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Silence passes for a moment.

Then stomping bootsteps thud up the stairs.

Tris and I are the only ones to look over as General Agnar comes up the stairs, then stalks onto the landing. No one else spares him a look, and it takes my sluggish, wounded mind a moment to understand that they each probably sensed him, recalled his scent and knew who was coming. They don’t need to look to know.

I do.

And so I stare with my itchy, red eyes at General Agnar as he stalks across the landing, down the corridor, then moves for the bedchamber door without a hint of pain on his hard face or a glimmer of worry in his icy eyes.

He pushes through the door and disappears inside.

The door clicks shut behind him.

Rune sighs a weighted sound and runs both hands through his hair. He drops his hands with a slap to his waist and holds. The look he gives the door is one of longing and pain.

Then he draws back a step and turns for me.

I watch him approach, I study the slump of his shoulders, the red of his eyes, the weight of his lashes.

His throat bobs before he drops into the seat beside mine.

I turn my cheek to Dare’s flashing gold eyes, feeling the burn of his gaze searing into me.

I ignore him and reach out for Rune’s limp hand.

I take it into mine.

Rune’s mouth twists that bit more; a tear falls down his blotched cheek. He tucks his chin down… and his fingers tighten around mine.

Dare says nothing, but the sear of his gaze pierces through us both for a long while. Samick keeps to the shadows.

And for another hour, we stay like this.

Tris loiters near the lanterns when they flash blue. She’s given up on her pretence of cleaning—and she has her forehead leaned on the wall, her shoulders sagged.

Another hour passes, the flames flash blue.

And we close in on a third when the door creaks open.

Eamon is the first to come out into the corridor. His cheeks are streaked with tearstains. He doesn’t look at anyone as he stalks down the corridor, then disappears out of sight. But I hear the thick, wet swallow of his sobs before he vanishes.

Rune’s firm hand tightens even more around my fingers. His shoulders jerk. A harsh snivel runs through me.

Caius storms out, alone, hands fisted, face hard. But his chin wobbles.

My face twists to severely that I’m sure it looks mangled.

The healer is next to exit. His leather case of tonics and tools creaks in his grip. He keeps his head low as he glances around the corridor, not quite meeting our gazes.

Then he says it.

Those two words that make me want to shove him down the stairs, then rip apart his ribcage and scream and scream and scream.

“My condolences.”

He leaves.

A sob chokes me.