In the wake of the eclipse, it seems like firelight's the only light left to them. COST's villa goes up in flames; the Regency's compound is torched. One of the great houses burns tonight, smoking William out of the cubby-hole where he and Prompto had stashed their bodies while they ventured into virtual Ythaway. He's unsteady on his two feet, pressing himself to walls whenever he hears someone approach. Feeling sapped of a strength that was never real.
His contacts, such as they are, are mostly servants—meaning they're mostly dead. (Not that there's time for that word anymore, everyone just shakes their heads.) One of them finally points him toward an abandoned house, tells him about a trap door in the servants' quarters and instructs him to be gone by morning. William hadn't planned otherwise.
Sleep is impossible. He hasn't dreamed since the mission and the prospect—distended limbs, distended appetites—paralyzes his thoughts. Against his better judgment, he wanders the bare high-ceilinged house, light flickering at the windows.
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His contacts, such as they are, are mostly servants—meaning they're mostly dead. (Not that there's time for that word anymore, everyone just shakes their heads.) One of them finally points him toward an abandoned house, tells him about a trap door in the servants' quarters and instructs him to be gone by morning. William hadn't planned otherwise.
Sleep is impossible. He hasn't dreamed since the mission and the prospect—distended limbs, distended appetites—paralyzes his thoughts. Against his better judgment, he wanders the bare high-ceilinged house, light flickering at the windows.
Then, of course, there's a noise at the door.