Ruban looked up with a smile as Simani walked into the office, setting her dripping umbrella to dry in a corner. It was late in the afternoon and the streets were all but choked with mud and rainwater. “What news from SifCo?” he asked.

“Good news and bad.” Simani flopped down behind her desk with a groan. “Depending on how you look at it. Someone should ban monsoons. Never thought I’d say it but I kinda sympathise with the Aeriels at this point. Everything’s wet and muddy.”

“Good news first, then,” said Faiz, leaning eagerly forward. “I don’t suppose they had a spare copy of the formula lying around all along.”

Simani laughed. Rummaging in her handbag for a few seconds, she finally seemed to find what she was looking for. Leaning forward, she held out what looked like a photograph to Ruban.

“What is this?” Ruban asked, frowning as he took the proffered piece of paper.

“Reivaa,” Simani said simply. “Or as close as we could get, anyway.”

“What!” exclaimed Ruban, squinting down at the photograph in his hand. He drew in a sharp breath. It was the picture of an Aeriel, alright; a full length picture at that. The creature was flying, its silvery form stark against the overcast sky, its monstrous wings outstretched, flaring out in all its hideous, iridescent glory on both sides of the Aeriel, two tiny crimson marks staining the tips of the otherwise pristine wings. “Where did you–”

Simani smirked. “Impressive, isn’t it? It’s a composite, really. Vik helped with the wings, gigantic nerd that he is. He read up on all the reports and historical accounts on Reivaa he could get his hands on; even got Dawad to chip in, apparently. Finally, they managed to produce a more or less accurate copy. Or at least that’s what they say, anyway. It’s better than nothing, so I guess we might as well trust them.”

“But what about the rest?” asked Faiz curiously. For once, Ruban was grateful for his inquisitiveness. He himself felt too flummoxed to say much. He peered down at the picture, trying to see in it any hint of recognition, of familiarity. He felt like he should know it, somehow; feel some inkling of remembrance, looking at the face of the creature that had destroyed his life. He didn’t, though. It was almost surreal.

“Apparently, one of the junior scientists working in the west wing at the time of the attack had happened to look out of the window just before the blast. She says she saw an Aeriel flying towards the building just before everything went to shit. We got her to cooperate for a composite sketch. Then got the wings photo-shopped into that so there’d be a cohesive picture for the taskforce to work with. Of course, the woman only saw the Aeriel for a few seconds, and from quite a distance at that, so it’s not as accurate as we’d like. But as I said, it’s better than nothing.”

“Why hadn’t this woman come forward before?” Ruban asked, carefully putting the picture down on his desk.

Simani’s lips quirked into a sardonic little smile. “Apparently, before we reached out to her, she thought she had been hallucinating.”

“So what now?” Faiz asked, sitting back in his chair. There was an expectant glint in his dark brown eyes. “When do we get to put a blade into this Aeriel, then?”

“Hema is at the IAW headquarters now, briefing the taskforce as we speak,” said Simani, running a hand through her damp hair. “One way or another, we’ll get a lead on this Reivaa soon. Which brings us to the bad news, Ruban. Once this taskforce has been formally set up, we’ll lose some of the autonomy in this case. The taskforce will be answering directly to the IAW.”

Ruban shrugged. “Well, we have Uncle Subhas to deal with that side of things. Plus, I don’t think they’ll dare try anything so soon after that video was leaked. If luck’s on our side, we’ll have this case wrapped up and over with before the IAW becomes a problem again.”

Simani nodded. “You want to talk to the taskforce yourself? Brief them on the case, what they should be looking for?”

“Nah. I’ll leave you and Hema to handle that. For now, I was thinking of taking a trip to Surai.”

“Your hometown?” said Faiz, sounding baffled.

“Yes. There are some questions I have about this case that only Surai can answer.”

“Are you going to go alone?” asked Simani worriedly. “I can come with you if you want.”

Ruban shook his head. “I need you here, Sim. Somebody needs to keep an eye on things in Ragah. I can handle this on my own. It’s just recon anyway; not like I’m going on a Hunt.”

“You can take Ashwin with you then,” Faiz suggested.

“Yeah. He’ll just be in the way here, anyway,” Simani agreed, perking up a little. “Take him with you to Surai.”

Ruban dipped his head, smiling, his hands raised in surrender. “Alright alright. I won’t go alone. Sheesh. You’d think I’m going on my first school trip or something.”

