“We’re not synced,” Surit said, after a long pause. “I can’t feel you.”

Tennal forced himself to sober up. He wanted to go into hysterics. That seemed like a reasonable reaction, honestly; Tennal had never held back a meltdown for this long in his life. “We fell apart in that last attack,” he said. “I think I put you back together separately from me. Maybe that’s why—oh shit.”

He suddenly realized what he had missed, and at the same time, he saw Surit’s face change.

“Your architect powers,” Tennal said. “I forgot.” Or rather, he hadn’t forgotten—he hadn’t known. Surit had used them so rarely, and they were so foreign to Tennal. Tennal couldn’t go back. His own mind was as weak and wrung out as a frayed piece of string. They’d be gone by now, anyway: traces of Surit had been disappearing into the fabric of space even as Tennal had frantically pulled them out. “Lights. I’m—” Sorry seemed inadequate. Surit had been a Rank One architect. He could have been a general.

“No,” Surit said, in a measured tone. “That’s good.” He was still making heavy weather of breathing, but he seemed—earnest. In one way, Tennal regretted no longer having easy access to Surit’s head, but in another, he’d missed this. He’d missed the everlasting surprise of Surit never, ever reacting the way Tennal thought he would.

“Explain.”

“I wrote some people on the way here,” Surit said, looking down at his knees. “Took them over. It was easy. I could—I don’t want to be that person.” He took another slow, painful breath and looked up at Tennal. “I think I do need a doctor. What’s the situation?”

For one blank moment, Tennal could only think of their moment in the Codifier Halls. Hey, sorry you kissed me when you thought you were going to die and now we’re still here. Awkward! But Surit wasn’t in his head anymore. Tennal would have to say that out loud, and he would rather be immolated in a fuel tank explosion.

And that wasn’t even what Surit was asking about. “Oma’s dead. Or something like it.”

Surit tried to get to his feet regardless of the fact his legs weren’t working. He made a last-ditch grasp at an ornamental screen, which cracked under his weight. Tennal grabbed at his arm. “You’re not in any state to walk.”

From his new position, Surit could see Oma’s body, slumped on the desk, not breathing.

“I don’t think she’s dead,” Surit said, after staring in silence for several seconds. “I think she’s not here.”