"The Sidhe left more scars on our world than you could ever guess. Everything, and I mean everything, bears at least some time sign of their mutilations. Sometimes it's subtle, like what materials are acceptable for tableware. Other times, it's like what was done to the White Isles. No, I'm not even talking about all the wyld magic infesting the archipelago, I'm talking about their very shape. The high lords of the Sidhe did not go quietly when Iskandar and Saint Mira came for them. They tore the very heart of their stolen kingdom apart, ripping two great islands and a hundred lesser ones into ten thousand pieces. That anyone survived that calamity is a literal miracle, especially since rearranging geography was only part of the Sidhe's final tantrum." - attributed to Flann Midi (noted bard and sanctioned changeling).

Natalie doubted any sane person looked back on their teenage years without some measure of embarrassment, herself included. All those physical changes and deep urges could combine with the final hurrahs of childhood foolishness to make some truly spectacular messes. Still, shameful as some of her own escapades had been, Natalie now found herself more than a little grateful for them, as they'd forced her to grow up and learn how to actually handle her feelings. A privilege Yara had been viciously denied.

It had been about ten minutes since Natalie found her thrall standing over Kit's sleeping form with a knife, and in that time, she'd made conceringly little progress in convincing Yara she wasn't under some fae bewitchment. The idea of some twisted spell being responsible for her feelings just made more sense to the Ancilla, and Natalie couldn't even properly blame her for coming to that twisted conclusion. After all, Yara's idea of an emotional connection was drug-addled adoration for any vampire who found her moderately useful.

Still sitting on a dusty storage crate, legs pulled up to her chest, Yara stared into empty air, her expression one of genuine confusion. "He's a changling, and Mak Murtery said they seduce and control people."

Holding up two fingers, Natalie replied. "First off, I think we should take anything that man says with a whole block of salt. Secondly, and I mean this with respect, can you really see Kit trying to seduce anyone, even with magic? He's sweet in his own way, but also rather oblivious, and not exactly one to think things through."

Yara stared at the raised fingers for a moment before shaking her head. "It's an act, mistress. He sees more than people think, like how he figured out what Sir Cole is. Besides, when we've been attacked, when things get bad, he changes."

"Changes?" asked Natalie with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, he stops pretending to be a fool and gets clever. That's how he kept us alive in the cavern. When he's in danger, he drops the mask!"

After a moment's consideration, Natalie gently asked. "Is he dropping a mask or just rising to the occasion?"

"What?" asked Yara.

"People show you who they really are during times of strife, and every time we've been faced with some terrible threat or vexing problem, Kit has done his best to help. I don't think you're seeing past a manipulation tactic, Yara. I think you're seeing his mettle shine when it's tested."

The redheaded woman wasn't wavering, so Natalie added another heavy truth. "When you staked that vampire before she could kill Mina and Alia, you were doing the same thing: rising to the occasion."

Yara flinched, but Natalie didn't give her time to crumble inward. "Despite being scared, despite the dangers, you did what needed to be done and saved two good people."

That made the thrall hesitate, so Natalie continued. "Besides, weren't you just telling me a bit ago about how Kit kept almost getting himself killed the entire time the pair of you were trapped here? That you constantly needed to protect him from his own curiosity?"

She nodded weakly.

"Doesn't that seem to contradict the idea he's some scheming faeblooded liar? I mean, could you imagine a Moroi letting one of their thralls help them like you helped him?"

Her eyes widened slightly at that, just as Natalie hoped they would; afterall, the right context was sometimes all a message needed to be received. But the moment of comprehension faded slightly, as Yara looked away and asked. "But then why have I tried to protect him? Why do I keep trying to help him? Why can't I get him out of my head?"

"Like I've been saying, you've got a crush on him!" replied Natalie, with amused exasperation. "You've grown to care about him! That's all this is, and it's okay!"

In a very small voice, Yara asked a tiny but potent question. "Why? Why him?"

Natalie shrugged. "People have been asking things like that since forever. As for the answer? I think only you can truly know it. But I think I can understand some of it. Kit's cute, in that bookish kind of way, and I get the appeal of a man who can be passionate about something."

It was hard to tell in the darkness of the warehouse, but it seemed Yara's ears and cheeks were turning pink. Lips quirking into a smirk, Natalie continued. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about. Now, c'mon, how accurate was I?"

Pressing her brow to her pulled-up knees, Yara hid herself behind a curtain of crimson hair. "He's kind and he, he understands."

"Understands what?"

