The streets of Velkaris blurred past him as Trafalgar ran. The night air was cold, biting at his lungs, but he didn't slow. Each step echoed louder than the last until Arden and Marella's shop—came into view. The windows were dim, the lights inside faint.
He didn't bother knocking softly. His hand slammed against the door. "Garrika! Open up!"
After a tense few seconds, a shadow moved inside. The door creaked open, and Garrika appeared, her green eyes sharp even in the low light. She wore a loose shirt, her long black hair slightly tousled from tying it back hastily.
"Trafalgar? It's the middle of the night—what the hell are you—"
He cut her off, holding out a torn strip of brown fabric, still trembling slightly in his grasp. "Mayla. She's gone."
Her expression froze. The playful warmth she usually carried vanished in an instant. She took the fabric, brought it close to her nose, and inhaled deeply.
