The scribe hadn't seen everything, but she'd seen enough. A rhetorical question escaped her lips before she even processed it, her breath heavy from rushing up and down the stairs to chase a lie. "Flint… what did you do?"

And, for the first time in his illustrious life, Flint Skovik felt like a murderer. He'd caused the deaths of countless people, most with his bare hands, but none of them had felt like victims. Distress was written all over his face, his usual stony composure broken down by fever and the surprise of being caught redhanded in the act. Flint was guilty. He lied to perhaps the one person in the world who would risk her own skin to save his, just to murder a mother whose only crime was loving her daughter too much while understanding her too little.

It was a good thing that he couldn't see Luned's expression in response and she was glad for it, embarrassed by the tears that she dashed out of the corners of her eyes with the heel of her palm. The invisible girl withdrew, hugging herself against the frame of the door, but her stare wasn't locked on the corpse this time. She couldn't look away from Flint, his struggle so apparent in his face and posture, and his distress was contagious. She was perfectly still and utterly quiet as she stood there in astonishment, and his fevered gaze couldn't focus well enough to pick out the small anomalies in the doorway that hinted at her lingering presence.

The man spoke up hesitantly, afraid that no one would respond. The room felt so empty all of a sudden. "Are you there?"

He was answered by a soft rustle of clothing. "I'm leaving. You can find your own way out." There was a brief silence, then something grasped Flint's wrist and raised his palm. In it, he felt her place an object. "You'll need these more than I will." When Luned drew away, the faint sensation of nearby body heat disappearing, the objects slowly faded in, gaining opacity until they were recognizable. It was the gas mask and, cradled in it, Ezura's last smoke bomb.

Flint steadied the items with his other hand, then picked up the vial to inspect it. He'd recognize that seal anywhere at this point. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the sewers." Her voice was soft and distant, as if she was already stepping out into the hallway.

He looked up, eyes frantically searching for some sign of the scribe to no avail. Even if she was visible, she was already gone, and he groaned under his breath, knowing he was in no position to stop her. "Damn it, Luned!"