The conference room was too small for the group, so they were ranged in rows in the old theater, seated on the cool concrete floor. Aria was in shock, trying to listen. Remember their names.

Owen’s figure wouldn’t leave her mind. Bloodied and motionless, he’d lain there, helpless, while she and the others fled to safety. It was wrong. Her heart cried out against it. He’d healed her with the strength he should have used to flee. Healed the Fae woman. Healed Jonah. He’d told her to go and she’d refused, trying to be helpful. Heroic. And then she’d been shot, and he’d chosen to save her life.

He chose to. He had a choice, she reminded herself. But he didn’t. Knowing him, he didn’t have a choice.

Niall had healed her completely once they’d retreated to the relative safety of the hotel. The wounds had still been bleeding when Gabriel had pulled her away, but they were superficial, hardly life-threatening. Niall’s additional healing had left her with smooth, unmarked skin and no pain, except for that in her heart. He’d completed Jonah’s healing as well. Owen had been desperate, giving them enough to escape, saving his strength for the next emergency.

He’d been wise. Everyone but him had made it out.

The Fae sat in a silent group to one side, with the humans facing them. Gabriel and Aria sat in what might have been the heads of the table, if a table had been between them. Niall sat between the Fae woman and Aria, a wordless, trembling bridge between them.

Gabriel spoke quietly, but in the silence his voice carried. “We have little knowledge of Fae. I can plead only ignorance in the face of your accusations. We have never been friendly, I admit it, but we had no knowledge of their crimes and we do not condone them. Your cause is just.”

The Fae stared at him coolly without speaking. Finally, one said, “Who are you?”

Gabriel smiled tightly, “My name is Gabriel. We are the human resistance against the Empire. We have our own grievances, and our causes align. We did not realize it at first, but we understand more now.”

Niamh’s eyes flicked to Aria. “Who is she?”

“I’m Aria.” She tried to smile, but felt tears spring to her eyes.

Niamh stared at her, watched her as she brushed unsuccessfully at them.

“Owen was captured because of you.” The words were soft, with a tone of both accusation and interest. “And Cillian saved.”

Aria swallowed.

The young Fae was Cillian, Owen’s younger brother? No wonder he’d been unwilling to leave him behind.

Cillian leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his blue eyes on her face so intently that she dropped her gaze. He said something in Fae that might have been a question, and Niamh answered just as softly. They sounded perplexed.

Niamh said finally, “We thank you for your efforts on our behalf. We will move on when we have the strength. Tomorrow, perhaps. In the meantime, Cillian will kill any vertril that become a problem.” Her tone was one of dismissal. The Fae rose as one, graceful despite their obvious weakness, and retreated to their rooms. Niall motioned to Aria to accompany them, but when Gabriel started to follow, Niall gave him a cool look and shook his head. He was not invited.

The Fae were already seated in a rough circle when she slipped into the room. Several lamps turned down low set on boxes in the corners provided uneven lighting that made it even more difficult to read their expressions.

Niamh motioned to the floor across from her and Aria sat, trying not to feel nervous.

“Niall said you went to help Owen at the end of the fight. Why?” her voice was clear, but softer than it had been in the theater.

“He requested help, and I was closest.” Aria swallowed.

“You had no bulletproof vest like the other humans.”

“Jonah didn’t have one either.”

Niamh blinked slowly at her, as if her words had not answered the question. Her blue eyes were as cold and clear as Owen’s. Abruptly she said, “He’s my younger brother.”

Aria blinked. “You’re Niall’s mother?”

Niamh nodded once, eyes on Aria’s face.

Niall had been writing in the notebook and he turned it around so his mother could see. She read, eyes skimming the whole page, and then looked up at Aria again. “Owen has never traded upon his looks, and I doubt he did so with you. If anything, he conceals his beauty, and he is skilled at remaining unnoticed. Why then did you continue following him?”

Aria blinked. “I was curious, I guess. He was acting strangely. He wasn’t wearing shoes, and it’s freezing outside.”

