Elayra only half listened when Ghent responded, her attention on Drust. Some stress had been worked out on the shadowmire, forcing the Curse back into its normal dominance, but even [i]she[/i] was feeling the weight of everything. She could only begin to imagine what kind of war was waging in Drust’s head right now.
	As if in response to her thoughts, Drust’s neck twitched.
	She shook her head slightly, trying to dispel the thought. Now was not the time for focusing on everything. All she had to worry about at the moment was making sure to not set him off. Her muscles ached, ready for a good night’s rest, warning her that they would be of little use against him if the Curse overpowered him.
	“There's no need to run.” Elayra stretched her arms out over her head, just the thought of running, even if done by someone else, an exhausting one. 
	Drust turned, examining the room once more, his eyes lingering on every shadow.
	Elayra sat forward when Ghent offered her the phone, the shifting light causing the shadows to shy away from it. “Thank you. But are you sure? What if someone else tries to contact you while you’re gone? We could wait outside until you return.” 
	When he began to sound more like an overly protective mother scolding her children, the same scowling annoyance crossed both her and Drust's face.
	“[i]Know. Your. Place,[/i] boy,” Drust snarled, the lines on his skin pulsating slightly. 
	“We’re not lost children, Ghent,” Elayra spat, glancing to Drust to make sure he was still in control. “We don’t need you to play mother hen. We’ve survived long before you were in the picture, and we’ll continue to do so with you in it.” She took a slow, deep breath, not looking away from Ghent.
	“If you’re sure you don’t need your device,” she indicated his phone by tapping its back, her voice stiff, “I’d suggest you get going." She place the phone on the floor, the light shining up. "But take this.” She forced herself to stand, then unhooked her dagger from her belt. She handed it, sheath and all, to Ghent. “Be prepared for anything.”
	“And always expect the worst,” Drust added, finishing their familiar mantra in his gruff, cold tone.