***

Hotel Sunrise was far from the worst establishment where Ruban had ever spent the night, despite the damp walls and the peeling paint. It was also very far from the best, though. They had been driving for about eight hours by the time the sun went down and it became too dark to continue safely on the remote highway almost completely unarmed. They had left Ragah behind nearly four hours ago; and while the capital and its immediate surroundings had become considerably safer over the last decade or so, the same could not, unfortunately, be said for the hinterlands of Vandram.

Ruban had expected Ashwin to resist the idea of going to Surai with him. He had thought the Zainian would want to stay in Ragah, in the thick of things. Ruban often suspected that Ashwin wanting to be involved with the investigation into the SifCo case had as much to do with the young man’s warped sense of adventure as with him wanting to set the world to rights by foiling those ‘evil Aeriels’, as he called them.

He didn’t know Ashwin quite well enough, apparently, for the Zainian had just shrugged and nodded when Ruban told him about the trip. Perhaps Ashwin had had enough of the whole mess after all. Not that Ruban was complaining. The other man’s unexpected pliability certainly had made life easier for him, and they had set out that afternoon itself – Ruban telling Simani to keep him posted in case they uncovered any leads on either Reivaa or Tauheen.

Upon nightfall, Ruban got off the highway and drove up to one of the many hotels and inns lining the NH130. After registering themselves at the counter, they’d been shown by a rather malnourished young bellboy to their room on the second floor. Sparsely furnished with two single-beds – one nightstand between them – and a single writing desk tucked into a corner, the room appealed to Ruban a lot more than many of the more floridly decorated ones often found in such establishments. To him, austerity was by far preferable to fake ostentation.

“You can go in now, if you’d like,” Ashwin said, walking out of the attached bathroom in embroidered cotton pajamas; long, wet hair dripping onto the concrete flooring. Ruban sighed. Speaking of ostentation…

“Order something for dinner,” he told the Zainian, throwing him the menu-card he had been perusing while waiting for his turn in the washroom. “We haven’t had a morsel since we started. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

***

“And you’re sure it was Reivaa?” asked Ashwin, pushing his rice absentmindedly around the plate. Hunched slightly over his meal, he seemed lost in thought.

Ruban hummed noncommittally. He didn’t feel very sure of anything at the moment, but it was the only explanation that made any sense. And he supposed that since he was dragging the Zainian to his hometown on what was basically a personal errand, he owed the man something by way of an explanation. Still, recounting the details of the attack on his home, remembering that nightmarish day in any way whatsoever was still painful; unexpectedly so, considering how long it had been. And he wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. “It’s the logical explanation, don’t you think? The lightning, the fire – it all adds up. And if you’re right, we don’t have very many to choose from anyway. Only five Aeriels on earth who can use fire-shells, and one of them has apparently been stuck in Zaini for the last twenty years.”

“Still,” said Ashwin, chewing thoughtfully on a green chilli, having entirely abandoned the remnants of his meal by now. “Reivaa is a very powerful Aeriel, one of the most important in Tauheen’s coterie. By all accounts, she was instrumental to the Queen during the Rebellion and after. Why would she be dispatched to a place like Surai for a random attack on a private, civilian dwelling? Even if Tauheen had, for some reason, wanted to attack your family, Ruban, surely a much less powerful Aeriel could have accomplished the task just as easily. Why send her greatest general for a task a foot-soldier could have performed just as well? Which again brings us back to the original question: Why did Tauheen want to attack your family in the first place?”

“How should I know?” Ruban growled. He could feel his nails digging into the palms of his hands. His heart clenched painfully as the memories of that day flooded back into his mind. He felt like he was being choked. “They’re Aeriels! Isn’t that reason enough? Do you think those blood-thirsty, murderous motherfuckers need a reason to destroy everything in their path? They’re terrorists and murderers. It’s what they do.”

Ashwin made a soft clucking noise, shaking his head slowly. There was something in his eyes – something like reproach – that Ruban didn’t entirely understand. And at the moment, he didn’t really want to. “You’re being simplistic, Ruban. You know it. If Tauheen sent Reivaa to attack your home eight years ago, there had to have been a reason for it. And until we find out what that reason was, we’ll never find out anything else.”

“We?” repeated Ruban, raising an eyebrow.

Ashwin narrowed his eyes. “I’m coming with you, aren’t I? It would be a pointless waste of resources not to work together on this.”

