Cameron

"Something's out there?" Sergeant Lorec barked, with that tone and volume that somehow sounded like a snap of the fingers and a slap to the back of the head. The Ranger stepped right up to Vincent, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Ranger, tell us what you know."

"I can feel a presence. An awareness, a will. I'm not sure how to describe it, but it's like someone's Crafting, and not just anyone. It's strong," Vincent answered. Despite Sergeant Lorec's efforts, the apprentice was still staring out to the north, as if he expected to see whatever was out there.

"There's a Crafter out there?" Mackaroy asked.

"No. It's like a Crafter, but something's reaching out and smothering fires out there," Vincent said. "I don't understand, either. It's the wrong way to do it."

"What do you mean?" Mackaroy asked.

"Quashing fire is hard. Burn me, it's practically unnatural. And if you wanted a fire to disappear, all you have to do is seize it, pull it away from its fuel source, and then let go. Whatever is going on out there, it's like the Craft, but at the same time it isn't."

"So it's not something that would have come from the City," Mackaroy concluded.

"That settles it," Sergeant Lorec announced. "Vincent, you should send your Craft out there, find out what's going on and if the captain needs help."

"But the captain's orders," Vincent began to say.

"Were made for a situation that you say has changed," Mackaroy said.

Something about the old shadow's words moved Vincent into action. He waved his hand through the air, like he was snatching at something caught in the wind. But as his arm swept about, a dozen tiny birds made of fire took to the air with frightening speed, scattering in different directions as they climbed up above the wall.

Cameron was still watching as the birds all turned to the north. He might have kept watching, until Mackaroy's next words pulled his attention back down from the sky. "Vincent, if you intervene, do as little as you possibly can."

"Mack?" Vincent asked.

"Remember, Barleybarrel still needs an exit. Hold back, especially if there's something out there that might fight you," Mackaroy instructed, holding up a finger and looking Vincent in the eye, something the old shadow rarely did. Nearly as surprising was how easily Vincent met that gaze, something Cameron couldn't do for long.

"I will, Mack," Vincent said.

"Good. Cam, we're heading back. No telling what's waiting for us out there now," Mackaroy ordered.

Cameron shook his head, and pointed at Vincent. "Shouldn't he have a shadow?"

Sergeant Lorec took two steps forward, and put himself between Cameron and Vincent. He stopped, and slowly rested his hand on his sword. "Not you," he said.

"That isn't your call," Mackaroy replied.

And as if the world had gotten colder, Cameron felt an icy chill whip through his body. Mackaroy and Sergeant Lorec stood perfectly still — Sergeant Lorec at the ready, and Mackaroy in a deceptively casual stance that mostly disguised how close the old shadow's fingertips were to his knives.

There was an unspoken conversation happening that Cam could only catch the bare edges of. More than threats, more than posturing, Sergeant Lorec's battle-ready stance; half-crouched with his hand gripping his sword was a promise of where things would go if Mack insisted.

And Mackaroy; deceptively casual with his back straight and his hands at the fringes of his coat, not as obvious a posture but without hint of deference, meant the old shadow understood the threat the sergeant posed. Knew the threat, understood it, and was fully prepared to meet it.

"Mack," Vincent said, and it seemed to pull the two men out of their potentially deadly standoff. "The Gloam has swept over the field, the fires that held it back are gone."

"What about the fires guarding the town?" Sergeant Lorec asked.

"Still burning."

"Abyss take us all. Mack, the captain was out there in the field. He took half of the Rangers with him," Cameron said. "Valen and Gwen followed that kid out there."

"I'll find them," Vincent said.

"You need to get that tunnel finished," Mackaroy disagreed, and he had a knife in his hand when he pointed to the wall. Cameron hadn't seen him draw it. "Now more than ever, we need that escape route. Captain's beneath the Gloam, unless whatever was extinguishing the fires left their torches alone."

"Agreed," Sergeant Lorec added. "Vincent, I want you to find the Captain. My friends are out there now. But our duty is to the people here."

"Mack, I will find them," Vincent said.

For a moment, Mackaroy's stance spoke volumes. The threat was present, that deceptively mild posture and the casual placement of his hands, even the one that still held a knife. Mack was a heartbeat from violence,

But Vincent not only understood the unspoken threat, but answered it. "Mack, you are in my heat haze."

Cameron very nearly drew his sword. Even Sergeant Lorec's eyes went wide. A Crafter's heat haze was a skill Cam knew little about, except that they used it as a form of defence. But he remembered being inside Crafter Polden's power, and how the air was still and cool even as fire and explosions ripped the wall apart and turned people into smoke.

