Gray stood barefoot on the wooden floor in the empty house. A breath of wind swirled around his ankles from the crack in the bottom of the front door.

The wards were undisturbed.

Killian had gone out.

When he was in no condition to.

It was none of Gray's business if Killian wanted to do something stupid and risk passing out on the street. But, it was - Gray's gaze darted to the clock on the wall - a couple hours before dawn, and if Killian had collapsed somewhere, now was not a good time of night to be lying vulnerable in the open.

Gray threw his hands up, startling the crow.

'Sorry,' muttered Gray.

The crow settled on Gray's shoulder as he glared at the unlit fireplace, arms wrapped around his middle. The soft fabric of his new undershirt bunched against his skin.

He tore his gaze away from the fireplace, glancing back at the coffee table and Killian's work there.

Sorena had made a bargain with the fey, to pass her spot for inheritance for the throne.

Now, the fey were working with Conor.

And since Conor was working for Wilde, who wanted the Augustes dead, well …

'Who sent you?' Gray murmured to the crow as it pulled at his collar. 'Baldwin? One of his lieutenants?'

The crow cocked its head, examining Gray with a bright black eye.

Gray found some dried apricots and nuts in a jar in the pantry, and fed these to the crow before letting it fly back out the window.

The sounds of music and laughter from the party next door flooded into Killian's small living room, and for a moment, Gray let it, along with salty night air. Some of the people had spilled out the front of Sidney's house and were talking in the street.

'Slate,' called one, staggering towards Gray. 'Slate, come join us for a drink, you anti-social dog. We want to hear about you killing that sorcerer - oh, you're not Slate.'

'I, uh,' said Gray.

'Sorry, little man.'

Gray nodded, and made to close the window.

'You can't send Slate out, can you?' The man peered at him. He looked a few years older than Gray, with a shaved head and rumpled clothing. The laces on his shirt were a tangled mess. A homemade, folded paper hat sat askew on his head. 'He was supposed to come to my party.'

'He …' Gray hesitated, piecing together that this man must've been Sidney's brother. He broke out into an involuntary smile. 'Happy birthday.'

'Thank you.' Sidney's brother bowed with a flourish. Stumbled. Dropped his paper hat. Straightened his rumpled clothes. 'Do send Slate out, kind sir.'

'Er,' said Gray, reluctantly. 'He's not here, I'm sorry.'

'I saw Slate leave,' called his friend. 'About an hour ago. You all right?'

'Yeah, thank you,' said Gray.

'Come join us for some cake, eh?'

'I,' said Gray, awkwardly, 'I'd love to, but I can't, uh - I don't think Killian would let me-'

'We'll give you some,' she said, waving a hand. 'And a piece for Slate. Stay there.'

Before Gray could protest, a porcelain plate with two huge slices of cake was being thrust at him, along with streamers, a half bottle of beer, and - somehow - someone's jacket.

There was a small crowd at the window, pressing close, and all talking at once.

'Killian Slate is your uncle?'

'Are you alone there, poor dear-?'

'Leave the boy alone, mum, you're overwhelming him-'

Gray stuttered his thanks, hastily closing the window with his shoulder as the crowd backed off, alarmed that he'd just let a bunch of strangers hand him a pile of things through Killian's window.

He'd just set down the cake, beer, streamers, and jacket on the side table by the front door table when Gray noticed the proposal from Finola was unfolded and flattened.

Gray frowned, distracted, phrases jumping out at him.

Dear Gray Griffin, This letter is issued as formal notification of interest in your potential placement …

Your recent exploits and stat scores have come to the attention of multiple officers …

I am extending an offer of service that I believe merits your serious consideration …

Gray's frown deepened, scanning further down the proposal.

Should you accept, the following terms will apply:

- Monthly Compensation. Three (3) ardents, paid on the first of each month, in addition to …

- Stat Advancement. You will be placed in a position suited to your demonstrated prociencies, with the express intent of ensuring your total composite stat score reaches or exceeds 200 within twelve (12) months …

- Continuing Education. Any further education you wish to pursue will be fully funded and arranged through Black Corps requisition channels, subject to approval …

There was a muffled banging on the front door.