Ruban sighed, conceding the point despite himself. Besides, Ashwin had proved to be useful in the past, and Ruban would not let his pride get in the way of finally finding his father’s killer. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“You said that you, your father and Miki were the only people in the house at the time of the attack. Was anyone else supposed to be there who wasn’t?”

Ruban shook his head. “No. In fact Miki wasn’t really supposed to be there either. I’d just invited her over for dinner because Baba had made kofta that day, and it was her favourite.” His lips quirked slightly into the ghost of a smile. “And I wanted to…well, it doesn’t matter. Nobody else was supposed to be at the house that wasn’t.”

“Hmm,” murmured Ashwin, staring thoughtfully down at his plate. “So you and Miki were basically backwater adolescents who had never seen an Aeriel outside of a TV screen in your lives, no offence. That leaves your father. Is there any reason why he would have been on Tauheen’s radar? Why she might have felt threatened by him, or stood to benefit from his death in some way?”

“Threatened?” Ruban laughed. It was a bitter thing, frayed at the edges. “My father was a farmer, Ashwin. The most exciting thing that ever happened to him was finding pests in the crops. What could he possibly have done to threaten the goddamned Queen of the Aeriels?”

“What about your uncle, then? Could it have had something to do with him? Could Tauheen have attacked your family to send some sort of a message to him? He was working with the IAW at the time, wasn’t he?”

Ruban frowned. “I suppose that’s possible. I don’t see the point, though. Uncle Subhas was working for the IAW back then, but he wasn’t anywhere near important enough to be worth threatening. And even if they had wanted to threaten him, why come all the way to Surai to attack our home, when his own family had lived in Ragah for years?”

Ashwin shrugged. “Well, it was worth a shot. ’Sides, it’s the most likely angle we’ve come up with yet. I suppose we’ll find out more once we get there. If the Aeriels don’t off us first, that is,” he moaned.

Ruban smirked, wiping his sauce-stained hands on a paper napkin. “You know, you’re good. Better than most, even. But not nearly as good as you think you are. You know what they say about fooling some people all the time and all people some of the time…”

Squinting up at him through an impressive frown, Ashwin snapped: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ruban laughed, looking across the table at the young man with an expression that was almost fond. After all, it was hard to completely hate someone who had slugged the Aeriel Queen with a table to save your ass. “This whole wide-eyed, distressed damsel act you’ve got going on. It’s just that, isn’t it? An act. Not that you aren’t good at it, mind. Quite brilliant, in fact. Had me fooled for a while there. The rest of the team certainly buy it too, though I’m not so sure about Sim. She always was the smart one,” he sighed. “You Hunt better without a sifblade than most actual Hunters with one, my man. You can drop the act now, you know. Entertaining as it is, it has to be exhausting.”

Ashwin stared at him, wide-eyed, and Ruban suppressed the urge to laugh again. It was a pleasure to have rendered the young man speechless, just this once. The guy was too clever by half anyway.

As if sensing his thoughts, Ashwin spluttered indignantly. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly, you’re hallucinating–”

“You mustn’t think much of me, if you think you can fool me with the same trick every time,” Ruban interrupted him mildly. “Honestly, if you must be deceptive, at least be original about it. I’m not saying you are not a spoilt aristocrat with way too much money, and too little sense to go with it. Case in point, anyone with half a brain would have cut off that hair by now. Vandran weather just isn’t meant for that sort of vanity. But being too stupid to survive in the real world doesn’t mean you can’t be handy in a fight, which you obviously are. The Zainians weren’t all tripping on acid when they handed you this case after all.”

At that, Ashwin threw his head back and laughed, and Ruban once again had the faint impression of bells tinkling in the distance. “Well, I suppose you’ve got me then,” he giggled, holding up his hands once he had gotten his breathing under control. He looked almost relieved. “You’ve discovered my deep, dark secret. I was a super-secret badass all along. Whatever shall I do with myself now?”

“Stop being an annoying piece of shit and let me get some sleep, for starters,” Ruban said, walking to his bed and withdrawing a toothbrush from his backpack. Just as he was about to enter the washroom, however, he turned back. “I don’t know what your story is, my lord, or what you’re really doing here. And I’m kinda busy with all the Aeriels and their formulas right now to spare much thought to it. But after this is all over, I will find out what you’re really up to. So don’t think you’re going to be able to fool me forever.”

