Drake finally pries his hands off the cooling body before him and sits back on his shins. The ping of a familiar presence against his raw, battered shields, and the sound of that voice...

But it's been ten years. He's probably hallucinated this presence before.

And I must be hallucinating now, Amberdrake thinks, because it's reasonable, isn't it? His Gift is blacking his vision out and making his hands shake, he's so drained, and when he raises a hand to the line of fire on the side of his arm he feels hot blood.

"Hello?" Surely it isn't as dark here as he thinks it is. Even though it's late, late at night, there should be lights of some sort, shouldn't there?