Gray snapped his gaze away from the letter and stood stockstill.

The banging continued, muffled through the strong layers of wards on Killian's home.

'Slate!' called a man.

The man's voice was a deep bellow. Clipped.

There were more muffled voices joining the shouting man - slurring, happy, laughing, 'Slate's gone out, eh, come join us for cake.'

And the man shouting back.

'There's a war going on, and you're having a party? We just lost hundreds of soldiers …'

The shouting was getting louder.

Messier.

There was the unmistakable thump of someone punching another person.

'Gods.' Gray's fingers flew over the locks on the door.

He flung the door open just as someone was thrown hard against the cobblestones right at the base of the steps leading to Killian's front door.

It was Sidney's friend. The girl who'd offered the cake through the window.

Gray stood stunned. He rushed into the street to help her stand. 'Are you all right?'

'He threw me!' she said.

A large military officer towered over Sidney's brother, one thick hand fisted his collar while the other swung wide to fend off two party-goers clawing at him. Blood ran from Sidney's brother's lip.

More of the party was spilling out onto the street. Half-drunk guests tripped over each other in their rush to get outside. They were shouting. Trying to break up the fight. Someone yelled, 'That's a king's officer, you idiot!'

'Hey.' Gray rushed over, getting between the officer and Sidney's brother, trying to force them apart.

'I'm so sorry,' Gray said to Sidney's brother. He turned to the military officer. 'Slate's not here. Leave.'

The officer exhaled heavily, his jaw jutting. His uniform had a large blood stain on the front and was stinking. He waved a huge hand, jabbed it at Sidney's brother, at the crowd now gathered there. 'There are people grieving. They shouldn't-'

A window banged open from above. 'It's after 3am, keep it down!' shouted a neighbour.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

'Sorry, yes,' called one of the party.

The neighbour didn't move. She didn't retreat. It was an elderly woman, leaning out and watching.

'They're fine,' said Gray firmly, his hand on the officer's arm, trying to encourage him to back up further. 'It's a birthday. No parties means the sorcerers have won, yeah? We don't want that.'

The officer dropped his gaze to Gray for the first time, letting himself be pushed back.

'Where's Slate?' he said.

'He's not here,' said Gray firmly.

The officer stepped back. Again. And again.

Gray stepped forward, getting into the man's space, forcing him back further.

More.

The man was complying, stepping back, his nose wrinkled in a snarl.

Gray let out a shuddering breath. 'He's not here. Why don't you give me your name, and I can let him know …'

Gray trailed off. The officer had given Gray a fleeting look, head to toe.

Gray was aware that he was out in the street, barefoot, in his sleeping shorts and undershirt. His hair was falling out of its leather tie, messed from sleep. And he was hit with the sudden realisation he'd forgotten to put on his dragonscale vest before collapsing into bed.

The man's gaze swept to Killian's open front door, spilling out the warm and inviting glow from the lamps lit within.

Something shifted in the man's air. So fast.

'Slate's not here?' said the officer.

Gray felt his mouth go dry.

The distance behind him, from the safety of the crowd of people, suddenly seemed too large.

Stupid.

'He's - he's sleeping, actually, let me go get him-'

The military officer bunched the front of Gray's undershirt in his huge fist. Gray latched onto the man's wrist.

'Hey,' said Gray.

He needed to diffuse this. Gray wasn't going to win in any kind of fight between himself and this man. Gray didn't want a fight, he didn't want a scene in the street.

And he couldn't panic. He would not lose his head. There wouldn't be any losing control of his magic, he would not light up.

'Look,' said Gray, 'why don't we go inside, get Killian-'

In one whip-fast movement, the man pulled Gray. Gray struggled to get his feet underneath him, the man was dragging him, he'd twisted Gray's sleeping shirt tight in a choking hold. It was covering his face, his eyes.

'Hey,' said Gray.

The man lifted Gray up by his shirt.

Gray's ankles knocked together.

Gray struggled blindly. He tried to free his arms. He needed to grip the man's wrist, the way Whitlock had showed him, had drilled and drilled into him. Gray's feet thrashed air, the man was damn strong, he needed to kick his groin, his stomach-

'Stop struggling,' said the man breathlessly.

