Killian wakes me just before dawn. Of course, that’s not his real name—but for now it’s the one he’s using. So, it’s the one I’m using too.

Much better than Jafar. Still not quite realistic.

“There’s a new gate.”

I blink groggily, trying to rouse my mind from sleep.

In the corner of our makeshift apartment, a walkie is crackling.

‘…residents should report to the city hall…’

“The Mayor is summoning us.”

His tone is calm. Collected.

Just like always.

I wait a beat longer before I move, speak. I’ve learned that he’ll often say more if I give him the space.

It’s dark. Too dark to see much of anything without any ambient streetlights or electronics. But I can tell when he turns to face me.

“…I have a bad feeling about this.”

I almost laugh. If he were an action figure, that’d be his catchphrase. But he hasn’t been wrong yet.

He’s moved away from me now. There won’t be anything else from him.

I slip from the bed and dress silently in the dark. We meet by the door and exit together, making our way through the rain in silence.

There are a lot more people in the settlement than I thought. We move with a group of thirty or so toward the city hall, the only building with any light at this hour.

I can just barely make out his face in the dim lighting it casts, and I swear he looks like he’s getting younger every day. And shorter. I hadn’t noticed how much shorter he was before, but the nearly five-inch difference makes me feel like I’m towering over him now.

His smaller height and build, the shock of white hair sticking out from under his hood paired with his sour frown, make him look more like a punk than some jaded millennial.

“Remember, kid, keep your mouth shut.”

His eyes flick up to find mine, and the icy glare he gives me makes me catch my breath.

Inside the city hall it’s crowded. The Mayor has us all crammed in on the first floor. He stands on the stairs about midway up, looking down on us. Definitely for the view and not for the utility.

Killian stands just in front of me. I’m close enough that his shoulder blade brushes my chest when he shifts on his feet. He’s impatient.

Depending on how this goes, we may not be here for long.

I don’t love the idea of being back on the road in the rain again already—my sleeping bag hasn’t even completely dried out yet. But the way they keep the guides sequestered here worries me.

The Mayor starts his speech. It’s all posturing. Why he felt the need to gather us all here at God knows what time just for this massive circle jerk is beyond me. But because of it, Killian didn’t get any sleep.

A wave of irritation sweeps through me.

Killian shifts again and I feel his heat briefly. He seems to be okay, if a little grumpy. I’ll just have to make sure he can get a nap in later.

I take a deep breath and relax. It’ll be fine. As long as we’re together, it’s fine.

“—and so we’ve decided the best thing to do is to have the hounds go investigate. The ghosts will stay here and continue with the regular chores while the hounds are away.”

This fat fuck—

Pressure on my wrist. Tight.

I look down. It’s Killian. He’s not looking at me though, his gaze diligently staying on the Mayor, doing his best not to draw attention.

“We expect it’ll take about three days to complete the expedition,” the Mayor finishes. “Any questions?”

There are murmurs around the room. I scan the faces of the people present and am not surprised to notice that most of them are espers. A few guides are mixed in here and there—none of them alone. It’s painfully obvious that each of the guides present is accompanied by an esper equally as unhappy with this news.

“Is it really necessary to investigate this fissure? The last one had monsters come out,” a voice from the back of the crowd asks.

Someone nearby mumbles loud enough for a handful of us to hear, “Isn’t this a suicide mission?”

The Mayor speaks up. “Thank you for asking that. And it’s precisely because the last one had such an unexpected effect that we need to investigate this one—”

The murmurs continue.

“—So far, this fissure has done nothing. It’s already behaving differently than the first. It could be dormant. Or it could be doing something that we cannot perceive from this distance. In either case, more information is always important in order to plan an appropriate response.”

People seem satisfied with this answer and the unease settles. The Mayor takes a few more questions, then dismisses us with an order for all hounds to reconvene in thirty minutes, ready to depart.

Killian hasn’t let up on my wrist. Wordlessly, he turns and pulls me along behind him as we make our way out of the town hall along with the rest of the crowd.

The rain still hasn’t let up. The oppressive downpour only contributes to the already sour mood. And when we get back to our makeshift lodgings, he still doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even take his shoes off.

“Hey—”

A hand and a sharp look cut me short. He points to the couch. At his direction, I move and take a seat on the worn fabric cushions.

The silence stretches. For a long time, he remains standing by the frosted front door. His arms crossed, his ear turned toward it.

Still, I wait.

After a while, he moves to fetch one of our battery-powered lamps from his bag and sets it on the fold-up dining table. The weak light does little more than cast sickly shadows around the room. He checks his watch, then sets a pot of water boiling. Two mugs find their way to the table next to the lamp, tea bags sitting dry inside—waiting.

He’s looking at his watch again. He still hasn’t said a word to me, but I know better than to ask.

Outside, voices. Those who are set to gather at the Mayor’s behest. I flick a gaze at Killian, but his eyes are on the frosted glass, watching their shadows pass in the early light of dawn.

After a minute, it’s quiet again. But only for a moment before the clear sound of boots sloshing through mud cuts through the rain.

Killian drops his watch hand and turns the water off, but his eyes never leave the door.

A quick rap at the door doesn’t wait for an answer before a hulking figure enters the space. It’s the Mayor.

Instinctively, I bristle, but I don’t move. Don’t speak.

“Welcome, Mayor,” Killian says. His voice is silver smooth. “Can I interest you in some tea?”