Yara tilted her head enough to show glistening eyes. "The hurt."

Natalie bit back a wince. She'd almost forgotten how Kit near-instantly picked up signs of Yara's painful pre-thrall life. His own bitter childhood had given him unique insight into why she was the way she was. The more Natalie thought about it, the more Yara's crush made sense, as Kit was probably the first person with similar scars to offer her kindness.

"I'm sorry I've not been able to help you more," whispered Natalie, earning a surprised look from Yara. "Some of your pain is just… beyond my world, and I've not known what to do. But maybe that's just the problem; I'm trying to find your solution for you."

Staring at the far wall of stacked crates, absently tracing the knots in the wooden planks, she mused. "Yara, I think you've got to find out for yourself what will help. And while there is no telling where things might lead with Kit, perhaps following your feelings is just a good first step."

After a long moment of contemplative silence, Yara asked. "How?"

Natalie shrugged. "I can give you some ideas, but maybe we should sit on that until we're somewhere less terrible."

Yara glanced between the boarded-up window and the dust-covered floor. "Makes sense."

Getting up from her seat, Natalie stretched, a comforting but pointless gesture. "You also should probably get some sleep. I think tomorrow is going to be difficult."

Climbing down as well, Yara nodded before saying. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm happy to help, and honestly, after all the things that have happened, something this sweet and simple was nice."

The thrall shook her head slightly. "No, I mean… I… I'm sorry for failing you. If these feelings aren't magic, then it's my weakness. I've disobeyed you, and-"

"Stop right there." Natalie cut her off. "That's even less of a reason to apologize. You've done nothing wrong!"

Well, except for plotting to kill Kit in his sleep, but now wasn't the time to mention that.

"Trying to help someone you care about isn't a shameful thing. Yara, I'm proud of you for keeping both yourself and Kit alive. You should be proud of yourself too, for not just surviving, but being willing to confront these feelings."

Silently, Yara mouthed "proud" like it was some foreign word her lips struggled to form. Watching this, Natalie couldn't help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, this was an important step in her unwanted thrall becoming something more than what the vampires made her. Of course, now the next big mountain to climb was how in the hells would Kit react to all this? That… that might take some work, but Natalie had played matchmaker before, and if a relationship between these two was at all possible, she'd do her best to help it.

But before she could dwell on this new and admittedly ridiculous challenge, a noise caught her ear, one she'd been both expecting and dreading for a while now: the faint whine of insect wings. With every passing second, the sound grew, coming from everywhere and nowhere, swelling into an all-encompassing buzz.

"Fuck."

Yara started at the weary venom in Natalie's curse. "M-Mistress?"

Looking at the Ancilla, Natalie balled her hands into fists. "Nothing you've done. Now, please go get Cole."

Then, as Yara's expression turned from fearful to confused, the world fell out from beneath Natalie, and she plummeted down into a memory not her own.

The Alukah returned to reality, lying on a straw mattress, her hands out before her in the process of strangling empty air. Letting them fall to her sides, she sucked in a breath of dusty air and tried to banish the last flickers of a fading vision. She'd been a spectator at an arena, witness to a clash of wills and living weapons. These were memories, Isabelle's memories, and while they offered unsettling insight into her past, that wasn't what stuck in Natalie's mind. That honor went to the eerily familiar man whose strangulation she'd just been miming. Wolfgang was inside Isabelle's mind, rooting around for secrets and rousing her ire.

"She's jagging compromised! We need to stake her before something even worse wakes up in her skin!"

These words, coming from an unfortunately familiar voice, pulled Natalie's focus out from another's mind, and to her surroundings. Cole was standing to the left, his back to her, an irate Mak Murtery before him, a finger prodding the larger paladin's breastplate. At her right, kneeled Yara, watching the argument with nervous focus. If Natalie had to guess, she'd not been out for long, just enough for the uneasy peace to crack. So, best, she not let things escalate.

"I was right. Wolfgang is trying to get secrets from her."

Cole spun about, nearly knocking Murtery over in his haste. Staring up into his scarred face, Natalie winced as the relief of her being conscious, was washed away by the content of her words. Reaching down, he helped her stand before asking. "What did you see?"

"Only one memory this time, it was longer and more coherent. You were fighting some kind of scrap golem in an arena, and Isabelle was watching. Then she noticed another bug and swatted it, except this time the memory didn't end. The fly turned into Wolfgang, and I think she was dragging him into her mindscape right as the connection ended."

