The arid stench of whatever was rotting in the corner of his chambers hit his nostrils. He'd long ago lost the ability to smell his own unwashed body. Got used to the griminess of his skin. The blackness of his nails. But he never got used to the stench of something rotting away. Maybe it was him. He didn't know any longer. Had long since lost track of time.

He froze as the door to his chamber—his prison—swung open. What misery was next? What fresh way of torment had they devised for him now?

A vision of blue silk and silver-blond hair stepped through the opening, the light behind her giving her a golden glow like a true saviour out of one of the old legends. He scrambled to his feet, wanting to rush towards the open door. Towards freedom.

Isobel smiled. "Come," she said, holding her hand out towards him. "Let's get you out of here."

His hand twitched. He so desperately wanted to take her up on her offer. But she was not real. She never was. He shook his head, his matted hair swinging in front of his eyes.

"No," he said, his voice hoarse from not being used for days. "You're not her. You're not real."

Closing his eyes, he tried to shut the vision out. Tried to remember reality. Isobel was not at Highglaive. Whoever was in his chamber was not her. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the deep blue of Isobel's. She was now only a few inches from him.

"Go away," he begged.

The thing before him cocked its head to the side as it seemed to consider its options. Ways to break him. It no longer looked fully like Isobel. It still wore her hair and pale skin, but the eyes were wrong, and something just felt off.

"Fine," it said slowly. "You're right. I am not her. She's dead."

"Dead?" Something broke inside him. He shook his head again. "No. No, that's not possible."

A smirk spread across the thing's face. Isobel's face. "How else do you think I can wear her skin?"

Before he knew what he was doing, Cas's hands were around the creature's neck, squeezing with all his might. He howled with rage.

Someone else screamed. The thing? It didn't matter. He needed to kill it. They had taken everything from him. His freedom. His sanity. His friends. Isobel...

"Castel!"

Reality crashed over him like the violent waves of a storm. He blinked. Isobel lay beneath him on the bed, her deep-blue eyes staring up at him. A hand gripped her throat, and it took him a moment to realise it was his. His other arm was raised, holding the sword he'd put by the bedside.

"By the Gods!" He let go of Isobel and threw the sword away. It clattered on the floor, the sound reverberating in the quiet room. Scrambling away from her and off the bed, he put distance between them, all the while unable to stop staring at the nightmare unfolding before him.

Isobel sat up, still in bed. Her fingers gingerly touched the red marks on her throat. Self-loathing bubbled up inside of him. He'd hurt her. Fear clamped its icy grip around his heart. The sword. He'd been about to do so much worse.

"No..." He shook his head, placing his palms by the temples as his mind still conjured fragments of the images from his nightmare. "No. No. No."

"Castel." Isobel's voice was hoarse and quiet, but it broke through his agony.

Their eyes met. How could she look at him without her gaze wavering after what he had done? He felt dirty. Unclean. How could he have done that to her? The nightmare had seemed so real. And no wonder. He had lived it out in his sleep, putting his hands on her and— His fingers flexed. He wanted to scrub them. Wanted to scrub until he could no longer remember the feeling of her fragile skin under his.

His hands shook as he held them out in front of him. He let out a shaky breath. "Isobel..." His voice broke. "I'm so sorry. I never... I—"

A quick shake of her head stemmed his words, and he snapped his mouth shut. He had to leave. It was not safe for him to be here. Before she could stop him, he turned on his heel. He could not be around her. The guilt of what he had done was eating him alive.

"Don't."

The silent command left his hand frozen on the door handle. He could hear Isobel moving behind him and he should have left, but he couldn't bring himself to go against her wishes. Not after this.

He flinched when she put her palm against his bare back. He hadn't even remembered to dress before trying to flee.

"You should let me go." He rested his forehead against the cool wood of the door, a stark contrast to the hand burning against his shoulder blade. "I hurt you."

"You didn't mean to."

He screwed his eyes shut as shame burned behind his eyelids. "It doesn't matter if I meant to. I did. I could do it again."

