Emily

She hadn't said a word in almost four hours. Not since she had found out that nine civilians had been killed by her orders.

Nine people. Nine people she was supposed to be protecting, that fellow Rangers had died to safeguard. One of whom was the mother of her senior sergeant's first lost soldier. And all of them completely needless deaths that ought to have been laid directly at her feet.

Cameron blamed Vincent. As did more than a few of Barleybarrel's citizens. Emily could see that much as clearly as if it had been painted on the side of a wall. Quiet, bitter, festering resentment kept restrained only by the fact that if the object of their ire wanted it to happen, they would all be ash on the wind. What none of them knew, and if Emily was braver she would have told them, was Vincent acted on her orders.

Unintended consequences were borne by the officers. Exclusively. If a train is derailed because a soldier had orders to direct it onto the wrong track, you don't blame the soldier if they followed those orders correctly. That Vincent bore Barleybarrel's resentment, their hate, and the future iniquity of the Bureau of Oversight was a cruel outcome she should have remedied already.

Barleybarrel blamed Vincent. They should blame her. Emily just couldn't bring herself to face them. Not after the people she let down already, the families of the people she couldn't save out in the fields.

And so she hadn't said a word since, hoping the gnawing pain in her stomach would fade enough to let her carry on. But if anything, the acidic guilt she felt was only getting worse.

"Ma'am."

Valen was standing behind her. Sand-coloured hair only moderately unkempt, perhaps overdue for a shave, coat speckled with dirt, ash, blood, riddled with small cuts and rips, and peppered with tiny burn holes. Her senior sergeant, unnaturally calm and patient in even these terrifying and trying times. Valen Redgrave gentle strength, calm, and storybook-worthy swordsmanship was the foundation the entire Fourth Platoon rested on.

"Commander Volenski wants us to assist with security for the first transport. We're to leave with the first train," Valen said.

Emily nodded, and turned around to try and refocus her thoughts. The first, and most embarrassing, was she had no idea where her platoon was. "Where is everyone?"

"My squad is already aboard. Sergeant Stroat is mustered and waiting for you."

"Your squad. Does that include Vincent?"

"It does, ma'am."

Emily looked away, and despite having been staring at ever since the company arrived, looked at it for the first time. It was a broken stone wall, once the side of a building. Blackened, with those same white shadows the rest of this abandoned town was littered with. Barleybarrel's people had called the place Sunshadow, and said the silhouettes on the walls were the shadows left behind by a Crafter's power.

"How long have I been standing out here?" Emily asked.

"Half an hour, at most. No one should begrudge you a little time to collect yourself, ma'am. Not after the day we had."

"Here's hoping it's over," Emily said.

Her words pulled both of their heads to the north. Where the Gloam was held back only by the flame. Where a Golem lay in ruins. Where thousands of Gloamtaken, and a few of their friends, lay where they had fought.

"We both know better," Valen said eventually.

"True. That was an absurd thought."

"Wishful thinking, at most."

"It's wasted thinking. And we don't have a lot of time to waste," Emily said. She brushed some of the dirt off her coat, and started marching towards the train. Valen fell into step beside her, his steps so effortless, a quiet expression of controlled grace, it made her feel like she had never learned to walk properly.

"Valen?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"First, I'd like you to stop calling me ma'am, or lieutenant. At least until we're in earshot of our soldiers," Emily said. She sighed, cursing the hypocrisy of the order she was giving him. "I was a disillusioned corporal in the laziest post in the City until a few hours ago. Now I'm the most junior lieutenant in the City, and I'm only just starting to feel the weight of the legacy that being a Ranger means. The sergeants are the army's foundation pillars, the hard stone the walls are built upon. And Captain Dremora gave the greenest lieutenant in the City you. If there's a gap between sergeant and lieutenant, between us it's so thin you couldn't slip a piece of paper through it. I need your advice, and that comes with treating you like your perspective and thoughts matter."

Valen studied her for a moment, then nodded. "As you'd have it."

"I want a perspective on Vincent."

"Mack would be a far better choice."

"Mack is a shadow. So is Cameron. After you, Mack is the most solid person I have when things go sideways. Except perhaps Gwen. And Cameron is as reliable as Decklan, Ivan or Mildred. They're good soldiers," Emily said. "But Cam and Mack are shadows. They can tell me if a Crafter's sound of mind or a danger to us. What they can't tell me is what I did wrong by asking Vincent to help us."

Valen nodded. "You're thinking of the people who died in the panicked scrum, when Vincent put himself in our enemy's path?"

"Yes. Vincent threw up something Mack called a 'heat haze', and sent dozens of tiny bird-shaped fires out. He ignored those frightened souls as they screamed and fled from him. And when I went back to stop him, I hit him. Backhanded." Emily looked down at her gloves, her eyes lingering on the metal plates riveted to the thick hemp.

"He might lose a tooth," Valen remarked.

