Luna's eyes snapped open. Not to the familiar Kagu courtyard, not to Arthur's concerned face, but to grey. Endless, featureless grey. A desolate, windswept grey shoreline stretched before her, meeting a churning sea the color of lead under a perpetually overcast sky. Salt spray kissed her face, cold and biting. Panic seized her instantly. She knew this place. Or rather, an agonizing echo of it. The conceptual space, the pocket dimension outside of normal causality, where Julius Slatemark, her first contractor, her dear companion, had sealed her away, protecting her from the backlash of his final, desperate act against a foe far beyond his measure.
'No,' her mind screamed. 'Not here. Not again. Please, not again.'