After a moment's consideration, Cole wondered aloud. "Now that we're inside the city, could you perhaps contact her through these visions? Use them to reforge your psychic link?"

Before Natalie gave this some thought, Murtery spoke. "Psychic communication even within the walls is buggered."

"Yes, I nearly forgot about that. It's why I couldn't contact Yara right away," she replied. A notion struck her then, a detail nearly forgotten in the chaos of arriving. The distortion that had kept their minds apart felt slightly different once Natalie passed the city's walls. Outside Harmas, it had been like Yara was deep underwater, so deep that the only sign of her was their psychic link reaching down into the depths like an anchor chain. Any thoughts or ideas Natalie tried to send became garbled and diminished, like words beneath a pool's surface. But then, when she'd tried again within the city, the metaphorical pool had become a deluge, one so intense it might as well have been a river flowing vertically. Natalie had felt Yara somewhere out in that downpour, but again the water kept them apart.

Kicking herself for not pursuing this abnormality, an oversight she could only blame on the shock of falling from the sky, Natalie once again reached out to her thrall. Now, instead of a deluge, a thick curtain of water separated them, like they each stood on either side of a small waterfall. Whereas before she'd only gotten vague notions of Yara's presence, now Natalie could feel the edges of her mind, like a psionic silhouette. But still no thoughts could penetrate that curtain, each dissolving into nonsense like mud in a stream.

Looking at Murtery, Natalie slowly said. "I think it's screwed, not buggered," before explaining her findings.

Mak was unsurprised. "Aye, that tracks. The prince's river spirit has cut the city off both physically and metaphysically. As for the change inside the city? Well, you've encountered the bitch responsible. That psychic attack accompanying the bat swarm outside the city was the handiwork of a Moroi called Feodosiya. She's one of the vampire infiltrators, and I think she has figured out a way to trick the spirit into layering the city into a shittier version of its wards."

This brought back memories of House Louon, how they'd managed to piggyback their manor's defenses off Vindabon's wards. Perhaps this was a common weakness of such massive magical defenses? A question to ask Isabelle when they rescued her. That is, if she even needed to be rescued.

"Cole, how good at psychic combat is Isabelle?"

The Homunculus paused for consideration, then his eyes widened as he understood what she was getting at. "She's always told me she specializes in mental defense, but I've seen her crush the minds of centennial vampires before."

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This lit a flame of hope inside Natalie, one nearly quenched by the horrible notion of Isabelle freeing herself and returning to them wearing her grand-uncle's body. But before that nauseating idea could really take root, she noticed Cole's look of worry. "Yes, I can imagine her destroying Wolfgang with ease, but that might actually make things worse. We can track him through Marcus, but not his replacement. Then there is no telling how whoever or whatever rescued Wolfgang might react to this. They could very well decide Isabelle isn't worth the danger and then shred her soul to keep anyone else from gaining her knowledge."

As that grim reality set in, Cole added. "In the morning, I'll consult with the Pankrator, and we'll go after Wolfgang."

"No, other things come first," said Mak.

As Cole started to object, the older paladin cut him off. "This Wolfgang came here for a reason. He and his masters know you'll come after the skull; they'll have prepared a trap. If you charge headlong after them, you'll be facing a cadre of elite vampires with access to all kinds of necromantic and eldritch power."

"Eldritch power?" Kit stuck his head out from behind a nearby shelf, having clearly been listening, while busy with other tasks.

Murtery shut his eyes for a moment before letting a ragged truth escape him like a curse. "The prince's court and the duchy infiltrators have come to an agreement."

Before the full shock of this statement could wear off, Murtery continued. "I don't know the details or what was promised, but they've been working together for a while now. I learned that much when they sabotaged the ice bridge ritual."

Cole shook his head in disgust. "Then the court really is insane. They have to know how changlings are treated in the Duchies. No matter what deal they think they have, Dracon will shackle them in cold iron and call it a mercy."

Kit visibly flinched at that, and Natalie could empathize. She'd rarely dwelled on what fate might befall her if the Duchies captured her, but it was an easy guess that it would be worse than anything they did to changlings.

Gesturing in a wide circle, Mak returned to his point. "This whole jagging city is arrayed against the living and the sane."

Wisely, Natalie decided not to say anything on the irony of that statement when it came to both herself and Murtery.

"Everything is a threat, everything is out to get us. At night it's the undead, during the day it's the fae, and sometimes when you're especially unlucky it's both! If the plan is to track down, then put down Wolfgang and his allies, then we need to prepare."