"But when I hit him, he didn't react. His head turned a little, but I might has well have slapped a statue. He didn't flinch, the look on his face didn't change at all. He didn't seem human at all. And when he looked at me, I have never been so aware of how quickly someone could kill me. How quickly he could have turned me into one of those shadows."

Emily pointed with her thumb towards one of the buildings, where six white silhouettes were holding their hands up as if to shield their eyes. "Because Vincent could have done that. I didn't know, until I was right in front of him. And I'm supposed to be his commanding officer."

Valen nodded. "Does Vincent's mental state worry you?"

"No. And I didn't even need Mack or Cam to confirm that. The moment he let his Craft go, he started complaining about having kept my glove on when I hit him. And he hasn't said a word to anyone after he was told about the people who died. I haven't talked to him about it because I'm still trying to sort out my part in it."

"I see," Valen said. He nodded, and fell silent as they walked. And the silence that followed was uncomfortably long; the urgency of the hour and Emily's own anxiety left her feeling like a running engine with nothing to move.

"I haven't seen Crafters use their power many times. But the occasions I've seen them were dangerous ones," Valen admitted eventually. "And each time, their opening move was the heat haze. It's frightening to see, and it transforms the air around them. When you were right in front of Vincent, did the air smell like ink and burnt rock?"

"It did," Emily admitted.

"I think a Crafter's heat haze changes the air to whatever they find most comfortable. Crafter Polden's had a smell very similar to a library. Crafter Howel's wss exactly like a spent Salamander casing," Valen explained. "So what I can tell you about Vincent's opening moves is they were exactly the same as the other Crafters I've seen going into a fight."

"So he was taught to put up this heat haze first?"

"Like drawing your sword and taking a stance," Valen said. "And since there was that strange power out there quashing the flame, it makes sense to protect yourself when an unknown enemy could strike. As for those burning birds of his, we both know he can see and hear through the Craft. Those were how he took a dozen different positions to cover us, all at the same time."

"So everything he did, he was trained to do?"

"I believe so," Valen said. "And I imagine your orders were meant to sound urgent?"

"They were," Emily voiced that admission as if it were a curse. "He did everything right. The way he was supposed to. If there was a mistake, it was in not having Vincent with us throughout that fight."

"Captain Dremora felt it best for Vincent to focus on his task."

"And Vincent had only just finished the tunnel." Emily nodded as she recalled those moments. Vincent would have been fresh from his work, already eager to help despite being told not to. Only too eager to step in. "Burn me, how much different would it have been if we were more comfortable with the idea Vincent could be in two places at once? I don't know what he can do, no one does. And that got people killed."

"I think I see why you asked me. Would you mind if I offered an opinion?

"It's why we're talking," Emily said. A little impatient, but she hoped his insight might offer her something. Anything.

"It's not a great parallel, but think of Vincent's power like my skill with a sword."

"It's unnatural?"

Valen actually cracked a smile at that. "That's close to my point. I've spent most of my life learning how to wield it. And if the situation arose where I needed to draw it in public, to defend people, I wouldn't think twice about it. I would draw it the way I was trained. But the people around me, how would they react? I might cause a panic, get people injured, even though I didn't do anything meant to hurt anyone."

"But as a soldier, you wouldn't do it without provocation."

"Perhaps, though even with provocation, it might be irresponsible to draw a blade in a public space. But the point is, having a lifetime of familiarity with the sword has blinded me to just how frightening it can be to a civilian. I would need to consciously consider it, and in a heated moment, I might not do that. It is likely similar for Vincent. He did as his training taught him, responding to a threat he's had no experience fighting, except for today. If there's any fault to be handed out, ma'am, I would suggest it is only that you should learn more about what he's capable of."

Emily walked along in silence. She needed to talk to Vincent, she was clear on that much. But having the issue framed in this new light helped a great deal. That it came from a surprising source of wisdom, in a man no older than she was, Emily might have found galling a few days ago. But like her, Valen Redgrave had been snatched up by circumstance and burdened with the weight of the City. And found himself equal to it.

And the idea of taking Vincent aside, to learn what he was capable of, seemed to help soothe her own guilt. A little.

"It might be good to learn what Vincent's capable of. And of everyone in the Rangers, I think you're the best suited to the task," Valen added.

"Why do you say that?" Emily asked.

"I don't mean this as an insult. Far from it. You're perfect for the task, because unlike the rest of us, you don't know what's impossible," Valen said.

"How is that not an insult?" Emily frowned as she glared at him.

"Because taking those civilians as far as you did was impossible. I wouldn't have imagined being able to do it, and I think we buried the only other person who would have. If anyone can find ways to use Vincent to the fullest, it's you."

She respected Valen too much to call him an idiot. But it was hard to believe he might be right. "Why don't we use Crafters more, like how we use them now?"

"Because we're civilians in a crowded hall when someone shouts 'fire'. We're all too afraid of Vincent's power to worry about the cost of what happens if he isn't enough," Valen said, and he looked back at the abandoned town.

At the shadows in the flame.

"It's an easy fear to have," Emily agreed. "But it's a damn foolish mistake."