Krey nearly fell out of bed from the force with which he awoke; a sudden, startling flash of light had finished the job his nightmares had started. He scrambled to the window… but there was nothing. “Strange…” he murmured to himself. His vision quickly readjusted to the normal night light level, and all was still and silent both outside and inside. For a moment, he thought he heard noise from the next room - where Emilie was sound asleep by now, surely - but when he went into the hallway to listen through the door, he heard nothing. Must’ve all been some sort of lingering lucid hallucination, he decided.

He took several deep breaths as he stumbled back to that open balcony in the main living area; sleeping again did not yet feel like a good idea. In the sleeping world, he’d been in the company of the dead. Hector, to be precise. The smug bastard, I should’ve expected him to haunt me from beyond the grave. Not that he’d been given a grave, or that he deserved one. Krey still couldn’t quite believe how anticlimactic their final showdown had been. He just stood there, yapping… and I cut him down with less effort than any of his cohorts. It made his teeth clench.

He looked over his shoulder, back toward the bedrooms. He reflected on the company he shared now, compared to earlier in his life; it drew some of the tension of of him. What am I going to do with myself when this business of ours is concluded, though? He hadn’t given it much thought until now. Up until now, his transient way of life had been comfortable enough… but now he was beginning to wonder if he’d just grown blind to the stench of discontent, the way dysphoria becomes ignorable if lived with long enough. There all along, he thought, just… ignorable… hah, what have these women done to me? He feared he’d done the one thing his kind aught not to do: he’d grown attached.

Now he thought back to Musidora’s warning. ‘He has plans for her, and her alone’, she’d said; ‘keep them apart, for the good of the realm.’ He sighed. What a precarious little ledge you’ve left me to balance on, you wretched ghoul. He already knew the answer to the question now occupying his mind; he’d made his mind up on that before going to bed. Leaning on the balcony railing, he shifted his bodyweight onto his other foot as he realised that was likely why his sleep had been so restless tonight. I can’t tell them. If he did, it would only bring up more questions. They’d ask how I know, who warned me, how I could be certain. He couldn’t afford to answer any of those questions— not yet, at least. We’ll just have to slay the bastard god Fyren before he gets to her.

If nothing else, keeping it to himself would put him in the best possible position to eliminate her should she fall to his influence. If I tell her, she’ll be ready for us to act on any sign of corruption, and she’ll make a greater effort to deceive us should she be corrupted. He hummed and hawed out loud a bit now. Or… maybe I’m just overthinking it? Perhaps it was only himself he was trying to protect by withholding the information. No, he decided. This is a strategic decision, the best choice for us all in the long run. For the realm. I am a minor component in this equation.

That was, at least, the thought that helped him finally get some sleep that night.