Cyrus burst out of the suite, not bothering to change from his lounge clothes.
The pain in his chest sharpened with each step as he sprinted down the corridor.
Crew members flattened themselves against the walls as he passed, his eyes glowing faintly red.
The sun deck was empty except for a few couples enjoying sunset cocktails. No sign of Kane or Bob. The yoga mats had been cleared away hours ago.
Cyrus closed his eyes, focusing on the pain radiating through his chest.
He turned slowly, using the bond like a compass needle, feeling for the direction where the pull was strongest.
The worst possibilities flooded Cyrus's mind. Kane kidnapped by artifact smugglers working with Bernard. Bob luring him into a trap to extract information. Kane falling overboard, either by his own choice or because he was pushed, and the Mediterranean swallowed him whole.
The bond pulsed again, stronger now.
