Glad he at least let her pull him away, Elayra glanced to Ghent at the epithet he used for Miles. At least now she had some sort of name to match to the face. “Thanks for the update, Featherhead,” she bit in a hushed tone. “Still think it was a good idea for me to hide my—?” 
	Her words cut off when Miles called to them, bidding them to wait. Once Ghent gave his answer, Elayra tried to hurry him toward the alley.
	[b]“I think he’s got a gun!”[/b]
	Though the word did not hold the same severity to Elayra as it did Ghent, a weapon was a weapon. She released her hold on him, reached into her boot, and drew the dagger she had hidden there. She looked to Ghent as he asked about the shield focus word.
	“[i]Tuito,[/i]” she answered hurriedly. She had no idea if the magic shield would hold against a gun, but it was better than nothing. If he could manage the simple spell, that was.
	Realization dawned on her when he elaborated. She scowled when his potential brilliance turned into gloating as she tossed the dagger just high enough for it to flip over, her fingers easily catching the tip.
	“[i]Not[/i] the time, you dolt! And you almost fried me!” she snapped. Her gray eyes locked on the pistol the man brandished wildly.
	A gun. Now that she had one waving only a couple yards away, it made the memory of where she had heard the term rise from its dusty corner of her mind. She had seen a pencil drawing of one years ago in a journal kept by a now dead World-Jumper. He had compared it to a bow, only easier to use and with far more punch.
	 She could see Ghent’s desire to run in his eyes. Torn between stepping between him and Miles, and standing behind him to try avoid getting electrocuted if he chose to use his magic, Elayra remained beside him, her dagger posed to throw.
	“Come closer and see what happens!” she growled before Ghent tried to appease him, her voice mingling with the steady patter of the rain. 
	She cast him half a glance when he told her to not antagonize him just a little too late, motioning for her to copy him as he raised his arms. She looked fully back to Miles when he spoke, a crazed gleam in his eyes. A gleam she knew a bit about. But he was not Drust. She knew what fueled the Curse in her guardian, but this man, someone from Earth, was something else entirely.
	She glanced nervously to Miles’ shaking hands. An unstable grip did not bode well with a bow and arrows. She could only imagine that it was the same with a gun.
	Instead of mimicking Ghent, she slowly raised her empty hand toward Miles, showing it was empty, and bent slowly to place her dagger on the ground. But then, he gave his final demand. She froze, staring at him, hard, for a long moment. 
	How could he know? Was he a spy for the Sorceress, or something else? Another glance toward his shaking hands made her pull from the questions running through her head and complete the action of placing the dagger on the sidewalk near her feet. If he was a spy, he was an inexperienced one.
	“It’s Miles, right?” she asked cautiously as she slowly straightened. If he was [i]not[/i] a spy, she could at least try to talk him down. “Look. You’re the one with the powerful weapon here. Whatever it is you want, how about you put that thing,” she nodded to his gun, “down, and we’ll have a nice, civil chat about it. Just the three of us. Somewhere out of this rain.” She held a hand to the side, letting the drops collect in her palm, more drops running down her face as they dripped from the strands of hair plastered to her face. “Unless you enjoy looking like you just crawled out form Swall—” she cleared her throat, stopping herself from giving a specific name, just in case he [i]had[/i] been sent to find them. “From a swamp,” she tried to amend quickly.