For a long moment, Loran didn’t move. Aria stared at his profile over his shoulder. She took in the way he stood there, shoulders shifting with ragged breaths, and was terrified by how much the news seemed to affect him.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last.

“You’ve been gone for nineteen years. Sorry isn’t enough.”

He pulled the door open and led her back into the Komodo, where there was no wind, and no sound, and no flash of Aether.

She moved without feeling. Without thought, until raised voices up ahead pulled her out of the fog.

Standing by the door to her chamber, two Guardians were engaged in an argument with someone inside.

“Detainees are under Hess’s jurisdiction, not Sable’s,” said one of the Guardians. “Their transport and relocation can only occur at his orders. She should be here.”

Aria couldn’t see beyond the Guardians’ backs, but she recognized Soren’s voice when he answered.

“Look, you can talk to me about protocols all day long. I’m just telling you what happened. She left half an hour ago with one of the Horns.”

She glanced at Loran. Her father. And was suddenly afraid for him. Sable had proved that no matter who crossed him, he punished ruthlessly. But Loran was stoic, all the emotion she’d just seen on his face moments ago gone.

“Where are you planning to take her?” he asked as they walked up.

As the Guardians whirled, Aria caught a glimpse of Roar and Soren watching worriedly from within the room.

Loran’s question surprised the Guardians, putting them on the defensive. They answered immediately, and in unison. “To the infirmary.”

“I’ll take her,” Loran said smoothly.

“No,” said the shorter Guardian. “We have orders.”

“It’s no trouble. I was heading there myself.”

“We were given explicit orders from our commander to transport her ourselves.”

Loran tipped his head down the corridor behind him. “Then you’d better carry them out.”

She was handed off, from Loran to the Guardians. In one swift stroke, he had avoided questions and diverted any suspicion away from himself. Clever, she had to admit. She looked back as she was led away for the second time that night.

Loran was still there, watching her.

Hess was waiting alone in the infirmary.

“Come in, Aria. Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to one of the cots.

The narrow room smelled antiseptic and familiar, its rows of cots and metal counters jogging Aria’s memory. She pictured Lumina in a doctor’s smock, her hair pulled back in a sleek bun, her demeanor simultaneously calm and alert. Lumina had made any garment elegant, and every action—sitting, standing, sneezing—graceful.

Aria didn’t see herself that way. That poised. She was messier. More impatient. More volatile. She had an artistic side, which Lumina hadn’t possessed.

Was it Loran? Did these sides of her come from him? A soldier?