“After this is all over,” smiled Ashwin, though there was an edge to his voice that Ruban couldn’t quite place. “I’d gladly tell you myself. If you don’t kill me first, that is.”

Ruban grinned. “Well, I suppose that is always a possibility.” Then, as he was about to shut the door to the washroom, he hesitated. “Thank you for everything, Ashwin. I mean it. You didn’t have to help. But you did. And well, don’t get this into your head or anything, but I am grateful. I won’t forget it.”

“I believe you,” Ashwin said, and for once, Ruban thought he was being truthful. He pushed the door shut behind him.

***

Surai hadn’t changed much since the last time he had seen it, over eight years ago. It wasn’t the sort of place that changed much. There was a new supermarket across the street from the old temple and the old movie theatre had been renovated into a new movie theatre with a cafeteria attached to it. Apart from such little cosmetic alterations, however, Surai might as well have been stuck in a time warp that never quite got out of the fifties.

The little town was surrounded by farmland, with small farming villages dotting the peripheries of its border. The sight of the crops swaying gently in the monsoon breeze made Ruban’s heart clench. He had never felt so close, and yet so horribly far away from home.

He pulled over beside a white, two-storey house close to the edges of the town. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to say, or how he was going to say it in a way that made any sense to his audience. But he’d have to start somewhere, and this was as good a starting point as any.

***

Shobha Varna looked almost exactly like Ruban remembered her, round and rubicund; the only indication of the passage of time, the little tufts of greying hair around her temples. She hugged him like a mother reunited with her long-lost child – smiling through the tears that ran down her blotchy cheeks. And if Ruban was honest with himself, he knew that she was the closest thing to a mother that he had ever known. Her husband stood beside her, looking just as pleased, if a tad less likely to burst into tears. For that, Ruban would be eternally grateful.

“My child!” Shobha exclaimed, her fingers gripping Ruban’s arms hard enough to bruise. “My poor, dear child. It’s been so long. Over eight years I haven’t seen you. No phone calls, not even so much as a letter. Did you not miss me at all?” At this, her voice broke all over again.

Ruban closed his eyes, though whether it was out of guilt or sorrow he didn’t really know. He had missed her, missed them all. And he knew it was unfair of him to have cut off all contact with his hometown after he left for Ragah. Shobha had loved him like her own child, had baked him more cakes and told him more bed-time stories than he could count. He had no excuse for what he had done, except for the fact that it had been too painful.

For the first few years, even the thought of Surai had brought with it memories of that fateful day, memories of everything he had had, and everything he had lost. He couldn’t imagine going back there just to see the charred remnants of his old life. It had been easier, so much easier to pretend like that part of his life had never existed. Like it had all been a dream he could forget. It had been a selfish thing to do, a cruel thing. He knew that now. But he had been eighteen and far too busy coping with the destruction of his own world to spare a thought for anybody else’s.

“Ah, so it is the Kinoh boy,” said a gruff voice from the door and Ruban turned around to see the grizzled Mr. Gagan, standing at the doorway with a jute sack slung over his shoulder, his bright grin showing crooked teeth. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadna seen it for m’self. What brings you this way, my lad?”

“Indeed,” said a woman’s voice behind him. Apparently, word of his arrival had gotten around rather quickly. Ruban squinted to see who was talking just as Rumika’s chubby face appeared over Gagan’s shoulder. Rumi was the wife of Mr. Varna’s younger brother and the most enthusiastic (if not the most accurate) gossip Ruban had ever had the good fortune to meet. “The only place we get to see you these days is on TV. Really, it’s all anyone in this town is talking about anymore, ever since the SifCo video went viral. You’re staying for the Fair, aren’t you?”

Shobha laughed, wiping tears from her face even as she ushered him into the house. “It’s true, Ruban. You’re a celebrity now; at least in this town. And the Fair’s next week. You have to stay. I remember how much you loved it as a child.”

“Really, my boy, we couldn’t have been prouder,” said Mr. Varna, clapping Ruban on the back with fatherly affection. “To see you fight those monstrous creatures to keep everyone safe. I mean we knew, of course. There was the Parliament attack last year. But nobody here had actually ever seen anything like it. I could barely believe my eyes, even though they kept playing that clip for a week straight, at least.”

