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The tournament had started off the year, and it had not been forgotten. It had taken months, and a great deal of help from various members of the information branch to hunch out the information he’d wanted: who had been the bespectacled blonde that had manners enough at the finals General-rank match? Alkahest had had the breakthrough idea of searching via participants themselves. Aurostibite had a number of names that cross-referenced in files as directly subordinate or associated: Reinerite, Bloodstone, Keyite, and others. After that it was a matter of pulling down files to find which one suited the description.

Keyite’s name and interest grew with every scrap of information. Ian St. George worked for the Negaverse at their Romano’s Facility. He was a teacher of Language and History. He’d been in service since mid-2016.

His address—can't be—

Titan knew it by heart, and knew it well. Unless there had been a move, it was the location of a scant, precious years of holidays and a heart’s home. Family of fleeting, far-off light. Titanlåvenite could be patient to give time between inquiries in the offices of crystal and a stakeout for information. Moving suddenly was poor hunting. It alarmed prey; it alarmed authorities. So the General waited.

Now, a school night, half a year on. A teacher was not likely to take uniform and go out. If he was home, already, or soon to arrive from errands or whatever it was that teachers did after students went home. If Ian-Keyite lived there, in the little place where the Hargroves had called home. If they also, still, lived there. That isn’t the car I remember her having. Unless it is a new one. Or his. Which windows light? Which doors. Mail, if there is any, will tell names. Or trash will have it with little sorting.

Both. What was the connection, though? Why would Colin’s mother have some stranger living in Colin’s old room? Especially given the threats of making it an office/library, hobby room, or anything else. It was possible it was some sort of AirBnB arrangement like was talked about in travel magazines. Not likely, so long. Months. He has been a member of the Negaverse for a long time. He has lived here.

A beau? The Hargrove matriarch could have her choice of suitors with her gregarious smile and open heart. The similarity of St. George’s features to her son’s, though, made him doubt. She simply wasn’t the sort to find it a pleasing feature in a lover. Family? That matched the tale a little better. Titanlåvenite carefully set the trash and mail back to rights. He had some time, and held the patience in his glove as running sands. The lights would all go out eventually, late, and he had no where else to be.

To Lieutenant Titanlåvenite, preserving this family had been more important than happiness. To Captain Titan, Colin, his mother, and his sister had been put aside with more value than the officer’s own humanity. The General who lived in the dark, transient to the countries of the light on the face of the Earth beyond the rotting corpse of the Dark Earth Kingdom, this was a tendril and an affront to sacrifices that would not be tolerated. It could not be allowed to flourish, this agent, next to the very hearth of this family. He has not come far in so long, though. A slower poison. They will be made afraid, maybe they will leave. It is a terrible thing to see blood run in the home. They will not trust these doors or walls to keep them safe again. It is an illusion, anyway. They will be wiser.

While he waited the midnight oil to burn out, these thoughts repeated again and again: the Hargroves would be afraid, but they would be wiser. The shadow war between the powers of the world-hearts and the Black Throne was real- the only safety was under the aegis of a power. This they had not, even where Ian did. Will this be a treachery to the Throne, or to Laurellite?

There went the light. He remembered the room as it was, clearly, and it hadn’t been of a size or layout that the bed should be in a different spot easily. The clear floor should be in the same place, even in the edges of dresser or desk had been altered.

Titanlåvenite held out his glove: the hammer came. He frowned down at the man, an officer, on the bed. An officer, not in uniform, but an officer. The second hand came to haft, lifting to near the head of the implement so that the blow did not need high ceiling any more than Titan’s own height. A quick wheel of muscle and metal for the top of the bed.

Wood and mattress cracked like bones. The floor shouted. Hammer lifted wet, the General vanished. He could wait for the lights from the safety of a view and a roof. He could wait to see the spark of the hearth moved to safety, amid tears and fear.

From the second message, there was no response of immediacy. The blackened general watched, unguessing, from the distance, at the subtle nuance of blue-phone glow on the dancer’s features. Rim lights of deeper blue-then-red-then-blue oscillated all the nighttime silhouettes with panic. Colin was reaching out to people and taking care of the situation as best he could while Becky regrouped and handled Miri. Maybe Van was being called on, other dancers, or even Gail. Björn Guildson’s phone was silenced to Otherspace with the sum of clothes, caution and mien that made the man beneath the sun.

They will be well enough, now. Better than before. I do not need to know where they go, where they are, tonight. Or tomorrow. The temptation to follow them and to know was heavy as his weapon. It was a jealous, envious want. It was a want that contradicted the very action he’d just taken to remove the leverage of the Negaverse on this family of Hargrove. They loaded into the car with one number loaded, covered, hours later into a ambulance. The sky blushed cold blues against midnight purples on the farthest horizons. Morning was on its way, and so should they all be.