"Because I don't feel so alone." Which was stupid, because I was.
Not, Amaya grumbled. Am here.
Yeah, but it's not quite the same hanging on to you as it is Azriel.
Her static filled the far reaches of my mind. I might not understand it, but I was pretty sure she was swearing at me. I ignored her and stepped forward, every muscle tense, ready to jump should the concrete show the slightest inclination to drop out from underneath me. When it didn't, I took another step. The crawling sensation of magic grew no worse or better. I bit my lip and walked on, moving past the wooden flooring that concealed a trap and into the warehouse proper. Though I scanned high and low, I couldn't see anything that suggested this place had been recently used in any way.
I checked out the offices to the right, but didn't find anything more than rubbish – although in the last one there was a large rat's nest. It had been made with shredded paper, odd strips of material and wiring, and what creepily looked like human hair. Hair that was dark and long.
I wondered if it had come from someone who'd stumbled into the pit and, unlike us, hadn't been able to escape.
I shivered, but let the rats be and continued on. I was about halfway down when I felt it.
Not magic, but something else. Air stirred the hairs on the back of my neck, cool and almost otherworldly, sending goose bumps skittering across my skin. I stopped, my grip tightening on Amaya.
There was nothing here. Nothing but shadows in the far reaches of the building where Amaya's flames did not reach.
I glanced toward the street. Several windows had been broken along this section, so it was logical that the air would stir. The wind might be light outside, but it was nevertheless there, and it wasn't about to hurt me. I scanned those shadows again.
Still nothing.
"Azriel, has anything changed? Can you sense anything other than me and the rats in this place?"
No. But if you fear something, retreat. It is not worth the risk.
"I can't retreat every time I feel threatened," I muttered. "I'd never get anything fucking done."
The trouble with that statement, he said, mental tone exasperated, is the fact you haven't retreated. Not once.