“Aertis, stop!” Lyle’s voice rang out, sharp and clear. He rarely raised his voice, and that was enough to make Aertis pause, hunched over and readying herself to shift. Her hair, which had been tucked into an elegant bun some days ago, was wild. She had never changed out of her Gathering Dark clothes, refusing to do so at her husband’s urging. To do so, she reasoned, would be akin to admitting that Lyria would not be found at any moment. She would not concede that point, and so she did not change. She had not slept, or eaten, and had barely had a few sips of water, alternatively prowling the streets looking for any sign of her friend and pacing the home in which they were lodged, worrying and staring at maps of Cyrrillest, plotting where next to search.
And so, when she turned back to he
