“Where’s Maisie?” Torin panted, as if he had run across the hills. “Is everything well? I stopped by the house on my way and neither she nor Sidra were there.”

“Torin . . .” Graeme said.

Sidra shut her eyes. The house fell silent, and she wished that she could awaken. That this was only some terrible nightmare, and she wasn’t about to shatter Torin’s life.

“Sid?” he called.

She dropped his mother’s garment and stiffly rose. She looked at the floor as she stepped around the panel, at last coming into Torin’s line of sight.

It was the silence that made her glance upward.

His face was unnaturally pale. His eyes were glazed, betraying his shock. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak. A gasp escaped him, and Sidra thought it sounded like he had just been stabbed, deep in the side.

Torin strode to her. He stepped through Graeme’s clutter, kicking books and trinkets out of the way. All too soon, that distance between them was gone, and Torin framed her face in his hands. She could smell the coast on his fingers—the sand and seawater. She could feel the bite of his many calluses and yet he held her so gently, as if she might break.

“What happened?” he demanded. “Who did this to you?”

Sidra swallowed. It felt like a rock was in her throat. It hurt to breathe, and her eyes burned with tears.

“Torin,” she whispered.

He knew it then. She felt how he stiffened, and his eyes began to frantically search the room.

“Where’s Maisie?” he asked.

Sidra drew a deep breath. Her sternum ached; her words crumbled.

“Where is Maisie, Sidra?” Torin asked again, his gaze returning to hers.

She had never seen him appear so afraid. His blue eyes were dilated, bloodshot.

“I’m sorry, Torin,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

His hands fell away from her. He took a step back, stumbling over a pair of boots. He heaved a breath and raked his fingers through his hair. Another sound slipped from him, soft yet guttural. Eventually, he glanced at Sidra, his face composed.

“I need you to tell me everything that happened last night,” he said. “If I’m going to find Maisie . . . you need to tell me every detail, Sidra.”

She was jarred by how reserved he now appeared, but she knew this was his training, to keep his emotions in check. He was speaking to her as the captain, not as her partner.

Sidra began to recount what had happened, save for Donella’s warning, thankful that she was able to speak without weeping.

He listened, his eyes fixed on her. Every few breaths, he would study her blood-smeared chest, the snarls of her matted hair, and Sidra would feel how cold she was.

“The spirit spoke?” Torin interrupted when she reached that part.