Aftermath of Scars

When Locke came to, he found that he was in his dimly lit bedroom back at the Amber Hall. Bandages ran up and down his body, and there was woollen padding around his shoulder where he had been stabbed. It was night, but a candle burned softly on his desk, illuminating Kets in an orange light.

She sat there, her head lolled off to one side, her eyes ever so slightly parted. Noticing movement, her eyes sprang to life, and focused on Locke.

‘Locke, your awake, ya ha,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell Belvon Laire when I get the chance – he’s busy attending to Stocke.’

‘No, wait,’ Locke said. It was difficult to talk, and a nauseating pain pulsed through his body. ‘Can you catch me up to speed? What happened? Why weren’t you, Trys and Arla with us in the Laire estate?’

‘We were attacked enroute. One of the Coordinator’s actors blew up our mode of travel, and we were stranded.’ Kets reached forward, grabbed Locke’s hand and held it up to her. ‘The Laires, now without their mansion, and their daughter
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