Niamh tilted her head to one side. “You should not have noticed that.”

Aria frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Niamh stared at her for another long moment, then shook her head. “Most humans wouldn’t notice, even when we’re right in front of them. Perhaps you have some Fae blood in you, however slight.” She reached over to draw Owen’s sword from the belt that Niall wore. “May I?”

Aria eyed it. “What are you going to do?”

“A small cut only.”

“I suppose.” Aria held out her hand, trembling a little. Niamh’s hand was cool on hers, and she touched Aria’s fingertip to the blade gently. Aria winced, but almost smiled at herself; she’d had worse paper cuts. Niamh squeezed the end of Aria’s finger to produce a single drop of blood. Then she leaned forward and sucked the blood from Aria’s finger.

Aria jerked her hand away. “Ew!” The sensation was bizarre, discomfiting, personal, invasive, almost erotic in a horrifying way.

Niamh blinked at her with the same faint amusement Aria had seen in Owen’s eyes. Then her expression changed. “Hm.”

“Hm what?”

She spoke in Fae for a moment, studying Aria with renewed interest. Cillian continued to stare at her, and after a long moment, he answered in the same language.

“What?” Aria asked again.

Niamh said, “I believe you have a little Fae blood. It’s distant, but it’s there.” She paused, as if expecting someone else to speak, but no one said anything. “You know nothing of magic, though. Nor have any talents unusual for humans?”

Aria shook her head.

Niamh smiled with a hint of warmth, changing the subject. “These are my people. I am Niamh, eldest of Lord Ailill.” She gestured toward the others. “This is Cillian, second son of Ailill.” Cillian looked much like Owen. Younger, without the faint touch of gray in his hair, but with the same cool gaze and subtle humor in the quirk of his lip. He was gaunt, with dark smudges beneath his eyes, which continued to rest on Aria with an unreadable expression.

Niamh, too, looked like her brothers, or they looked like her. Her features were more feminine, but had the same pale, fine-boned beauty. Her hair had sprung into a mass of black curls that fell halfway down her back. Like the others, she wore what appeared to be castoff clothing, faded and worn. She wore a dark brown man’s dress shirt, a small size but baggy on her thin frame. Untucked, it hung past her hips, half-covering threadbare denim jeans with an incongruous line of pink rhinestones up one leg. Her bare feet were tucked beneath her.

“Siofra.” Niamh indicated a younger woman. Equally pale, her hair was straighter and had a hint of red-brown. Her face was softer, and she smiled warily at Aria.

“Ardghal.” The Fae man nodded to her, eyes on her face. He appeared to be in his early forties. Aria tried to guess what that meant. Three hundred fifty years or so? He too was gaunt, but he looked strong and muscular beneath his torn, blood-stained shirt. His hair was lighter, a reddish-brown that caught the light.

“Berach.” He was also older, not quite so thin but somehow worn looking. Tired.

“Finn.” A little older than Niall.

Lorcan. Conal. Aideen. Lachtnal. Tadg. Lonan. Conri. Fearghal. Sabd. Cathal. Aria forgot the names, but she remembered their faces. Tadg, Lonan, and Sabd were children of Niall’s age and a little older, with the same hollow-eyed caution she’d seen in him at first. The others were older, ranging from young adults to Conri, the oldest. Aria hesitated to even guess at his age; if he’d been human, she’d have guessed somewhere between sixty and an athletic eighty. His hair was fully gray, and he stooped a little, but his eyes were bright and clear. There were more names too; twenty-three Fae had been rescued.

Aria tried to focus, but she kept thinking of Owen. How he’d jerked, hauling her upward even while they shot him again. His breath in her ears as his arms strained to lift her high enough. How he fell nearly thirty feet to the ground because he’d made it almost to the top. For her. ‘Gabriel, catch her,’ he’d said. Not ‘help me.’

“We need to go back and get him.” She looked up to meet Niamh’s eyes.

Niamh’s lips tightened. “We cannot. None of us has the strength.”

