By the second evening Kai could tell Pope exactly how many times he'd asked about his arm. He got the number wrong, but the fact that he could remember asking at all was progress. Across the row of bedrolls, the wounded horseman called both his brothers by name. Felicity still hadn't said a word. Victor sat with one wing between her and the cold concrete and tried not to count all the things he'd have liked to tell her while she could still hear him.
In the quiet place where she'd gone, Felicity could breathe. She had her fingers wrapped around something warm. It took her a moment to recognize her own light, folded into her palm where she'd caught it before it could slip away. On the far side of the fog hung a narrow black line, tall enough for a man to be pulled through feetfirst. She'd seen Byron vanish through it. This time there was nobody there to tell her which side Victor stood on.