Listening to this, she could almost hear an echo of the rest-bringer Cole so respected. Something she wasn't alone in noticing, judging by the slight shift in her paladin's demeanor. "I take it you have ideas?"

Murtery nodded, and something almost like a smile shone within his beard like a blade slipping from its scabbard. "Aye, that I do. 'Till now, I've been dragging out my defeat. Trying to bleed the black blood and blue bloods as best I can. But with you lot here, maybe that can change, maybe some debts can be settled."

The two paladins exchanged looks, and Natalie understood the double meaning. Both of them felt like they'd failed Harmas, and both of them intended to extract retribution from the city's murderers.

Turning from his colleague, Cole's face was marked by uncertainty, and Natalie easily guessed his thoughts. Could they really afford to go along with whatever scheme Murtery had in mind, while Isabelle was in such clear danger? Time was only on their side in a spiritual sense, and it would be stupid not to have doubts about Mak Murtery's efficacy.

"We'll start with Yefim and Feodosiya, the pair of leeches enforcing the quarantine. With most of Yefim's swarm dead, now is the time to strike. Once they're both off the board, our options will expand, and our enemy's influence will contract. After that, I'd put better odds on any psychic malarkey with the skull actually working."

That… that sounded like a pretty sensible plan. Especially since, without the bats, Natalie could maybe once again take to the skies. A notion that was equal parts appealing and unsettling, as while the actual flying had been fun, landing was less so. Judging by the pensive look on Cole's face, he was thinking similar thoughts. If they could crack the quarantine, open up psychic communications, and maybe get back in contact with Isabelle all through one move, it would be foolish not to try.

"When do we start?" half-whispered Cole.

"At dawn", replied Murtery, before giving his beard a contemplative scratch. "That should give me enough time to mix the blast powder."

"The what?" squawked Natalie

Cole stared up at the rickety ladder with no small amount of trepidation. Thick miasma, like what now covered Harmas, had a nasty habit of distorting natural degradation, and he doubted these worn rungs had been in good condition even before the plague. Chances were the ladder would just splinter the moment he got his armored bulk halfway up the damn thing. Hells, even if he took off his plate, which he hadn't done even while catching a few hours of sleep, he still doubted the rungs' integrity.

Something about that thought made him pause. Everything here was decayed, broken, teetering on the edge of collapse. His instinct was to tread carefully, to try and keep what remained, balanced a little longer. But perhaps that was too narrow a perspective? Reaching out to the ladder, Cole placed his hands on either rail and let a bit of magic surge up through him and into the brittle wood. Whisps of mist coiled around his fingers as he imparted preservation into the ladder.

Gripping onto the eye-level wrung, Cole nodded to himself; it was sturdy as oak heart. Clambering up the ladder before his magic could run its course, the Homunculus heaved himself up onto the warehouse roof. Up on the damaged shingles, he could get a better view of the pre-dawn city. The sky above was that pale grey of promised but not yet delivered sunlight, painting everything below its expanse with a stark, uncanny brush. While the shift in elevation had pulled him from thick shadows filling the warehouse, he wasn't high enough to see anything useful in their surroundings. Not that, that was his reason for coming here, of course.

"You should have tried to get more sleep," said Natalie from her place perched near the roof's crest. "I think today is going to be long and messy."

Cole went over and sat next to her. "Probably, but I doubt it would have done me much good."

They stared out at the pale carcass of the city for a time, neither speaking, both lost in thought. Eventually, Cole asked. "Are you waiting to see what the sun will do?"

She nodded. "My working theory is tapping into the Alukah's power during the daytime isn't a good idea."

"I was thinking similarly. It would make sense for Sister Sun to keep some more subtle measures in place when the Pantheon lessened the curse's banes."

Natalie let out a small huff. "I suppose I can't really complain. I can still walk in the sunlight, and chances are I'll only really need that power at night, against other vampires."

Cole hoped she was right, but somehow doubted it. The presence of the fae in Harmas was an ugly surprise of the highest order. Though, in retrospect, he should have seen it coming the moment Isabelle yanked those eldritch parasites from plague victims. On the topic of surprises, Mak's presence also made a lot of sense, even if he himself didn't see it that way. Few other servants of Master Time had such experience when it came to dealing with fae magics. On paper, Mak was the right man to stand against the twin cancers of undeath and unseelie magic that ate Harmas alive. Yet, reality had a rare habit of matching such clean estimates.