Somewhere behind Mr. Varna, a woman squealed. Feeling rather overwhelmed, Ruban turned around to see who it was. It was Sazia, one of the Varnas’ neighbours. Following her gaze to see what had her so excited, Ruban realised that she was staring straight at Ashwin, who appeared to be trying to hide himself behind the doorframe, rather unsuccessfully. “Oh my God!” breathed Sazia, and Ruban thought vaguely that she might be hyperventilating. Not that he had a chance to do anything about it before she all but pounced on the Zainian, dragging him from the doorway and further into the drawing room. Her face was flushed and her eyes shone with a light that made Ruban slightly twitchy. “It’s you. It’s really you! You’re the one who was on TV, right? With Casia Washi before Emancipation Day, and then again after that video came out. See, I told you,” she said, turning gleefully to look at Rumi. “It wasn’t the lighting. He really is as pretty as he looked on TV.”

Tilting her head, Rumi squinted at Ashwin, her gaze assessing. “Hmm, I suppose I might have been mistaken after all.” As Rumi looked him over appraisingly, Ruban could for once be sure that the Zainian’s baffled expression was not an act. The exquisite absurdity of the situation made him want to laugh, and he bit his lip to keep himself from doing just that. After all, you weren’t supposed to laugh at foreign dignitaries getting mauled by your former neighbours.

“Knock it off, ladies,” said Mr. Gagan, the unlikely hero riding to Ashwin’s rescue. “Let the poor boy take a breather. They’ve travelled quite a distance, I’d wager. Give ‘em a drink and let ‘em relax for a while. There’ll be plenty of time to talk later.”

“Ah yes. Ruban, you must stay for lunch,” Shobha said, beaming at him. “I’ll make your favourite curry.”

“Yes, yes,” Sazia agreed eagerly, her eyes gleaming with a predatory light. “We’ve got so much to talk about. You must tell us all about what’s happening in the capital. You’re almost always in the papers these days. Life must be very exciting for you over there.”

“Indeed, you must indulge us old people with some stories from the big city, my boy,” agreed Rumi, nodding. “Lord knows nothing exciting ever happens around here.”

***

After a gigantic, three-course meal that made him feel like he was bursting at the seams, Ruban walked over to the porch, lighting a cigarette as he stared out over the countryside. It was raining, though not as hard as it often did, this time of year – more a light drizzle than a typical monsoon thunderstorm. That disconcerting feeling of being simultaneously close to and very far away from home was back, and he could no longer bear the happy chatter of the people inside the house. It felt like laughing over a grave.

Still, Ashwin was in there and in this one situation Ruban was sure he trusted the Zainian more than he trusted himself. By the time he had left the room, the ladies seemed to have forgotten all about his existence, hanging on to Ashwin’s every word as if he were quoting the gospel. Ruban grinned. He supposed he could understand why Casia Washi had thought the Zainian such an invaluable asset. If playing to the crowd were an art form, Ashwin Kwan would have been the undisputed maestro of it.

“Thinking about something?” Mr. Varna asked quietly, coming up behind him and handing him a cup of coffee.

Ruban accepted the proffered cup with a murmur of thanks. “Yes, actually,” he confessed, turning back to the scenery outside. “It’s kind of the reason I came here. I needed to know…”

“Yes?” Mr. Varna prompted gently, taking a sip of his herbal tea. “What would you like to know, my boy?”

Ruban hesitated. He didn’t know how to broach the subject without upsetting anyone. He realised that he didn’t really want to dig up old nightmares…at least not here, not now. He wanted to believe, no matter how briefly, that he truly was back home. That this was all real.

But that wasn’t an option, though. It hadn’t been an option for him since that fateful night eight years ago. He drew in a steadying breath and forged ahead. “I need to know…on the day of the fire. Did-did anyone here see the Aeriel that attacked our home? I think I know who it was but…I need to be sure.” He fished the composite photo of Reivaa that Simani had given him out of his pocket and handed it to Mr. Varna. “Have you ever seen anything like this? Has anyone?”

Taking the photo from Ruban, Mr. Varna drew in a sharp breath. Ruban supposed it wasn’t every day that he was handed a full-length photograph of a real, live Aeriel for identification. “I-It has two marks…on its wings. There’s two of them,” he stammered, after a beat.

“Yes,” said Ruban, frowning. He wouldn’t have expected Mr. Varna of all people to know the significance of the wing-marks. “Have you seen it anywhere before?”

