Crier turned, following his gaze. At the edge of the crowd was a human with golden hair. They were tall and fine-boned, elegant. The last time Crier saw this person, they’d been laid out in the physician’s caravan, looking for all the world like a corpse. Like a skeleton, gaunt and terrible, eyes sunken deep into their skull. She remembered their arms, bandaged from wrist to elbow.

Their face was a mirror of Hook’s. That same breathless, helpless shock.

Then—

“I am going to fucking kill you,” Hook gasped, and lunged for them. Crier didn’t even have time to be alarmed before Hook practically threw himself at the golden-haired human, both hands twisting in the front of their shirt, dragging them down till they were nose to nose. “I’m going to kill you,” he said again, almost incoherent, words blurring together, giving the human a hard shake and then falling into them, pressing his forehead to their chest. “I’m going to kill you, Erren, you ass, you utter fucking bastard, I swear on all ten thousand gods I’m going to kill you, I hate you, do you have any idea—do you have any idea—”

Erren.

Erren was one of thousands, Hook had told Crier. To find them—to save them—I’d risk walking into a trap. I’d risk just about anything.

I know what you mean, Crier had said.

“I’m sorry,” Erren said, sounding dazed. They hadn’t made any moves to defend themselves. “I’m sorry. I know, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know,” Hook snapped.

“You’re right. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“That’s probably the first time you’ve ever admitted someone else is right,” Hook said, and then, “I hate you,” and then, “I will never forgive you, in this life or the next,” and then he pushed up on his tiptoes and took Erren’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together, then their mouths.

Crier turned away, quite certain she shouldn’t be watching this, only to be confronted by another familiar face.

“Hello, Lady Crier,” said Faye.

“You’re alive,” Crier said, stunned. The last time she’d seen Faye, the scullery maid had been surrounded by the sovereign’s guards after helping Crier escape. She’d hoped Faye hadn’t been punished with death, but the sovereign wasn’t known for his mercy. Crier had feared the worst. But Faye was alive, standing in front of her, clothed not in a scullery maid’s uniform but in a yellow dress Crier recognized from her own wardrobe.

And, moths to a lanternlight, they kept coming. Bree fought her way out of the crowd a moment later, took one look at Hook and Erren—who had stopped kissing and were now holding each other so tight Crier couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began—and rattled off a long string of curses, some in languages even Crier didn’t know. Then Bree was dragging Erren out of Hook’s arms and into her own, and Faye said, “You,” and Crier turned to see Dinara. Crier knew Dinara and the other rebels had been rescued from the Iron Heart, but hadn’t gotten a chance to exchange more than a handful of words with her during the journey east.