He dug in his pack for the roll of alchemical camp-guards while Kit went to work on the fire. The little things were the standard clay balls of most alchemicals, connected to a fine wire mesh. He unrolled them around their little nook at the distance of a couple of meters. The clay balls were full of explosive powder, enough to make a flash and a loud bang, connected to the wire with a clever mechanism. Once it was set, any pressure would set them off and sound the alarm. As a general security measure, it wasn’t ideal, since it was easy enough to step over the wire mesh if you saw it, but plaguespawn weren’t smart enough for that.

“You are well prepared,” Kit said, tending her small pile of twigs as the fire grew. “More of Lynnia’s work?”

Gyre nodded. “She’s got a temper, but she’s the best alchemist in Deepfire.” He sighed. “Not that she’ll ever work with me again, most likely.”

“Ah.” Kit shook her head. “It’s too bad about Yora. I’d hoped you were right about her calling off the job—”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

Gyre settled down next to the fire, drawing his legs to his chest. He still wondered if there was something he could have done, some way out of the trap. Warn her, and risk losing everything. Except we lost everything anyway.

“Fair enough.” Kit pushed a larger piece of wood into the flames and sighed pleasantly as the fire rose. “Can I ask you something else, then?”

“Maybe,” Gyre said cautiously.

“That centarch,” Kit said. “She let us go. And I thought I heard you talking to her.”

“You were unconscious.”

“I was in and out.” Kit cocked her head. “So what happened? Do you know her?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Gyre sighed. “It was Maya. My sister.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.” He shook his head. “Or maybe I don’t. If it was anyone else, I doubt we’d have gotten out of there alive.”

“What did she say? Was she glad to see you?”

“She said …” Gyre paused. “About what you’d expect. What the Twilight Order taught her to believe.”

“Was she surprised to find out her brother is a notorious rebel?”

“I think so. She said she doesn’t remember what happened the day they took her.” Gyre sighed. “I wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to remember.”

“Family,” Kit said in a long-suffering tone.

“Do you have any?” Gyre said, genuinely curious.

“Just my mother. She ditched my dad before I was born, and I only saw him a couple of times before he drank himself to death.”

“And what does she think of …” Gyre waved vaguely, as though to encompass Kit’s entire life.