Brenin ignored the voice, but the phrase “the darkness” gave me a mental start. The hound seemed to sense that, and he turned, and there was the flicker I’d noticed. It was a man, crouched in the corner. He wore pajamas and there was something in his hand, moving fast, as he hunched over, almost like he was playing a violin, drawing the bow back and forth in a frantic accelerando.

No, Brenin, Ioan said, and the hound snorted, as if he’d already come to that conclusion, and as he turned away, I saw blood dripping down the man’s wrists as he sawed at them with what looked like a butter knife. I let out a soft Oh and Ioan said, Yes, you didn’t need to see that.

What am I seeing? Ghosts? Trapped spirits?

No, simply impressions. Tragedies that have imprinted themselves on this place. Fae-related.

I tried to look back at the man, but Brenin kept his gaze forward as he nudged at the door. I could still hear the man whispering that he needed to find the darkness.

He has—had—fae blood? I asked.

Yes, but that wasn’t the cause of his madness. In this case, his fae blood is why you see the impression, but his madness came from other sources. Sometimes the mind simply cannot cope. In his case, the blame lay with war. When he closed his eyes, that’s all he saw. He wanted to sleep.

That was what he meant—he wanted to find sleep. Eternal sleep, if necessary. My brain was overly attuned to the word “darkness,” reading something into it that wasn’t there.

Brenin snorted, and I saw the door swing open as he’d managed to get his nails under the bottom and pull. He walked through into yet another corridor. After maybe twenty feet, he stopped, and I couldn’t hear or smell anything, but the hairs on his back prickled, and a growl rippled through his flanks.

Do you feel that? Ioan asked.

Feel what? I said.

Concentrate.

I did, but picked up nothing. What is it?

We don’t know. It’s…

Ioan trailed off and then urged Brenin forward. The hound took it slow, no longer sniffing or pricking his ears but still straining for something, his deeper senses attuned for it as he took careful step after careful step. When his paw touched down on air, he jerked back. I saw broken floorboards. Intentionally broken, it seemed, pieces lying to the side as if someone had pried them off.

Brenin lowered his snout to the hole, his nose working, nostrils flared as he detected something that I couldn’t catch. He inched closer, his muzzle dipping into the hole.