Lucian stood with the shield braced up atop the rampart in front of him. The Invictans hadn’t fired anything at him in a few minutes, but he still had a good view of them through the clear material of the shield. Hilda sat below, with her head back against the stone, fingers twitching in the air as she pushed bullets away and into the far distance, redirecting bombs and spears. “We can’t just sit around here,” she said, not meeting Lucian’s eyes. One hand cupped around the back of his knee. She crying into his leg. “You were right. Kamila was right. I’ve been so naïve.”

“Now more than ever,” Lucian said, softly as he could, “We have to be careful. We are going to do this, somehow. We’re going to get him back.”

“Are we?” Hilda spat. “How?”

Lucian pointed. He knew Hilda could not see through the same angle as him, but with every twitch of his eyes, he took in more of the scene, catalogued more details about the enemy camp in his mind. Then, when he was sure he’d seen everything twice, three times, he dropped, angling the shield over himself and disappearing behind the ramparts.

Concealed, they crept a hundred paces to the right, talking all the way.

“They’re holding him in a tent in the furthest forward camp, back there,” Lucian said. “We can’t bomb their position because of that. I mean, not that we had much of a capability to do so in the first place.” He glanced overhead. None of the Invictans’ short-range air vehicles were in flight at the moment, but that could change at any time. Theoretically. “And we can’t go charging in, or else we already would have. We’re in a better position to maneuver around our own gates, more control over that part of the city, than before, but…”

“But my brother is there, in the way.” Hilda grumbled. “They know he makes a good prisoner.”

“Antonin’s going to want to just attack anyway,” Lucian said. “But he won’t do it yet, because he knows he needs you. You’re the hero of the city, more than anyone else here.”

“We should attack,” Hilda said.

“But Aleks –“

“He can take care of himself.” Hilda frowned. “He can! He’s escaped worse situations before.” She thought of the day her mother died, the day Aleks escaped Etyslund and ran into the pass, long before Hilda and Kamila sought to slip away from the occupation troops. “And we wouldn’t be in this situation if we’d just done things the way Kamila wanted, the way you wanted, before.”

“I didn’t want to fight with no regard for the lives of those we’re trying to save,” Lucian said.

Hilda stood up as much as the ramparts would allow and grabbed Lucian by the wrist, hard. He didn’t resist, allowing her to drag him up – until his head was just below the top of the rampart. Then his knees held fast. “So now you think what we need is caution?” Hilda hissed.

Lucian nodded. “Yes, caution,” he said. “Not inaction. Just caution. We’ll save your brother, but –“

“You’re a hypocrite,” Hilda hissed. “You wanted to do it before. Fight with brutality, fight no matter what you have to do and who you have to hurt along the way, but now? You’re just acting like a coward. I don’t think you really care about Aleks.”

Lucian’s heart lurched. “Hilda,” he said, voice softening, head turning to the side. “Please, take a moment to –“

Her eyes hardened even as his softened, and she slapped him across the face. He turned with the blow, bracing his head so it wouldn’t rock, buckling his knees, and twisting to the ground. He fell expertly, practiced, but when he looked up at Hilda from below, he saw exactly what he least hoped to see – a mix of regret and sustained anger, righteous fury, unwilling to yield even when it knew it should. And for a moment, in Hilda’s gem-green eyes, Lucian thought in an idle moment, perhaps addled by the strike, that he could see another familiar pair of eyes, steel-grey and cold and tired. Kamila sighed and was Hilda again.

“Careless,” Hilda said, still holding tight onto Lucian’s wrist. Then she let go, shaking her head. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. She bent down and put her hands on Lucian’s head, and kissed his forehead. Her lips felt colder than they ever had before. “I should go,” she murmured, and then like a flash she was gone, leaving Lucian laying on the wall, the ramparts above him, his shield discarded behind.