves like a dryad. She’s silent, she’s …’

Killian sprinted out of the room.

His voice called, as he pounded down the corridor. Then, moments later, it tore up from outside the Hall. Killian was bellowing at the top of his lungs, tracking her outside.

Gray stared at the dark hall, visible outside the gaping door to the room. His chest was tight.

People were stirring in the Hall. Footsteps padded in the corridor.

Distantly, in the back of Gray’s mind, rose a sharp thought.

Killian had a weakness.

This was the second time Gray had seen it.

Killian slept heavily. For all his talk of sleeping with one eye open, the man slept as heavily as Frostvine at times. He had a habit of working himself to exhaustion. Killian must’ve fallen asleep while reading, long enough for Frostvine to wake and leave the room …

Gray staggered upright just as Killian sprinted back into the room. His scarred face was pale. His lips were tight.

‘Kid, come here,’ said Killian, urging Gray over to the table.

Killian spread out a map.

‘Killian,’ said Gray, shaking his head, knowing what Killian was going to ask him, ‘I-’

‘Close your eyes,’ Killian snapped.

His uniform was half unbuttoned. His dark hair was a mess.

Gray swallowed, knowing saying no to Killian right now was not an option.

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But, Gray did not want to -

‘Close your eyes, Gray.’

‘You can’t track her?’ said Gray.

‘The trail is hours old. She - can - fahren. I need to efficiency right now. Close your eyes!’

Gray obeyed.

‘Get out of your mind.’ A pause, and Killian’s soft voice was more controlled. His hand was pressing on Gray’s chest. ‘Feel here. Just feel and let it be. Don’t try.’

Warm tendrils of power were curling up inside Gray, and they were definitely not delicate.

They were stampeding.

Gray wrenched his eyes open.

The power rising within him stopped.

Simmered down.

Killian stared at him, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

‘Close your damn eyes, kid,’ he said.

‘I don’t -‘

Killian slammed his hand down on the map. ‘Tell me where she is.’

‘It’s - all or nothing. I can’t control-’

‘Fine,’ said Killian. ‘Give it all.’

Reluctant humiliation was sweeping through Gray.

‘A two-year-old mage could do this,’ said Killian.

‘I’m not-’

‘Now’s not the time for your shit.’ Killian clenched his mouth shut, into a hard line. ‘Focus. Close your eyes.’

His voice was tighter than Gray had ever heard it. Any second now it would snap, it would shatter, and wild fury would emerge.

Gray edged back.

‘Close your eyes,’ said Killian.

‘I don’t want to hurt anyone,’ Gray mumbled.

‘I won’t let you.’

Killian’s hand was on Gray’s shoulder, dragging him back close to the edge of the map.

‘You can feel another mage’s signature,’ said Killian. ‘You felt Sorena when she came, yes? This is the same thing. You can do this in your sleep.’

‘Killian, I-’

‘Come on,’ said Killian. ‘Close your eyes.’

He couldn’t let it be. Letting it be unleashed the furore of power within him.

But, it was either face the wrath within him, or the wrath of Killian.

Letting out a long breath, and against every instinct within him, Gray closed his eyes.

Gray prodded at the sensation within him, around him, at the quiet lack in the air.

He tried to follow it, but it was tangled, tangled, deliberately tangled. It hurt to unravel like a snarl in his hair resisting a comb.

He needed more force. More power.

More.

Power came gushing up, like steaming air through a puncture.

Frostvine had gone through this room. Through the Hall. Through Krydon, to the very edge, into the forest-

And Gray felt something horrible. It was a pain worse plunging through sharp ice into freezing water. Gray’s skin crawled.

Gray wrenched his eyes open, stumbling back from the map. He slammed an internal wall over the gaps his magic had risen through, slammed it so hard he gasped, clutching the collar of his sweater in his fist.

Killian watched, his dark hair hanging in his eyes. ‘Where is she?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Where?’

‘Forest -’ Gray fumbled with the map, to the last point he had contact with Frostvine’s trail, ‘-but she’s moved, there’s something awful-’

‘Who’s she with?’

‘She’s - concealing her trail, she doesn’t want to be followed-’

‘WHO’S SHE WITH?’

‘I don’t know. Don’t ask me-’

Killian snatched the map. Gray flinched.

‘Fine,’ Killian growled. ‘That’s just fine. That’s how you want to play it. You want to be useless to me? Be useless. You coddled, pampered, useless child.’

Gray’s cheeks were horribly hot.

He stalked to the corridor. ‘Soldier!’

Gray’s pulse pounded in his ears. He trained his gaze carefully on the landscape painting by the bathroom door.

Russet ran up, skidding to a halt in front of Killian. His boots were unlaced and the topmost buttons on his uniform were undone.

He clutched his side, his rabbit-fast eyes glancing from Killian to Gray and back again. ‘Major?’

Killian glared at him, and Russet fumbled with his buttons and then crouched to tie his laces.

‘Bring me Codder,’ said Killian softly. ‘Or Pickering or Brown. Whoever you find first. Quickly now.’

‘Yes, Major.’

Russet was fast. Within seconds he sprinted back, a pale-faced Pickering at his heels.

‘Watch the kid,’ said Killian to Pickering softly. ‘I want you inside the room. Bolt the door. Don’t open it for anyone but me, got it?’

‘Yes, Major.’

‘Rookie, you too. Watch all entry points. Understood?’

‘Yes, Major.’

Then, Killian was gone. Pickering hastily bolted the door, and then he and Russet turned to look at Gray.

Pickering held himself stiffly. His back was ramrod straight. His face was an emotionless mask, rather like the one Killian often wore. His face and body bore signs of the fight against the griffins - two of his fingers were strapped together, and flecks of grazes marked his face and neck.

Pickering was young, but he was tall and well-muscled. If he wanted to tear Gray apart, Pickering absolutely could.

Russet edged into the room, eyeing Gray.

Gray shifted, and then after an uncomfortable moment of silence, he sat down heavily at the table.

He didn’t damn well care if Pickering tore him apart.

He stared hard at his knees.

After a moment, Pickering joined him.

Behind him, Russet moved quietly, and Gray turned sharply to watch him. Russet was picking tiny splinters of wood out of the carpet, from where Killian had smashed through the door and dresser earlier that day.

Neither of them spoke. Gray waited for them to speak. To ask where Frostvine was, or what had happened, why their Major was so on edge.

Pickering reached into his pocket.

Gray watched him warily.

Pickering pulled out a worn deck of playing cards. He shot Gray a glance. The few moles dotting his face were barely visible in the soft orange firelight.

‘You know,’ said Pickering, ‘how to play pairs?’