“I haven’t. Oh God, I didn’t believe him.”

“Didn’t believe who?” asked Ruban, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“My nephew,” whispered the old man softly. Then, turning to the house, he bellowed at the top of his voice: “Aran! Aran, come out here, my boy. Rumi, get your son in here now!”

A few minutes later, a long-limbed, narrow-faced boy of around fourteen appeared at the doorway, looking winded. “You called, Uncle?” he asked, panting.

Mr. Varna nodded grimly, holding the photograph out to the boy. “Look at the wings, Aran. You’ve seen ‘em before, haven’t you?”

As he gazed down at the photograph, the boy’s eyes widened almost comically. “It’s those wings. The wings over the fire. I told you. I know what I saw. No one would believe me then, but this is it! The two red marks…I told you that’s what I saw.”

“I know, my child, I know. You were right all along. We were fools not to believe you,” sighed Mr. Varna, turning to Ruban with tired eyes. “I didn’t believe him. I suppose I didn’t want to believe him. He was just a child, and what could we have done anyway?”

“Believe what?” asked Ruban urgently.

“On the day of the fire,” began the old man, shooing his nephew back into the house. “Aran told us…he said he’d seen wings in the sky just above your home. Aeriel wings, like in the movies, but with two red markings on them. You have to understand, Ruban, he was just six years old. We had no way of knowing he wasn’t just imagining things. I mean I knew about the X-class Aeriels, of course, and the red mark on their wings. But I’d never heard of anything like what Aran was describing and I thought…well I suppose it would be more accurate to say that I hoped he had just been imagining it. His parents didn’t want him involved in something like this. And well…can you really blame them? We saw what happened to your family, Ruban. To Abhas, Miki…” he bowed his head, running a shaking hand over his face. “We were scared. Terrified. So we just…we just pretended like it never happened. Who would believe a six-year-old anyway? What purpose would it have served to drag a child into it?” He reached out and took one of Ruban’s hands into both of his own. “I’m sorry, my boy. I’m so very sorry.”

***

Rawaria, like most of the old northern factory-towns, was small and dusty, with a fair dose of dilapidated. Many of the houses were abandoned and most of the store-fronts were boarded-up or simply left to collect dust in unattended darkness. Even the few buildings that were still occupied seemed unkempt and wanting for maintenance, as if the residents were just biding their time to pack up and leave. Most of the street-lights no longer worked and the few that did flickered ominously at irregular intervals. It was a place where one would have been hard pressed to find cheer, even under happier circumstances. And it certainly wasn’t happy circumstance that had brought them to Rawaria.

Ruban thought back over the clipped, urgent conversation he had had with Simani over the phone just before they’d had to rush to the semi-abandoned little town in pursuit of a lead nobody really thought would pan out. There had apparently been rumours of an Aeriel sighting near an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Rawaria. And some people in the IAW evidently thought that it might have been Reivaa, based on the descriptions they had received from witnesses.

Simani had been apologetic. She hadn’t wanted to bother him while he was in Surai. But this new lead was a long shot and they both knew it, and it made no sense for her to abandon the investigation in the capital and rush out to the hinterlands on what would most probably turn out to be a wild-goose chase. Especially not when Ruban was already in the neighbourhood anyway.

He knew all this, of course. He couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed about having to leave Surai so soon, however, especially after what he had just found out at the Varnas’. Still, he knew that his partner was doing her best, and it did ultimately make more sense for him to make a quick trip to Rawaria than for her to drag a team from the capital all the way to the district to investigate a rumour that was as likely to turn out to be a dud as it was to turn up anything useful. Besides, there was the off-chance that the lead might turn out to be legit after all, in which case Ruban knew he would want to be there on the scene, no matter what the opportunity cost.

***

The warehouse, when they finally found it, was dank and dark, its crumbling walls overgrown with sundry weeds and creepers sprouting from every available nook and cranny. Ruban flicked on his flashlight, holding it out in front of him even as he drew his sifblade from its sheath and into his free hand. Ashwin followed close behind, stepping into the building cautiously, although he seemed more at ease with his surroundings than Ruban currently felt. The Zainian’s hand shot out to steady him as he stumbled over what had probably once been a part of some sort of automobile, even as the young man himself skipped lightly over the obstacle as if he had seen it a mile off.