Niall paced behind Aria, a quick, agitated rush of air betraying his silent footsteps. He knelt to write in the notebook and showed it to both of them. He rested before he rescued you. But he had only humans to help him, and you know we are stronger. We cannot leave him there.

“We will not leave him indefinitely, Niall. But it cannot be for at least a week.”

Niall gave a soft wordless cry and looked at his mother. They will kill him before then. You know they will.

“We can’t, Niall. It isn’t possible.” Niamh’s voice had softened, barely audible, but she spoke in English. She wanted Aria to understand.

Grenidor hates him. After tonight, it will be worse.

“Yes, I know. But what would you have me do? Sacrifice everyone to save him? You know he would not want that, even if it could be done.”

Niall glanced at Aria and back to his mother, then gestured toward Aria. She straightened, not sure what was happening, but Niamh gazed at her for a long moment.

Aria offered, “It wouldn’t be alone. I imagine Gabriel would help. And I would.”

Niall dismissed this with a wave of the hand. They will not keep him at Eastborn. They will move him elsewhere for interrogation, or kill him immediately. We haven’t much time.

Niamh glanced between them thoughtfully. “What are you suggesting?”

Everyone should give their strength to Cillian and then go to safety. Cillian, Aria, and I will go to Petro for help.

Niamh sat back with a sharp intake of breath. “Absolutely not.”

Niall stared at his mother, eyes glittering with tears. I will go with or without Cillian. You cannot prevent me.

“Leave us, Aria.” Niamh’s eyes did not leave her son.

Aria slipped out the door gratefully. Her heart felt shredded.

Gabriel beckoned to her from across the room. She picked her way through the bedrolls and rucksacks toward a small crowd sitting on the floor. Aria sat near him, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at the group. After a glance at Gabriel, she kept her eyes mostly on the floor, hunched and miserable.

Gabriel looked tired, rubbing his face blearily, but he shook out his shoulders and said, “We’re beginning the debrief. I’m not entirely sure what happened and the Fae don’t seem to want to tell us right now. Evrial, you go first.”

“We went in. No problems at first. Owen warned us about the alarms; the door itself had a sensor that went off when he got close to it. He opened it somehow, magic I suppose.

“Inside was pretty big. The left side had a surgical table and a bunch of equipment. MRI, EKG, defibrillator, all kinds of stuff. It had been freshly cleaned, but they missed some bloodstains. On the right were cages. Rows of them, metal mesh on the front and solid metal sides.

“Owen touched the mesh on one trying to open the lock, and it blew him across the room. You probably heard the crack through the headset. He was pretty dazed for a minute, but he got the locks open after that without touching the mesh. He said he didn’t think it would shock humans, but we didn’t want to chance it and pulled the doors open with the handles of some brooms and mops we found. We met the first guards as we were leaving, but my team got the first five out and regrouped outside the front gate.” Evrial sighed. “We heard the chaos but didn’t see most of it.”

Gabriel nodded. “Bartok?”

Bartok rubbed one hand down his thigh, staring at the floor. His voice was quiet when he began. “I went back in to help and got one of them nearly to the door. Then I got shot. It hit the femoral artery, painted the wall with blood. Owen was right behind me, and he did magic, I guess, healed it enough so I wouldn’t bleed out. It felt…” he hesitated. “It felt exceedingly odd. I don’t think he was focused on reducing the pain, but normally one would bleed out so quickly that the pain wouldn’t last long. I think he healed the main artery but left the rest for later. I blacked out, and woke up outside the wall with Niall over me.” Bartok’s lean face was serious.

“How do you feel now?” Evrial asked.

“A little shaky and weak from blood loss. But there’s no pain. The wound itself is completely healed. Niall finished when we got back.”

Gabriel nodded. “Jonah?”

