"I know you," the girl repeated, then looked idly around the room as if, having affirmed that she knew Grecco, she need no longer be concerned with his presence. She saw Ghetz's body on the floor and came down off the stairs, peering through the darkness at the shape. Then she froze.

"Oh," was all she said. Grecco had never before known that one word, spoken so calmly, could contain so much shock and horror. He moved with a sense of urgency, placing the candle down on the table and striding over to kneel next to the young girl.

"How did you come to be here?" he asked, putting one hand on her shoulder so that she looked away from the body and stared at him instead.

"James wanted me to," she said, glancing briefly at Grecco's calloused hand and then back into his face. "He said he wouldn't be able to help any more. He said he was going. I miss him," she added in a softer voice and her eyes flitted back to the darkness where Ghetz's body lie. "Samdel is dead, too. Are you sorry to hear it?"

Grecco knew, then, where he'd seen the girl. This was Samdel's half-sister, the little waif that had liked James and Ghetz so much. It had infuriated Samdel that she spent so much time with the soldiers. Grecco used to wonder why Samdel didn't just tell her to stay away from the soldiers. Being so close to her now, Grecco understood. Anyone looking at the child would want to protect her and give her whatever she needed to be happy. It went beyond the fact that she was cute and young. She was very young, in fact, yet she had spoken to Grecco with none of the usual stuttering and lisping of a child. Her voice had held instead an easy casualness and fluidity that spoke of familiarity with words. More than that, her demeanor demonstrated the surety of someone who knew exactly what they wanted to say.

"I don't think that I am sorry," Grecco admitted.

"I think I believe you," the girl said after a moment. "But that doesn't make it right."

Her eyes had the same confidence as her voice. They were emerald green and she held them wider than other people, so that the full circle of the iris was visible. Her eyebrows arched down elegantly towards her nose, giving her the appraising stare of a Sunday shopper very seriously considering whether or not the product she is looking at is worth the cost.

"Gregoire died, too," she continued. "And father. James has gone back to the mountains with Jessica and Dallon. They think they are going to die. They have to move and it isn't safe for a child. They wanted Ghetz to go, but he said it was safe here."

"Child..."

"My name isRomana."

"Romana, was there anyone else here? Someone staying with Ghetz? A woman?"

"The woman in the photo? No, she had gone. Ghetz said she had gone."

"What photo? Where is the photo, Romana?"

She shook off his hand and walked to the body. Grecco didn't try to stop her. She bent down and began to search in Ghetz's pockets. When she pulled free the little photograph, she handed it out for Grecco to take. He did so and she stayed where she was, crouched next to Ghetz, her fragile body shaking. She might have been crying silently; in the darkness, he couldn't be sure.

Grecco's fingers felt a sharp crease in the corner of the photo where someone's thumb had pinched it. The photo must have been looked at many times since it was taken and yet, as Grecco held it under the candle at the table, he was surprised to see how carefully it had been preserved. Though it had rested in Grecco's pocket, it had never been folded or creased beyond that tiny indentation. Grecco smoothed out the edge unconsciously as he examined the scene. Whenever it had been taken, it had been a blessed day. The sun's warmth blossomed out of every corner of the image. It sifted fingers through the wheat that made up the background of the shot. It rubbed roses into the cheeks of the woman who was the subject of the photo. It played in the blondes of her long hair. The only place it could not touch were her eyes, which remained hidden behind closed lids, casting suspicion on the honesty of her smile.

Queen Nadia had been looking away from the photographer when the picture was taken. It passed as a profile shot, though the same inexperience was evident here that was present in the photo of Truce; also the same luck. The poor choice of position was the same mistake that allowed the sun to shine so intensely into the lens and flood the picture with a feeling of warmth. A more accomplished photographer would have asked the Queen to pose and, in doing so, would've ended up with something much more regal and much less revealing. This was a picture that made Grecco feel that, even as he had failed in his mission, he had nonetheless found the Queen.

His thoughts were interrupted by a mechanical groan. The front door opened with a whining, slow, creak and someone entered with all the presence of a wraith. The night was not cold and yet Grecco felt the warmth that had filled him a moment ago sucked away as he recognized Thanojax's lanky form and unusual gliding gait. The man moved slowly, one hand supporting his other elbow. He shuffled without a word towards the table and suddenly Grecco was glad he was still holding the rifle. Grecco stood up involuntarily as Thanojax came into the range of the candle's light and lowered the gun to point at his chest. Thanojax looked terrible. His face was whiter than usual, which made it so white that he might have been wearing a layer of make up, like stage actors put on before a show. His black hair clung to his forehead in sweaty clumps and his eyes had sunk into their sockets. The arm he supported had a grotesquely broken wrist. The bones nearest to the base of the wrist had either snapped or become dislocated. They did not puncture the skin, but pressed against it so that there was a mound of flesh sticking out at an odd angle. Grecco had seen many bad injuries but something about Thanojax's full appearance, his general haggardness and greasiness, made this one seem the worst.