But Mackaroy took that threat very differently. He chuckled, and made a show of putting his knife away. "Point taken. Cam, we're heading back. Vincent, I trust you won't delay your task more than you need?"

"Of course."

"Then forget what I said about holding back, kid. Whatever's out there, kick it in the teeth."

Mack turned around, waved rather causally with his hand, and started jogging back. Cameron took one last look at Vincent, and followed. He caught up to the old shadow a few seconds later, and asked "What the burning hell was that, Mack? He threatened you."

Mack frowned at him. "Is that what you think it was?"

Cameron shook his head and shrugged.

"A Crafter's heat haze is their shield. It's a craft they put into the air around themselves, and when they do, they control everything about it. Once you work with a few Crafters over the years, you can even tell who's haze it is by the smell."

"Okay, so what does that have to do with Vincent threatening you?"

"Basically, if you're in a Crafter's heat haze, you're in an environment that only exists because that Crafter makes it so. And odds are, if you're in a Crafter's heat haze, they're keeping something from killing you," Mackaroy said. "And the last thing you do to someone who's holding the roof up is prod them too hard."

Cameron recalled the strange sensation of being inside Crafter Polden's heat haze, during their battle with the Golem. When Saval turned on the others, and unleashed fire Cameron couldn't feel, it was like watching fire through glass. Even as outsize that heat haze, the stone cracked and slagged beneath the power they struck at each other with.

Their run took them across the train station, back through where Barelybarrel's people were still waiting. A few of them had already gathered at the platform, staring out to the north and whispering to each other about what they had seen.

"Likely saw Vincent's Craft as it few by," Mackaroy said. "Most people don't see a Crafter at work all that often, doubly so in the fringes and the fields."

"The Guild does like its hall," Cameron reflected.

"It is a nice building," Mackaroy agreed. Which was as close to small talk as Cameron had ever heard from the old shadow.

Something up ahead made Cameron pause. Nearly made him stumble. The glimmer of sunlight in midnight-black hair, and a gaze that somehow made him both bold and frightened — all at once.

That face wore an expression Cameron had never seen on it before. The wide-eyes, the hands clutching her shirt to keep them from shaking, and the slightly crinkled lip on the right side from where she was now biting it, all of it was new.

"Mack, I'll catch up," Cameron said, as he slowed to a stop.

Mackaroy stopped with him. "Kid, this is serious."

"I know, Mack," Cameron insisted. "I'll just be half a minute."

Mackaroy looked over, somehow picking out exactly who Cameron meant to talk to, and a half-smile appeared on his face for just a moment. "Half a minute," the old shadow said. "The war won't wait."

"Half a minute," Cameron promised, and he stepped up to her. And still hated himself for not knowing her name yet.

She had an odd little scar on her lip, that cut through both the upper and lower. Cam felt she was more beautiful because of it. "Look, I," he began to say.

"You don't have a lot of time," she said.

"And I've got entirely too much to say," Cameron agreed. "My name's Cameron Aster. I'm a shadow, and a soldier, and I'm not sure what I'll be after this invasion. But I don't want to live like there isn't a tomorrow for any of us. I want to know your name, I want to know you tomorrow. I want to know if my future will have you in it."

"You still have twenty seconds," she said. She didn't say anything else, didn't move — even the small smile on her lip twisted upwards just slightly where her scar pulled it. He couldn't read her at all, couldn't even tell she was trying for humour.

Cameron spread his hands, and shrugged. "I guess I didn't have a lot to say."

"You did. It just didn't take very long," she said. And she stepped up to Cameron, placing her hands over his and stilling the shake he hadn't noticed in his own hands. "Thing is, you don't know me. You don't know what a train wreck I am, or have any idea what I'll do with your heart."

"Figured you couldn't do any worse than my job," Cameron said, unable to keep the smile off his face.

"Milane Joye. And you get one joy wisecrack before I punch you in the nose."

"Milane," Cameron repeated.

"And yes, soldier-shadow boy, I'd like to find out if you're going to be a part of my life," Milane said. And Cameron knew his life had changed, just as much as hearing the Fifth had begun.

"Hold that thought," Cameron said, and feeling as bold as he had ever been, kissed her on the cheek. He pulled back, held one of her hands for a moment longer, and said, "I have a war to go fight."

Cameron let go of Milane's hand, and ran as if he was running away from her. But as far as he was concerned, he was running towards her even as he sprinted back to the Rangers. He wanted to know if she could be a part of his life, if that moment of joy was more than just a single bright moment in a long, dark future. And he wouldn't know, not really, until the invasion was over.