"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"The stone falls away, but the hawk flies to follow. Down, down, into a red-song cavern, a Faded color, dark like a smudge of blood. Where is the shard? It doesn't sing, Varric. The bards do, after you gave them the words. Did you hear the hawk's song? I did, but it needs its last verse."

"Kid, just…" Varric murmurs, slipping a bolt into Bianca's deck— "…leave it be."

Cole cocks his head. "It's not your fault. The hawk knew. You helped."

His laugh is bitter; tastes of ink. "That might be your best punchline yet."