Faradel put an arm around Val and Mumford's shoulders. "What do you guys say we get out of here and get some tiger cheese puffs and sandwiches?" The three of them headed for the door.

Samuel went to follow them, but stopped when he saw Pelair hanging back. He moved next to Pelair, who was staring somewhere between the wall and the floor. "Are you all right?" he asked gently.

Pelair drew in a shaking breath. "I'm fine," he said, though the crack in his voice undermined the confidence of the words.

Samuel took his hand. "Hey, talk to me. I can tell something's up."

Pelair hesitated. A spectrum of emotions passed over his expression before disappearing again.

"You know you can tell me if--"

Pelair pulled his hand away. "Look, I'm fine. Just... give me a second." He turned away and looked up at the ceiling.

The elaborate gold patterns felt soothing, steady. They weren't moving, they weren't changing, they weren't going to drop out from under his feet to send him plummeting down, down, down.

Pelair felt like he was falling.

The world was spinning. He could still see the squares with their elaborate gold trim, but he could also see a deep red seeping into the edges of his vision. Voices started screeching around him, growing in volume, shouting for him to free them, to let them destroy the world. He couldn't find up or down, or Mumford. He wanted Mumford to grab him, to pull him out, but he had no idea where he was-- where either of them was. Could he cry out? His throat closed in response. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't get air. He was choking. Were those hands around his throat? Was this another nightmarish hallucination? The voices grew louder, deafeningly louder, demanding to be free. Where was Mumford? He needed Mumford. Mumford should be there, should be pulling him out of it any moment now. Mumford was always there to save him.

"Pelair," a soft voice said.

Pelair inhaled sharply as his hands were taken in someone else's. Was this another part of the nightmare? The gentleness felt misleading, unreal. Untrustable.

He lowered his gaze and found himself looking directly into Samuel's eyes.

"Look at me. Breathe."

His breath caught in his throat.

"You're okay. I'm okay. Everyone else is okay. We're safe now." His golden eyes matched the ceiling, but warmer, more soulful.

"It's-- I'm--" He swallowed painfully. "I'm scared."

Samuel's soft, gentle hands curled tighter around his own. "I know, and I'm here. I'm here for you. Nothing can hurt you while I'm here."

"What about you?"

"I have you."

That was a lie. It was just wrong. Pelair couldn't keep him safe. He couldn't this time, he couldn't the time before that or the time before that or the time before that. He hated himself, he hated his complete worthlessness around people who knew how to save Samuel, to save the boy he thought he might love. He wanted to scream, to tell Samuel to find a new master strategist, to say he couldn't do this anymore.

Nothing came out.

"Let's go home," Samuel said.

Where even was home? The castle? They weren't safe there. They were never safe there. They went a while without problems sometimes, but they weren't safe. They were just never safe. He just wanted to feel safe. He just wanted to feel secure. Was that so much to ask for? He just didn't want to worry anymore.

Samuel was waiting for him.

"Okay," Pelair said softly. "Let's go."