The night was strangely calm. Too calm. Dylan, unable to sleep, was wandering near the western palisades when he saw Julius returning from a mission, his face gaunt with a fatigue that seemed to have aged the giant ten years in a single night. His shoulders, usually so straight, were bowed under an invisible weight.
"Problems?" Dylan asked, guessing the answer from his mentor's vacant look.
Julius spat on the ground, a gesture heavy with meaning. "They took the Karthak Pass. Three patrols wiped out in two days." He stared at Dylan, and for the first time, Dylan saw something other than anger or impassivity: a deep, grinding weariness. "Your little demonstration with Alka gave them a reason to turn the screws. Now they know we have something - or someone - that interests them. And they want it back."
"It wasn't a demonstration," Dylan retorted sharply, feeling his stigmata stir under his sleeve like caged beasts.