Gray landed a kick and the man grunted.

'Comply, mage, or you'll be in huge trouble,' said the man.

'Get off me.'

There was a shout, filled with as much urgency and panic, only slurred, messy, and Lismerian, 'HEY, where you taking Slate's nephew?'

The partygoers were chasing them down. Boots clattered against the cobblestones.

'By decree of General Nighy,' the officer shouted at them, 'all unaccompanied and unregistered apprentice mages within the greater Deirne area are hereby requested to go into active service, in lieu of paying the fine of-'

Panic surged. His shirt was suffocating him. Gray thrashed. Killian's warning whipped through Gray's mind: You get pressganged, you keep your head down and leave at the first safe opportunity.

But, Gray couldn't let himself he carried off, he was leaving for Krydon tomorrow, in only hours, this would screw everything up. He got Gray in a clinched hold - stupid, so stupid, Whitlock said to not ever let the sorcerer get him in a hold like this - and they were moving. Fast.

Gray could feel the enchantments on Killian's home, on the street, pulsing. They were tightening around Gray, around the man. The man was slowing down, he was pushing against the wards, like a man stuck in a vat of honey.

From somewhere over their heads, a siren went off. A shrill horn.

Words tore through Gray's mind, and Gray shoved them down. These were old words. Mage words. Just like the words Gray had thrown at Killian in Krydon after the Ralph mages had been caught. Hot fear lanced through Gray, as power pulsed up, through every vein, every nerve, every pathway, arrow sharp, from the deep well within.

Down, down, down, he pushed those words and power down, before they could tear out of his throat.

Gray threw everything he had into struggling. He clawed. Thrashed.

He opened his mouth. To breathe. To shout for help.

And his power surged. A flip switched.

Mage words came out, they rolled off Gray's tongue, as instinctive and involuntary as a scream when plunging off a cliff.

Magic built around him. It was in the air. Stuck in the wards.

A sharp wind tore through the street. It was surrounding them. The air got unbearably hot.

The man stopped. He stopped, holding his balance against the stingingly hot wind, against the tightening of the wards.

He was frozen. Braced. A marble statue.

Gray froze, too.

Horrified. Pushing down blind panic. All Gray could hear was the wind, and startled shouts and smashing as something large was knocked over.

The wind stopped. As fast as it had started.

Heat pulsed through Gray's veins, it was banging at his skin, his pulse, and Gray fumbled to breathe, because gods, he needed to push his magic back down where it belonged, because forget getting pressganged, wandless magic was forbidden, and pulling this kind of stunt was not Gray's business.

In.

Out.

Silence settled over the street.

'Gods, Griffin,' muttered the officer.

The shrill siren went off again. Windows and doors were banging open along the street. Lights were flooding the homes, as neighbours woke and lit their lamps. The safety enchantments gave a particularly strong pulse.

The man faltered. He faltered enough that the partygoers swarmed them. Gray could hear them surrounding him.

'You let go of Major's nephew,' snarled Sidney's brother.

Gray could feel the man hesitating. Gray twisted free. His skin was damp. He fumbled, righting himself, bringing back air to his lungs, light to his eyes, and distance between himself and the officer.

'This is - just a misunderstanding, right?' said Gray. 'You - thought I was someone else. Let's … it's late, let's all go to bed. We're all tired and making mistakes. Yeah?'

'Stand down,' the man muttered to the crowd.

The officer was righting himself, too. He pointed a finger at Gray. His jaw jutted and his expression settled into something like he'd nothing more than to throw a punch. Without a word he turned and walked away, stiff with fury.

Several of the partygoers chased after him, but before Gray could call them back, he was swept up by the crowd. One of them was carrying a broom. Another was armed with a bottle.

'You come inside with us, master Slate.'

Gray felt the gentle pressing of a woman's hand on his back.

'We'll get you some cake. You want water? Tea?'

'I need to go back into my house,' muttered Gray. 'Killian will be - mad that I left-'

So damn mad.