Thanojax's eyes focused on the gun in Grecco's hands and he licked his lips. His tongue left a spread of pink against his lips that spoke of a bloody mouth.

"You're alive," Thanojax said without surprise but with a disturbing amount of disappointment. "Shirt's ruined, though," he pointed out, his uninjured hand leaving his arm to reach shaking fingers towards a bullet-sized hole in Grecco's shirt. Grecco took a step back and Thanojax stretched his jaw in something that resembled an attempt at smiling.

"Damn horse knocked me off," he continued. "Broke my arm. Hurts like hell. Maybe you could snap it back into place for me?" He paused. "Maybe not. Is there anything to drink in here? I thought I saw the glint of a bottle on that cabinet by the door. Should go see." He stayed where he was. "At least it's a warm night. I don't feel guilty for being in a cold sweat." He collapsed in the chair Grecco had abandoned.

Grecco listened to this diatribe in silence, unable to take his eyes away from Thanojax's form. Thanojax was an actor in the spotlight of the candle, interacting with the objects of his scene (a broken wrist, an empty chair, a shadowed liquor cabinet) while Grecco watched from the audience. Suddenly Grecco remembered he wasn't the only member of that audience.

"Who is that?" Thanojax asked suddenly as his eyes flicked to a spot over Grecco's shoulder. His yellow pupils dilated as he tried to see into the darkness.

"It's just a child. Not our problem," Grecco added quickly with a rising sense of anxiety.

"I beg the differ," Thanojax said. He started to get up, wincing as he lifted his wrist from the table. "I don't intend to leave any loose ends."

"She could tell us where the Queen has gone..."

"Have you asked her?"

"I didn't get the chance." Grecco didn't dare hesitate with his answer. He felt that he was on the verge of failing an important test.

"I hope, for her sake, that she doesn't know anything."

Thanojax found his feet and glided past Grecco towards the girl. Grecco watched him advance on her and his finger twitched on the trigger of the rifle.

"Do you know where the Queen has gone, little one?"

"She doesn't..."

"Did the Queen play with you? Did she tell you stories?"

A long fingered hand reached forward, groping the darkness. The broken wrist remained pitifully curled against Thanojax's broad chest.

"I'll tell you a story and you can tell me what you've seen."

The gun clattered to the ground. Grecco knew, as it fell, that he'd lost control. Some part of his mind said he should never have dropped it; that he should have aimed it at Thanojax's back and pulled the trigger until the chamber was empty. His words, I hope she doesn't know anything, had sent thoughts racing through his mind. Bill had hired Thanojax, not Crono. Thanojax had delayed their journey, then gone straight as an arrow to where the Queen was hiding. He had led them to the house in broad view under the worst conditions for staying hidden. He had been disappointed that Grecco was still alive. All of these things came together to suggest a plot more twisted than one of Thanojax's stories. The Queen wasn't meant to be found, at least not from Thanojax's point of view. Evidence was to be erased and that included Grecco. Logic told him it was time to defend himself.

But Thanojax's threat to Romana had awakened something more primitive in him. The gun fell; Grecco moved forward. He closed his hands around the white flesh of Thanojax's throat and began to squeeze. Thanojax hissed once before his breath was cut off. His hand snapped to his throat like a striking snake. Smooth, fingers pried at Grecco's large, calloused, digits. Grecco dug his thumbs harder into the soft flesh where the man's neck connected to his chest. Thanojax tried to raise his other wrist but he couldn't get his hand to cooperate. He rubbed the wrist ineffectively against Grecco's fingers, the jutting skin feeling rubbery and making the bones making a scraping sound as they clicked together. Thanojax kept knives in his belt, but he was in too much of a panic to remember them. His whole mind, Grecco was sure, was focused on the small group of muscles that Grecco was slowly crushing. It was like squeezing a fruit that was not quite ripe. It resisted, but Grecco could feel the insides shifting as he ground them slowly into pulp. He hugged Thanojax close to his body to give himself more leverage for the final snap that would soon come. The movement revealed Romana. She stood only a few feet away and watched silently.

Suddenly, his hands were relaxing their grip. Thanojax was stumbling away, gasping screams into the night. The man struggled his way to the door and vanished like sand tossed into a wind. Grecco was staring after him, feeling ill and confused. He thought he heard his mother's poem again, but it was Romana's voice speaking:

"When your long journey
reaches its end
A warm hearth awaits you."

"Ghetz used to tell me that when I was scared," she explained in a quiet voice. "It was in a book, he said. His mother used to read it to him when he was frightened." She hesitated, her voice breaking on the next words. "Are you scared?"

Grecco looked down at his chest and fingered the hole in his shirt, right below his heart. "No, not any more," he said.

They departed shortly after that. He took the girl and he left the photograph behind on the table. It seemed like the right thing to do.