Reaching out, he gently took Natalie's hand. "Thank you for protecting my body. Watching you struggle to haul me away from that jagged bridge was horrible."

She answered his soft grip with a kind squeeze. "You've done pretty much the same for me probably a dozen times by now."

"Yes, but I'm still so sorry for what happened while I was dead; I witnessed everything you went through, and hated that I couldn't help you more."

Natalie shrugged. "Your blood kept me alive and from attacking anyone else."

True to her word, she'd been extremely distressed over being pushed into such a state by Mak's trap, and had needed his support earlier in the evening. Something Cole was happy to give, even though it had robbed him of the opportunity to discuss other matters. Now, in what little time they had before day arrived, he intended to have that delayed conversation.

"How much blood do you have in your cistern?"

She considered this for a moment. "More than I would expect."

Her slight frown at this question turned into a look of genuine alarm as pieces fell into place. "Oh Gods! You didn't… You didn't resurrect while I was feeding, did you?"

Staring out at the grey-washed rooftops, Cole slowly replied. "Not exactly."

He explained the best he could how he'd reached into himself and spent some of his "lives" to provide enough blood to save her. Natalie listened silently, eyebrows steadily climbing up towards her hairline the entire time.

Once Cole finished his account, she swore under her breath. "Jagged edges. I'm sorry you had to do that." Then, after a moment's consideration, she asked. "Does this mean you could make yourself resurrect faster in the future?"

"I'm still not entirely certain how I tapped into the soul hollows inside me. But it's a distinct possibility, especially considering now that I know what it's like to come back."

This was the real crux of what he'd wanted to talk about, the revelation he'd experienced lying on the dirty warehouse floor. Staring down at his free hand, he whispered. "I've tasted pretty much every flavor of death there is. The instant black of a crushed skull, the icy abyss of blood loss; hells, I can even tell you the exact differences between strangulation, suffocation, and drowning. But the opposite? Coming back? That's new, and it…"

He stared up at the sky and swallowed. "It's like being struck by lightning."

As his words trailed off, Cole let out a sigh. He just didn't know how to do what he'd experienced justice. It was lightning, but it was also life, power, and something else, something he couldn't quantify, but had certainly felt. When that bolt, or whatever it was, struck him, it soldered his soul to his body, letting him trespass against what should be the one true barrier in all of existence.

"I'm sorry, I don't have the-" he trailed off, seeing the unsettled look on Natalie's face. "What's wrong?"

After shaking herself slightly, as if to wake from a daydream, Natalie said. "I don't know if I've told you about a dream I had a while ago. It was about a tower, a giant flask, and a lightning bolt."

Haltingly, she conveyed the strange vision her unconscious mind conjured, and with every word, both of them became more certain of what was being described.

"My creation," muttered Cole, earning a nod from Natalie.

"But that means you were tapping into Isabelle's memories even before whatever Wolfgang is doing!"

Chewing on her cheek so hard, Cole expected her to put a fang through it, she replied. "I have a theory. Remember when I went into your mindscape and got bombarded with all those strange thoughts about you? Weird arcane gibberish, I couldn't decipher?"

When he nodded, Natalie continued. "At the time, I thought Isabelle might have somehow encoded some of her knowledge into your soul, but the more I think about it, the less that sounds like her, especially the her before meeting you. What does sound like her is making sure her knowledge was safe, even if she were to be captured or worse."

"You think the bits of her soul inside you contain the method of creating more of me?" Cole asked, hating how much sense this made.

"Yes, but that leads to another question. What happens if Wolfgang and company realize she doesn't have what they want?"

Trying to push down his mounting terror, Cole hissed. "She wouldn't remove the knowledge from her own mind. I can't ever see her doing something like that."

"Even if it was her only option to spite her enemies?"

"Fuck."

"Yep."

They sat like that for a moment until Cole started to get up. "We need to change plans; delaying her rescue can't wait any longer."

Gently but firmly, Natalie grabbed his hand. "You know her better than I do, but I've spent a fair amount of time sharing a skull with her. So if I had to guess, I think she probably only ejected a few key elements, pieces of the puzzle she'd be certain no one else could find on their own. That way, she'd have enough knowledge to negotiate with, while making sure her secrets were safe."

Cole, unfortunately, couldn't find any flaw in this reasoning. "Okay, we might have a bit more time, but-"

"But, I hate to admit it, but Mak's plan is good, and for more reasons than he knows. See, the vampires we're going after, one's a master of animal control, the other a psychic expert. If I could get their abilities, let alone their memories, then finding Isabelle and reforging the link between us would be possible. Then, once that's done, she and I could smuggle her soul free of Wolfgang's clutches."