Jonah took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I went to the front gate and then went back in. Owen was somewhere back in the maze of cages. Cells. Whatever you want to call them. Fae were trying to walk, but most of them were in such bad shape they couldn’t make much progress. I got one with an arm over my shoulder and hauled him to the front. We rounded a corner and met some guards. They were responding to the alarm, and they didn’t expect us that close to the exit. But they got off a few shots before our team handled them. I was in front and didn’t have a vest. A couple rounds caught me in the chest and I went down. Smacked my face pretty hard on the floor too, all tangled up with the Fae I was carrying. I blacked out. When I woke, Aria was between me and the door, covering me. Owen was there, the Fae I’d been carrying was gone, and a Fae woman was lying beside me instead. Niamh. Their leader, I guess. Owen told us to leave and went back. Niamh looked like she might argue, so I grabbed her and we ran to the wall. You know the rest.” He rubbed his chest and stared at the floor.

Aria felt her throat tighten. Owen, how many did you save at your own expense? But this was your mission, not theirs. It wasn’t a choice, was it?

Gabriel frowned. “Why did he go back? He heard me say you were out of time.”

Jonah shook his head minutely.

“The last one, the one we brought out right at the end, is his younger brother.” Aria couldn’t look up from the floor, unwilling to let them see her tears, but she heard Gabriel sigh.

“Benjamin?”

“I got shot on the lawn. I don’t remember at all, just running and bam, on my face in the grass, then blackness. I came to on the other side of the wall.”

Gabriel said, “I think it was Charlie who got you up the ladder.”

One of the men in the back nodded. “Yep.”

Benjamin turned to catch his eye. “Thanks.”

“Yep. I didn’t know if you’d make it. That boy fixed you up pretty well, though.”

Gabriel ran his hands over his face again.

“Dominic? What happened with the front gate?”

“The guards stayed in their positions even after the explosion in the back. We were considering changing positions when Aria said Niall would handle them. He did. Took them all out without a shot. I don’t know if he killed them or just knocked them out. We didn’t do anything though, just maintained our positions to provide cover fire when required. The metal gate came up a few minutes later.” He shifted. “I don’t think it was anything we did directly. Sometimes the advanced facilities have systems where the guards have to check in every few minutes or the ingress point is automatically secured. I’d guess this one was on a five-minute timer. A guard swipes his badge or presses a button with a thumbprint reader or something every five minutes. Otherwise the gate engages automatically.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows raised. “I didn’t realize we had systems like that.”

Geoffrey shrugged. “Most facilities don’t. But the technology isn’t new; it’s just inconvenient to use on a daily basis. Imagine if cars were always going in and out; the gate would crush a car if the guard mentally checked out for a minute. But if security is important enough, you tolerate a little more inconvenience.”

Gabriel sighed. “Anyone have any questions? Comments?”

Silence.

Aria wanted to say they needed to go back to get Owen, but she looked around the room. Without the Fae, what chance did they have?

“Get some sleep.” Gabriel stood and waited while everyone meandered to their bedrolls. He shot her a hard glance when she didn’t move, but said nothing. He stared around the room, his gaze lingering on the hall the Fae had claimed, and finally walked slowly to the conference room. He closed the doors. A line of white light showed between the doors and the floor.

Aria didn’t know how long she sat there. A few lanterns remained lit; some of the soldiers who hadn’t gone on the mission remained on watch. No vertril came.

He had no choice. And no one but Niall seems to think we should, or can, do anything to help him.

Hours passed. The soldiers on watch went to bed and others took their places. The light under the conference room door remained.

Finally, Aria rose, her legs stiff from the cold concrete. She was hungry, thirsty, and shivering, but it didn’t seem to matter. She straightened her back, took a deep breath, and walked across to the conference room. She entered without knocking.

Gabriel looked up at her. His boots were on the floor, his sock-covered feet propped on the table and his chair tilted precariously back against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest.

“We need to go get him.” Her voice was flat. “They said Grenidor will kill him within a week.”

Gabriel didn’t answer, and his gaze slid away from her to the far wall.

“We have to. You know he saved Jonah’s life, and Bartok’s, and mine. Maybe others. He didn’t have to do that.” She stepped closer.

