Astra had often found that exercise helped to clear her head. Something about having rhythm to work herself into, being able to space her thoughts between the smacking of knuckles against sandbags or the burning of her muscles during lifts made it easier to gather them. Almost like it slowed things down, turning an imminent explosion into a controlled flame.

She’d been running for the last hour. Each long stride sending a satisfying jolt through her legs, her sides throbbing with fatigue and her heavy breaths forcing boiling air from her lungs one litre at a time. Astra ran, even when every fibre of her body was screaming for her to stop. Even when the frigid air of Bermuda felt like icy needles on her sweat-covered skin. Even when her feet and ankles began to hurt from their repeated contact with the hard cobbles. And yet no matter how hard she tried to focus on any one of the dozen periodic sensations or noises, her thoughts remained just as frantic and volatile.

She dropped out of her jog, coming to a stop beside a street lamp and panting beneath its orange glow. It took Astra a few moments to notice her tears, the sweat and heat of her exercise having masked them. Crow had punched her, her brother had hit her. Why did it get to her so much? They’d struck each other a lot during training, and she’d been choking Eden- he’d gotten her off him. It wasn’t anger, just concern for what she’d do.

No, it was something else. She knew that much. Astra had no idea what was going in in her brother’s head, where this sudden, terrifying drive of his had come from, but the way he’d looked at her, the tone of his voice when he’d spoken…

Don’t look at people like that.

Like she was about to kill them. Was she? She’d been angry, even now Astra could feel a cold anger build in her chest just at the thought of Eden- of how that little bastard had so candidly admitted to nearly killing Crow. But she wouldn’t have killed him. Surely she wouldn’t.

But then, she only knew one person who had- or at least thought he had- seen the look someone got when they were about to end a life. And he’d felt the need to punch her.

Suddenly cold, Astra glanced around. Only realising at that moment that she had no idea where she was. The sky had been grey and dim when she left, the little sunlight which still reached over the horizon being smothered by the clouds and fog which rolled over the city. That had been some time ago, and the streets had since been desaturated of what little colour they had held. The darkness rendered the vibrant place a monochromatic and unfriendly one, and Astra couldn’t help but feel a sliver of unease snake its way into her as she pondered how she’d find her way back to her rooms.

Eventually she turned, walking back the way she’d run down the street and hoping that she’d see something familiar- silently cursing her own stupidity all the while.

It wasn’t long before the encroaching discomfort of being surrounded by dark alleys and shady streets on all side left Astra, however. Just as the familiar, rhythmic act of training helped to bring her focus and clarity, the monotonous and agonisingly slow pace at which her exhausted body was forced to move seemed to stimulate the same panic she had been running from.

Astra’s wrist throbbed with pain for a moment, and she suddenly regretted hitting Crow very much. Without magic, her punch had been that of an ordinary woman- it had probably hurt her more than him. That had been stupid of her, and she felt that stupidity’s effect every second, but even still it was among the lessar of her worries.

But she didn’t regret it for his sake. Astra had been patient, she’d tried to talk to Crow- to help him grieve, help him come to terms with Galad’s death. She’d given him one chance after another, and in return he still refused to even tell her about the great goal he thought he needed to accomplish.

She could see minuscule icy crystals living and dying in clouds of frost each time she breathed out, yet the chill reaching across her skin was quickly overpowered as her temperature ignited anew.

So preoccupied was she, that Astra nearly walked face-first into a great stone statue of Leaf Phoria. She paused to look up at it, feeling greatly disconcerted at the way the darkness obscured its face fifty feet above her. Obscurity, Astra decided, was something she would not accept.

Thankfully the statue was also something she remembered, and served as one of the final puzzle pieces in her head. The entire, disjointed mental map she’d been trying to form suddenly made sense as she snapped the statue’s location into place- and with a refreshingly clear destination, she turned to her left and continued on her way.

By the time Astra had made it even half way, her fingers and toes had been numbed by the cold into a state of utter unfeelingness. Save for the tips, which maintained a curious but extraordinarily irritating sharp twinge of pain- as though they were being pinched. Bermuda was much colder than Selsis, it seemed.

At first she was thankful for the bitter air. Her left eye had begun to swell where Crow’s knuckles had crunched into it, and in the absence of a frozen steak she would take what she could get. However the longer she moved, the deeper the chill sank into her body. The stiffer and heavier her limbs seemed to grow, and the more her already pained wrist ached. Astra wished she’d brought something warmer than breeches and a shirt. She wished lots of things.

Each step placed her deeper into her own thoughts, and every millimetre more she descended pulled her further into despair. Astra didn’t know what to do, and neither did Crow. He was a child, one who’d watched someone closer to him than almost anyone else die in front of him. One who’d somehow survived a blast from fifty kegs of gunpowder, and one who’d seen every other person present fail to do the same.

And he was one who’d nearly gotten himself killed, lied about it and then punched her.

Astra gritted her teeth so hard her gums ached, suddenly feeling the overwhelming urge to scream as loudly as she could. Instead she chose a more familiar course of action.

She picked up her pace and started to run.