How quickly Natalie defaulted to using her curse's true potential unsettled Cole, yet that didn't change the fact that she was right. He could hunt down Wolfgang with Marcus's help, and maybe even had a good chance of rescuing Isabelle through sheer brute force. But if Mak was right, and this really was some monumental trap, then he couldn't endanger himself and everyone else by charging blindly into it. Of course, right now, anything to do with Mak was a very big if.

"About Mak Murtery. I'm concerned about him."

A bitter laugh escaped Natalie. "A pretty jagging reasonable thing to be. What I said to him was out of line, but it wasn't wrong. This place broke him, and I don't know if anything will piece him back together."

It hurt uniquely to have someone he loved speak so harshly about someone he respected, especially when he couldn't even disagree with her. The Mak he'd known had been a canny hunter, a wise rest-bringer, and a good friend. Not just a friend to Cole, either; his name and deeds were well known across the wind-swept archipelago he hailed from. On the White Isles, he'd been Sir Mak, a folk hero revered for protecting people from the unseelie hauntings that infested that strange land. Here in Harmas, he was a broken sole survivor, one eager to hide in a bottle rather than face his perceived failures and very real powerlessness.

Moving so he could peer over the roof's lip, Cole looked down at the rows of makeshift grave markers lining the warehouse's yard. In them, he could see a story, one that explained much of Mak's behavior. "I've told you before how different rest-bringers and paladins have different specialties."

When Natalie nodded, Cole continued. "Mak isn't like me. He's not just a hunter or an investigator, he's a protector, a teacher. Where he's from, he's known, he's liked, and he's helped people in more ways than I ever could. I think I understand why Master Time sent him here, or at least one of the reasons. He wasn't expected to stop the plague; instead, he was supposed to help people survive it. To help create a resistance of some kind, one capable of not just protecting itself but also acting as a counterbalance to the elector prince's court."

"A good idea, until they were betrayed," said Natalie, as she came over to join Cole, looking at the grave markers. "Do you think it was the geas, or something else?"

"Who knows. Vampires and the fae have long mastered getting people to turn on each other, even without the help of magic," Cole bitterly replied. "But somehow in the face of all that, he survived, even when those he was charged to protect didn't."

Briefly, he imagined what he might become if he'd failed like Mak had. What sort of person would Cole be if he lost Natalie and Isabelle? Well, he'd learned the answer to that in Voivode Igori's dungeon years ago: not a person at all. And while the last few weeks had done much to stress exactly how different Cole's mind was from anything normal, he couldn't shake the parallels between what he'd been in that larder and who Mak was now, which led back to the heavy question that might decide so much going forward. Could they rely on, let alone trust, Mak Murtery? Cole saw few other options, but that didn't lessen his trepidation.

Just then, the sun finally peeked up over the horizon, washing away the grey pall, replacing it with a warm spring glow. Beside him, Natalie sucked in a pointless breath before saying. "Looks like we were right about my powers. Not that I'm going to test it, though."

"Probably a good idea," replied Cole, staring out at the city's innumerable ruins. From atop the warehouse, in the earliest of morning, the buildings reminded him of old carcasses, split open, exposing their bleaching bones to the open sky. He stood amidst a mass grave of sorts, one abandoned by all but the most ugly and enduring carrion eaters. All across the corpses of homes, shops, and infrastructure swarmed maggots, bipedal, rotten maggots who, unlike their mundane counterparts, hungered for living flesh. Then, elsewhere, hidden deep in this grave were the flies, those scheming vermin who'd spread disease and doom, just so they might lay their eggs in what came after.

Clenching his fists, Cole made a promise to himself. Once they'd rescued Isabelle, he'd bring fire and iron to this place, cleansing away the twin corruptions and delivering justice to those responsible, one swing of Requiem at a time.

"We need to be careful with Mak. I don't know if we can help him, or if he'll even take what we might offer. But that doesn't change the fact he's our best option."

With a shrug, Natalie replied. "Sometimes the right person at the right time can help someone start piecing themselves back together."

Glancing down at the warehouse proper, she continued. "I thought I might be that person for Yara, but now I'm not so certain." After a slight shake of her head, as if to knock away a thought, Natalie added, "But maybe your presence is what Mak needs to start rebuilding."

Looking down at the grave markers below, then out at the city block, the man in question had turned into one massive trap, Cole muttered. "Maybe."

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