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. “It was his mission. He knew the risks.”

“But they’ll kill him!”

His gaze flicked back to her. His eyes were red, and Aria wondered suddenly whether it was weariness or whether he’d been weeping. “There are worse things than death.”

“Why do you hate him so much?”

His eyes were hard on her face now, angry. “Is that what you think? You know nothing! You’ve caused enough trouble for us. Go to bed.”

She trembled, but she didn’t move. “Do you know anything about Petro?”

“No. What is it?”

She searched his face, the lines of tension around his mouth, the tightness of his lips. Angry. Grieving. Frustrated. Doubting. “Never mind.”

She turned toward the door and then stopped. “Thank you for pulling me up. You saved my life too.”

He grunted. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He stared at the far wall, his face hard and unfriendly.

Aria lay on her bedroll on the floor in the room she’d shared with Owen and Niall. It was empty now; Owen was gone, captured or already dead, and Niall was still doing whatever he was doing. Arguing, most likely.

It was five thirty in the morning and she was so tired every muscle in her body ached. But sleep eluded her for another hour. Behind her closed eyelids, she saw Owen’s blood-streaked body on the ground, wet curls stuck to his forehead. Saw him jerk as the bullets tore into him. Exhaustion finally won over guilt.

She had strange dreams. Dandra’s face appeared more than once, though she couldn’t remember the context when she woke up. She dreamed her tongue was cut out. It didn’t hurt, but she was terrified, her mouth filled with blood. Later, there was so much that needed to be said, important things that should be conveyed, and she couldn’t talk. No one would pay attention to her long enough to understand why she couldn’t make a sound. She waved a notebook and pencil helplessly, suddenly unable to write. She tried, but the words made no sense, just long strings of meaningless squiggles.

She woke with a jerk to find Niall staring at her. He knelt on the floor in front of her, hollow-eyed and exhausted, one cool hand on her shoulder. She sat up and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. Cillian was crouched behind him.

“What is it?” Her voice felt like a croak, and she wondered how long she’d been asleep. “What time is it?”

Niall scooted backward and sat with his legs crossed. He motioned to Cillian to begin and let his head hang down between his shoulders, as if he wasn’t part of the conversation.

“About nine thirty. Niall says you would be willing to go with us.” Cillian’s eyes were bright on her face, so much like Owen’s that Aria’s heart twisted and she fought back tears.

“Go where?”

He blinked slowly, as if thinking about his words. “To ask Petro for help.”

She nodded. “I don’t know what he is. But I’ll go with you, if you think it will help.”

Cillian blinked again and drew back slightly. His gaze swept over her, a long, thoughtful look.

She swallowed.

“You should know what we know about Petro before you make your decision,” he said finally.

“Owen said some things should not be known.” Why did I say that? I want him to tell me.

Cillian’s lips tightened. “Owen is wiser than I am.” He glanced toward Niall and said something, and Niall rose and left the room.

Cillian took a deep breath, and Aria saw again how similar he was to Owen. He had many of the same mannerisms. He looked disconcertingly close to her own age, but she knew he was much older. He was too thin, as if he hadn’t eaten regularly in a long time. His shirt had been a white knit with a collar, but it was torn and stained. Through the holes, she could see the hard, stringy muscles of his chest and stomach. The dark smudges under his eyes had barely begun to fade. He had no bruises around his wrists or ankles, but he did have a long, livid red scar on one forearm from the inside of the elbow nearly to his wrist.

“Fae are not what you expected, I imagine. Few humans know anything about us, and most of what they have heard is wrong. Magic is also inaccurately understood. It is called magic because that is the closest concept in human thought, but the understanding you get from the word is partial and far from accurate.

“Magic is real, like what you call science. Imagine a bubble. The film of the bubble, the interface between the inside and the outside, is what you see as the universe. It encompasses the stars, molecules, time, everything you have ever heard of or studied. Scientific laws, physics, chemistry, etc., they apply only on the film of the bubble. Both the inside and the outside of the bubble are real, but they are not part of this universe, the one that humans inhabit. They are separate, and they are subject to separate rules.”

