The base was quiet, not peacefully, just the kind of quiet that settled over a place after something heavy had ended, and nobody inside had figured out yet what the ending meant.
Elara had gone to bed an hour ago. Silas was somewhere at the perimeter, and Alistair couldn't feel him, so he didn't try to.
The candles on the far side of the table had burned down to their last third.
Due sat across from him, not saying anything yet. Eventually, he adjusted his collar, just the small one, not the settling motion he used during the day.
"I've been thinking about what he said," Due spoke quietly.
"The warning?"
"All of it. However, the warning most."
Alistair set down the cup Due had poured him and looked at his hands. The grey of them, the grey of the table, the grey of the room. The same grey that had been there for as long as he could remember, and which would stay until the world decided, for a few seconds, that it wasn't.
"He wasn't posturing," said Alistair.
