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	When Ghent looked to him, dagger now in hand, Drust cocked his head slightly and returned his gaze with an icy stare, almost daring him to try something with his new weapon. 
	Though Elayra’s mouth remained a tight line and her gray gaze bore into Ghent, the moment the door shut behind him, she let out an exasperated breath, ran a hand through her hair, and leaned against the garage wall behind her. 
	Drust snorted, and turned from both her and the door, his arms crossing over his chest. His long shadow sliced the room at an angle before merging with the darkness lingering on the opposite side of the small room. 
	“If [i]he[/i] doesn’t get [i]us[/i] killed,” Elayra grumbled, quickly undoing her sword belt and dropping her sword and quiver so they leaned against their packs, “one of [i]us[/i] is going to kill [i]him.[/i]” She slid back to the floor to relieve her legs of the burden of her weight.
	Drust made a sound somewhere between a snort and a growl. “We’re [i]all[/i] dead without his help.” His voice sounded dismal, lifeless. “I’ve said it before. You need—”
	“Magic to stop magic. I [i]know.[/i] But there’s got to be another way. We both knew there was a chance we wouldn’t be going back with him, and even your backup plans have backups.”
	“But we found him. Alive. And he’s agreed to help. Any such plans I had are unnecessary.” His words came out short and clipped, his body little more than a statue with its back toward Elayra.
	Part of her knew she should leave it at that, should back off before she set him off, but another part of wanted to at least have her point out in the open.
	“We don’t know how long we’ll have before either the Sorceress finds us, or we find her.” She drew her feet toward her chest, her ripped, muddied dress draped over her knees. “Ghent’s untrained. Clumsy. He scarcely even knows how to use his fists. He’s spent his entire life here, and from what I can tell of the place, it’s the complete opposite of Wonderland. Even if the three of us [i]do[/i] get safely back home tomorrow, I’d be surprised if he survived the—”
	Drust spun around, making her reach for her sword. “We’ll. Make. It. Work, Elayra.” His neck twitched and his hands clenched and released, but he remained where he was, the diseased colors of his eyes throbbing menacingly.
	Elayra swallowed and bent her head. Knowing it would do her little good at the moment, anyway, she forced her hand from her sword’s hilt and raised her palm beside her in surrender. On a good day, she knew she could hold her own against him—at least, for a time—but she also knew her limits, and she had reached them long ago. Her legs scarcely wanted to hold her up, her arms ached and stung from her collision with the concrete, and the spot where Drust had kicked her still felt a bit tender.
	“[i]Okay[/i], Drust,” she said softly. “We’ll make it work.”
	A conflicted expression flashed over his face as he looked down at her.
	Elayra took a slow breath, then closed her eyes and leaned her head against strange metal. Her eyes shot open when she heard Drust take a step toward her. She watched him warily as he closed the distance between them, unbuckled his katana from his back, and sat down on the opposite side of their packs. He leaned the sword beside him, and crossed his legs, his head angled toward the door.
	She gave a quiet sigh of relief, then moved the phone so its light illuminated them a bit better. Carefully, she rolled down her right sleeve to check the damage, a couple splotches of red soaking into the fabric.
	As she had thought, a long, nasty-looking scrape marred the side of her forearm, interrupting the line of a faded scar. The worst of it glistened crimson, and a smaller one near her elbow beaded with blood droplets.
	Drust looked to her with only his eyes, then turned and opened his pack as she rolled up her other sleeve. 
	Her left arm had only a patch of inflamed, ruffed-up skin. She frowned at the minor irritation they presented, then looked to Drust as he removed a fair sized wooden box from his pack and handed it to her without a word. The dark wood had scars of its own, and looked burnt in places.
	Elayra placed the box on the floor near the phone, and pried the tight-fitting lid off the first-aid kit.
	“Are you okay?” Drust asked in his usual flat tone, resuming his previous, unmoving position, watching the door. His eyes shifted only once to Elayra.
	She responded with a sharp nod. “Are you?” Her tone matched his.
	He snorted lightly. “One can only hope so.”