Cillian paused, his eyes on her face. After a long moment studying her, he continued, “Humans live entirely in the film of the bubble. Fae extend a little ways outward, so to speak. Or inward. Direction is an irrelevant concept. This is one reason it is difficult to kill us; only so much of us is present in this universe, and with time and effort we can restore our physical bodies. It is easier with help, and there are limitations, but it is possible. We can manipulate the possibilities and shape the future in ways not possible for humans, using what you would call magic.

“Yet we believe that humans and Fae are closely related. We can interbreed, though for many reasons it is not commonly done. Our physical bodies are very similar, as are our emotions and intellectual capabilities. We feel joy and pain. We love. We grieve.

“It is thought that we diverged from a common ancestor, most likely an early human. While your ancestors were learning how to make fire and sharpen sticks into weapons, a few touched magic. It changed them in ways they didn’t understand. Perhaps they studied healing first; it would have been advantageous. Their children found it easier to touch magic, but they became less human. As their control of magic increased, their bodies changed. They lived longer, they bred with each other rather than short-lived humans, and they began their study of magic early. But human newborns and Fae newborns are not as different as you would imagine. We are not human, but we are cousins to humans.”

The door opened, and Niall slipped in. He put bags in front of each of them and dropped to sit to the side again.

Cillian stared at her a moment before opening his bag. “I beg your pardon for eating in front of you. Most humans find it off-putting, but I require sustenance.” He cut the bloody heart with his knife, and Aria saw his hand shaking a little as he put the knife aside.

“It’s okay.” She swallowed. “I don’t mind.” She pulled her eyes away from his meal and opened her own bag. A thermos that radiated heat, a chunk of heavy, soft bread, an apple, and a bottle of water. “Thank you.” She looked up to smile at Niall, who ducked his head politely.

Cillian spoke as he ate. “Petro is different. We live in time, as you do, and we live mostly in the film of the bubble, as you do. Petro does not. We believe that he is from entirely outside the bubble. Sometimes he intersects it. Sometimes, when he intersects it, he chooses to appear human. But he is not human. Not even remotely.

“Fae are old. Humans are older, we think. If, as we believe, Petro exists outside of our universe, he is probably outside of time as we understand it. We think, and your science tends to agree, that time is a function of this universe. We know Petro has existed for hundreds of thousands of years, at least. Certainly since before Fae. Probably before humans. Possibly long before. We believe he is not bound by the rules we understand, and he intersects this world only when he chooses to, for his own reasons.”

Aria frowned thoughtfully.

Cillian ate another bite, licked his fingers, and continued. “Things that one would think would interest him usually don’t. He has ignored great sweeps of history, battles, plagues, and empires rising and falling. He may have watched, but there was no evidence of him taking any particular interest.

“However, sometimes he follows events and people that one would not expect. We don’t know why some things interest him and others don’t. He interacts with us very little, and he never explains himself. Sometimes, when he follows a particular Fae or human, he begins as soon as they are born, which seems to support the idea of him interfacing with time differently than we do. Yet, we believe he has been surprised; perhaps he does not know or understand the future in its entirety.

“Sometimes he takes action. Sometimes he merely observes. Fae sometimes sense his presence, when he lets us, but humans don’t. Sometimes there seem to be several of his kind on earth, but they might all be him. We are only present in the film in one location, where our bodies are. We believe he can touch in one or more than one place at a time. Or none. Sometimes he appears as a human. Sometimes he appears as… something else.

“I doubt it’s possible for Fae or humans to threaten him, or even to deliberately interest him. We have no idea what he is capable of. We believe he has a sense of morality, but it is not ours. He is cruel, in that he thinks nothing of killing for his own reasons. But he doesn’t seem to take pleasure in it; most of the atrocities in history have been of human doing, not his, and we believe he could do much worse if he wished