Gray gripped a hand in his hair. He noticed his hand had a slight tremor, and abruptly dropped it, shoving it deep into his pocket. He pulled up his shoulders, straightened his posture.

Stupid.

So stupid.

He'd been almost pressganged, like it was nothing, and Gray hadn't fought properly. Even after three days of intense training, Gray couldn't fight his way out if someone - let alone a vampiric sorcerer or Longwark - came up to him and just-

'Sinno has left a note for Killian, explaining we've got you,' asked the woman. 'We don't want you there alone, eh? What's your name?'

Gray hated to admit it, and he was burning with humiliation, but he didn't want to be alone.

'Uh.'

They were outside Killian's home. One of the partygoers was closing Killian's door up tight. He had elbow-length dark hair and Gray frowned at him, dazed, aware there was something off with the partygoer. His movement was triggering Gray's internal alarm bells. Gray craned his neck, trying to see past the man's elbow-length hair, see his face.

The woman patted Gray's cheek. She had the same eyes and mouth as Sidney. She'd been one of the people who'd crowded at Killian's window and handed through plates of cake.

She must've been his mother.

Gray's mind swirled.

'Your name, dear?'

Gray hesitated. Fumbled. 'Jude.'

The woman smiled. Her smile was kind. 'Come inside, Jude.'

'No, I,' said Gray. 'Thank you. I can't thank you enough. I'm so grateful, but Killian won't be OK with me leaving his house.'

'Just until the guards arrive, dear,' said the woman firmly. 'Then, you can go back home. I promise.'

Another person at Gray's elbow said, 'Sidney's been banging on about a kickball rematch with Slate's boy, he's just inside, he'll be thrilled to see you …'

Gray faltered under the press of watching eyes.

The siren overhead, the shrill horn, quieted. Turned off.

The silence was a sweet relief. Gray gave a short nod.

He let himself be guided inside.

—-

Gray stared numbly at the large slice of chocolate cake, balancing the plate on his knees. He was sunk into a huge sofa, in danger of being swallowed by plush cushions.

Sidney's mother clucked over the state of Gray's undershirt, insisting Gray wear one of the oversized sweaters she'd knitted for one of her older sons. Gray let her, uncertain how to respond to her determined, motherly authority.

Sidney sat opposite him, excitedly showing Gray through the model fortress he was building, which he'd pulled down from his room, just to show Gray.

'See this tower?' said Sidney, grinning as he glanced at Gray. 'It's not just for archers, it's hollow inside, so you can hide supplies, or prisoners, or …'

Behind Gray, the party raged, louder and messier than before, the crowd stirred up by the scuffle in the street. A group was talking stats, shouting scores and numbers of famous warriors and soldiers, comparing them to Killian Slate.

The adrenaline had died down within Gray, replaced by an all-consuming numbness. It fought with waves of fatigue. Gray'd feel himself nodding off over his slice of cake, to the tumble of words from Sidney and the party, only to be startled awake by the sting of anxiety that he'd just been carried off, and if the vampiric sorcerer or Longwark tried to do the same, he was screwed, Jessica Pruitt's team was screwed, Lismere …

That he'd just done wandless magic, in front of a whole street, and they'd tell Killian, and Killian would tell Baldwin …

His heart would thud, thud, thud, and Gray would struggle to breathe, to bring his surging anxiety that he was screwed, down.

'… You can help with the wall,' said Sidney. 'If you want? I haven't figured out how to make it look like real stone yet.'

'Yeah,' said Gray, setting aside the cake, and gratefully seizing onto the distraction. Of doing something with his hands. 'Yeah, I'd love to. Just here?'

Gray knelt next to Sidney, and soon they were in deep focus, creating the fortress.

—

'Jude's in here, Major.'

Gray didn't remember falling asleep.

One moment he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Sidney, working on the fortress wall, the next he was slumped on the floor against the couch, Sidney snoring on his shoulder.

And Killian crouched in front of him.

'What the fuck, kid,' said Killian in a soft undertone.

His face was pale. His lips were tight.

His wrists were balanced precisely on his knees. There was a scrunched-up note in his fist.

Gray struggled to bring himself to full consciousness, aware, in some small back part of his mind, that he needed to wake the hell up.

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