Camilla’s response is to go very, very still. For a long moment she stands unmoving, barely daring to breathe, ears strained for a voice or a sound to explain what she just heard—no, felt. But there is only the silence of the ship at night.

Maybe she’s going mad.

“Warden?” she says, words barely above a whisper.

::Cam! I’m here. Well, I’m always here, aren’t I? But I’ve found a way for us to communicate. No—I’ve found a friend who can help us communicate. That’s her sword, actually.::

“But how—“

::I think we may have asked her for help without meaning to. I don’t really understand it. Ah, she might be able to explain better than I can.::