"I can usually defend myself."

"That's not..." He drew a shaky breath. "You shouldn't have to."

The hand on his back twitched, and he wondered if she would finally turn away from him. Finally understand how broken and unworthy he was.

"Castel. Turn around and look at me." Her voice was soft but there was steel hidden in it that brokered no argument.

Forcing himself to turn around, he saw the red marks on her throat that would soon darken and turn into bruises, and a fresh wave of self-loathing hit him. He did that. His hands. "Isobel, I—"

She held her hand up, silencing him. Her eyes searched his for answers he wasn't sure he could give. "What happened?"

"I— It was one of my nightmares. I was back at Highglaive and..." He groaned. "This is why I don't sleep with anyone. I've woken up before and not known where I was for a few moments. Never like this, but there have been times when it's been difficult to remember where I am. When."

"This wasn't all you."

He frowned. "What do you mean? I don't understand."

A small crease appeared between her brows and she fingered the marks on her throat as she tried to put everything together. "When you touched me... And when I touched you a moment ago... I felt the lingering traces of magic."

"What? From when they first tortured me?"

There was a noise behind them, and they dashed out of the way as the door crashed open and Boreas strode in. Seeing the spooked look on his friend's face, Cas dreaded what new information the Spymaster might bring. Was there no end to the bad news?

"Is everything all right?" Boreas asked, then pulled up short as he caught sight of them. Cas didn't want to consider what he saw. A shirtless, barefoot knight, and Isobel still in her nightgown with the telling marks on the pale skin of her neck. "What in the...? What happened here? I found the guards outside sleeping and feared the worst."

Unease prickled at the back of Cas's mind. A vague memory. The door opening as he drifted off to sleep. Why didn't he react to that? He would have.

"Do you have any magic users at Fort Mael?" Isobel asked. As she spoke, she pulled her hair back and twisted it into a coil. Using a hairpin left on the table by the bed, she fastened it at the back of her head. Cas almost wished she hadn't since it showed off the damage he'd done even more.

"Magic users?" Boreas frowned. "No. I asked Grand Sorcerer Arawn for a sorcerer to be stationed here, but he was unwilling to have one of you sit here doing nothing while we wait to find out the next steps. With there being so few of you left, he didn't think that was a worthwhile mission."

As if she could not stay still, Isobel rooted through a drawer for her clothes. "I believe you have one, most likely the person we're looking for." She stopped for a moment to look at them, and there was no mistaking the seriousness of her tone as she added, "And I believe they're the same as I am. An Empath. A powerful one."

The idea of someone using magic on him made Cas's stomach lurch. He'd had enough of this in Highglaive during his imprisonment. "And you believe they caused this?"

"Yes." Having found what she was looking for, Isobel dropped some clothing items on the bed. It unnerved him that she couldn't remain still. She was constantly moving. Even now, after finishing her expedition in the drawers, she was nervously picking at the fabric of her nightgown.

"You seem... Different," he said hesitantly. Was it because of him? Because of what he had done?

Her fingers grabbed a fistful of fabric before releasing it again. "Yes," she said, shifting from one foot to another. "I think I absorbed some of the magic, some of the mood and intentions, and it's making my skin crawl."

Boreas narrowed his eyes. "You better tell me what happened here."

Cas swallowed back his shame. "I had one of my nightmares. That I was back in Highglaive, and I... I attacked Isobel in my sleep."

"And you think this was not just one of his regular nightmares?" Boreas queried Isobel.

"I can feel the magic still humming in the room." She rubbed her arms through her sleeves, and Cas wished he could help her. But he had done enough today. "And if the men outside are sleeping, that seems a strange coincidence otherwise, doesn't it? Maybe someone helped them fall asleep."

"Why wouldn't the attacker simply kill them like they did the others?" Boreas stopped and his eyes widened. "Unless they didn't want us to know they were here. Maybe they wanted us to think Cas did it."

"I'm not some weapon to be used to kill people," Cas said sharply. The very idea made him feel unclean. It was also worrying that it seemed to be so easy for them to do. He'd almost done exactly what they wanted.

