Raskos’ agent hesitated, then came at her again. Maya incinerated his alchemical bomb and parried his first strike, his steel vaporizing in the heat of deiat. He slashed at her gut with a dagger, but her panoply caught the blow, and she barely felt the wave of cold from the impact. His hood fell back, revealing a youth not much older than her, with brown skin and dark hair. Most of his face was obscured behind a silver mask, intricately carved in abstract patterns, blocking one eye completely.

Halfmask! It had to be. But Halfmask worked with Yora. So what in plaguefire is he doing in Raskos’ sanctum?

The power running through her seemed to quench all doubts. Time enough for questions when he was at her mercy. Maya brought her haken around, slamming the butt end into the side of his head. The blow knocked him sprawling to the ground, and the silver mask came free, skittering across the tiles. The man rolled onto his back, edging away, as she once again brought her flaming blade level with his nose.

Under the mask, his face was dominated by an ugly scar, a vertical slash running from his cheek up past his eyebrow, bisecting his ruined left eye. Maya stared, perversely fascinated. The wound seemed …

Something moved, in the deepest of her memories, like a monstrous shark stirring in a placid pond. Blood. So much blood, and so many screams—her own throat, torn raw with shrieking—and—

Recognition was so visceral that Maya nearly dropped her haken. The brilliant blade vanished, and she blinked in the sudden darkness. When she tried to speak, her lips seemed to be fused together.

“It … you can’t …”

“Maya.” He pushed himself up on his elbows. Blood trickled down from his hairline. “It’s Maya, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Gyre?” She whispered the name. “You’re … here?”

For a moment, they were silent. Somewhere in the warehouse, flames crackled.

“I wondered if I’d see you again,” Gyre said. He sounded weary. “I didn’t imagine this, though.”

“You’re—” Maya shook her head. “You are Halfmask? The one the dux is so desperate to get his hands on?”

“And you’re his loyal little attack dog,” Gyre said.

Maya felt like she’d just startled awake from a doze. All the certainty of moments before drained away. Her free hand went to the Thing and then flinched back, finding the tiny arcana almost too hot to touch.

“I’m not—” she started, then shook her head again. “What are you doing here?”

“Here in Deepfire? Or here in Raskos’ treasure horde?”

“Either!” Maya said. “Why aren’t you back at the farm with Mom and Dad?”

“At the farm?” Gyre choked out a laugh. “You have no idea, do you? Never thought to check up on us?”

“Agathia aren’t allowed contact with their families,” Maya said. “I thought after I got my cognomen, I might …”