Rain staggered backward, one hand pressed to his chest where the shadow had entered. His breath came in short, panicked gasps, and his eyes—wide, glassy, utterly terrified—fixed on Julian with the expression of a man who had just realized he was already dead and simply hadn't stopped moving yet.
"I... I understand," he whispered. "I won't... I won't do anything. I swear it."
Julian regarded him for a moment longer, then nodded once—satisfied, or at least willing to pretend satisfaction for the sake of moving forward.
"Good. Then we understand each other."
He turned away from Rain as though the man had already ceased to exist, his attention shifting to Emma, who approached with the rolled map held triumphantly aloft. She tossed it to him without ceremony; he caught it one-handed, unrolled a portion, and scanned its contents with rapid, practiced efficiency.
"Detailed," he murmured. "Accurate. This will serve."
