Worried about Talina, Fiona only paused to take one Last Look over the encampment in the hopes that she might spring out of some dark corner.

When she did not, the cat-woman instead steeled her heart and turned to lead them through the darkness toward where she knew the escapees had hidden.

Gregory didn't speak whilst they walked; instead keeping his eyes alert for movement in the darkness. The ring had grown hot against the skin of his palm, but he didn't loosen it or the knife in his grip. Fiona led them on until something scratched his cheek.

"Goddess!" a familiar voice cried out with relief.

Soon enough, he found himself face to face with Valise, who was crouched on a low branch and holding an elegantly carved bow drawn in her hands. The arrow nocked in place was what had scratched his cheek, and if she'd loosed it would have Likely embedded itself in his brain.

He didn't think that he could have been ambushed like that anymore, especially when he was being led around by Fiona’s keen senses.

“Valise?" he asked. "Where are the others?"

“We're here!" Emmet hissed through the darkness, and a low light of a dimmed Lantern began to glint in the near-distance.

Valise didn't wait to share pleasantries, and immediately jumped from her perch to replace the arrow in a quiver at her hip. She was wearing a thin white gown that he knew she slept in, and nothing else beneath.

The sight of her brought a fresh stab of pain through his chest, for she stood as a glimmer of light, and reminded him how far it had receded in so short a time.

Rallying himself by pouring more fuel into his outrage, he burned the sorrow away and fell into step beside her. Moving toward the Low light, he eventually saw Emmet crouched between the trees. Janette was lying beside him, once again wearing the dress he had given her on their date. It was now torn by a large arrow jutting out from just above the left side of her hip. The sight of it finally broke his spirit and his despair consumed him.

“Jan!" he cried out her name and his voice cracked as tears filled his eyes.

"Greg? That you?" Her voice was disturbingly weak.

“It's me. I'm here." He crouched on the opposite side of her from where

Emmet had taken up his vigil. His hand slipped into hers and squeezed

“M' sorry." Her eyes flickered until they focused on him.

“Don't be sorry, you dope." He chastised her with a quivering smile on his Lips that he hoped might comfort her.

“Shoulda had more time. Wanted you so much more. Orcs. Elves. Dra-" She coughed, making his heart Lurch when a black Liquid poured from the corner of her mouth. Her lip trembled as her breathing grew strained, but she forced herself to finish what she had begun.

“Dragons. Dwarves?

I dunno. P-probably dwarves." She glanced over to Emmet, her eyes a little foggy and her voice beginning to fail her. "You're pretty sh-short. You'd m-make a good dwarf."