Boreas looked between them, probably still trying to figure out the details of what had happened. Cas could see the other man's eyes moving over his naked torso and knew he stood close enough to see the many scars. The magic burns. They itched from the knowledge of being used, having someone control him by using magic.

"So can an Empath make people do things?" Boreas asked.

"No. But the powerful ones can make you see visions. It's what they did to Castel and the others in Highglaive. Empaths are not common. Deva must have used some monsters from the Nether Realm to help him. I know there is a creature that is empathic, and they possess skills most of us do not have. Perhaps they have helped his Empaths learn some of these terrible things." She made a wry face. "It's one reason I don't tell anyone I'm an Empath. It is not an ability highly looked upon. Most people will distrust you because they believe you can read their thoughts or influence their feelings."

"Well," Boreas said, his nose twitching in interest. "Can you?"

She scoffed. "My life would be a lot easier if I could. I can sense your emotions if they are strong enough. If I'm touching you, the sensations are stronger. With other magic users, I can sometimes sense and see more. I can attempt to compel people to do things, but it's not my strongest skill and I try to avoid it. Deva's disciples are not so considerate."

"So how did they make Cas attack you?"

Her eyes met his, and Cas quickly looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

"They must have triggered something in his memories. Because all of those nightmares are fragments of visions forced on him with magic, there is still magic lingering inside him. They must have done something to make the dreams stronger, more real."

His heart sank. "But you don't know that," he said, his voice toneless. "You're guessing. It could just be me. I'm just broken."

Her chin raised slightly, and her lips flattened in frustration for a moment. "They definitely did something. You would never do this on your own without being stuck inside your nightmare in an unnatural way."

He wasn't so sure. There had been times in the past—mostly in the early days—when he would wake up out of bed, not remembering how he got there. Or the nightmare would spill into reality for a few moments after he woke up.

"Will you allow me to find the traces of magic within you?" Isobel asked. Maybe she had sensed his scepticism.

"Could it..." He hesitated. "Could it make me lash out again?"

"Possibly, if it triggered a vision," she admitted. "But Boreas is here, and while I am not fully recovered, whatever magic was used on you has mostly transferred to me and I feel more energised than I have in a long time."

She had her powers back? His head snapped back up.

"Then why didn't you save yourself when I attacked you?" He hadn't meant to raise his voice and fell silent, ashamed of his volatile temper. But this whole ordeal had him feeling as if he didn't belong in his own skin.

"It wasn't as if I was instantly re-energised," she muttered. "And I was rather stunned. But trust me, had that sword actually moved downwards, you would have been on the other side of the room."

He shook his head, trying to make sense of her words. "How long was I holding the sword? I thought I was just about to swing when I came to."

"No. Even in your vision, you were holding back."

"The marks on your neck say otherwise," he said bitterly.

"Let me get dressed, and then I can tell you with certainty if someone is to blame for this." She pulled her nightgown over her head and tossed it on the bed.

Whatever Cas had been about to say died on his tongue as he stared slack-jawed at her naked form. The early morning light streaming through the window bathed her lithe body in a golden glow, and he should have had the forethought to turn around to preserve her modesty—though she seemed to care little—but he was too entranced by the sight in front of him.

Boreas cleared his throat, and Isobel looked over at them. The sight of Cas's flushed face made her eyes widen.

"I'm so sorry," she blurted as she quickly shimmied into a thin white chemise that Cas wasn't sure if it helped much since it was so sheer he could still see the outline of her nipples through the fabric. "Sometimes I forget that not everyone is used to sharing their quarters with both men and women."

"Pick your jaw off the floor, boy." Boreas smirked at Cas, and he could feel his cheeks burn hotter still. "Maybe you should take the chance to get dressed as well."

Forcing his gaze away from the enticing sight of Isobel, he nodded. He had no right to stare at her like that. Especially after what had happened that morning. There was no way he could ever allow himself to be near her after this.

~~~~~~