“Careful,” Ashwin said, his voice hushed as if in deference to their surroundings. “Don’t want you breaking your leg someplace this spooky.”

“No, I daresay you don’t. The only proper place to break one’s limbs is obviously in a well-lit parlour, preferably in one’s family manor.”

“Precisely,” Ashwin sniffed the air delicately, although whether it was because he actually smelt anything or he was just being his usual obnoxious self, the Hunter couldn’t tell. “If there ever was an Aeriel here, though, it’s not here anymore. This place is empty, and has been for some time now.”

“What, your grandma gave you super Aeriel-sensing skills now?” Ruban growled, flashing his torch into the shadowy corners of the cavernous warehouse. The place was littered with what looked like abandoned machine-parts and other random detritus left behind from a more prosperous time. If there was anything living in this place, Ruban had to admit it had certainly eluded him so far.

Even in the darkness, the Hunter could practically feel his companion frown irritably. “Don’t be ridiculous. The dust on every surface is almost an inch deep. Aeriels may be light-footed but they’re not weightless. Nothing’s moved in here in a couple of days at least, most likely more.”

“Aeriels have wings, in case you hadn’t noticed. It could’ve just been flying,” Ruban retorted, though the words sounded unconvincing to his own ears. It wasn’t so much that he actually disagreed with the Zainian, but it was the principle of the thing. It didn’t feel quite right to let the foreign princeling go entirely unchallenged.

Ashwin looked around the dank confines of the abandoned structure disdainfully. “Flying? In here? Quite apart from the fact that it would be entirely impractical, not to mention uncomfortable; it’d still disturb the debris, scatter the dust if nothing else. No, if Reivaa was ever here, she’s long gone.”

Ashwin shook his head, looking resigned, just as something glittered under the light of Ruban’s still-roving torch; something incongruently glossy in their grimy surroundings. “What’s that?” the Zainian breathed even as he moved quietly towards the shadowed corner where the flashlight had briefly illuminated something small and glossy, lying discarded under a broken piece of equipment. Ashwin bent down, picking up the object of their interest and holding it gingerly between his fingers.

“Looks like a photograph. Well, part of one anyway,” Ruban said, moving forward to stand next to the Zainian, squinting down at the bit of shiny paper. He sank to one knee, passing the flashlight under the large chunk of discarded factory equipment to check for anything else out of place. “There’s more of them. Looks like someone tore up a photo in here.”

Ashwin fell to his knees beside him, passing a searching hand over the grimy surface of the floor on which the flashlight illuminated several scattered pieces of glossy photo paper. “Wanna put it together?” he asked, collecting the shredded pieces into both his hands as he stood up. Walking over to a protruding piece of wall that had probably once been a shelf, he dumped his findings onto it, spreading it out for convenient sorting. “Bring the flashlight over here,” he said, gesturing Ruban over to his side of the warehouse. “Let’s see what the Aeriels are after now.”

***

Ruban felt his breath quicken, even as the blood seemed to freeze in his veins as he stared down at the painstakingly reassembled photograph sitting on the dilapidated old shelf of the warehouse.

“Ruban,” Ashwin was saying, his voice uncertain and indistinct. Ruban didn’t care. At the moment, he wouldn’t have cared if the whole building had come crashing down around them. It was all he could do not to pull his gun out and destroy what was left of it himself. He staggered back, slowly, dazedly. His mind knew that he had to move, had to get out of here, do something; but the rest of his body felt numb, as if someone had just punched him in the gut.

“Ruban!” It was Ashwin again, calling his name urgently, his voice louder now, gaining in confidence. A hand shook Ruban’s shoulders insistently. “Ruban, snap out of it. We have to leave now. She might be in danger. We have to find her.”

Find her. Yes, he had to find her. He would find her, keep her safe if it was the last thing he did in his life. Ruban looked down at the photo once again. It was as if icy fingers were digging their claws into his heart and he gasped, fighting to hold back tears. But he wouldn’t cry, couldn’t allow himself to. Not until he found her, made sure that she was safe. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, fighting desperately to get his breathing back under control, to stop his hands from shaking as he passed his fingers gently over the tattered picture one last time. “Yes, we have to find her,” he said finally, his voice hoarse, as he turned on his heel and all but ran out of the crumbling old building.

From within the shadows of the warehouse, a smiling Hiya stared after him from the glossy surface of the tattered photo, even as the frayed pieces began to scatter in the breeze once more.

***