Feeling a sort of numbness creeping in, he looked from the shirt toward the window, then turned slowly back toward the open door. This didn't make sense. If she had wanted to run, she had had plenty of other opportunities before now. Despite how careful he had been early on, how watchful and alert and prepared he had been, as she had seemed to settle (and as he admittedly settled into having her there), he had loosened the grip. Hell, he cooked every day, and she was never really keen to join him. She was quiet and small and could have easily slipped out. But she hadn't.

Regal looked down again and distractedly brought his other hand up to join the first in clutching the shirt. She hadn't… And what of the night before? What of this morning? Raine would never have put on that kind of show. Flare or not, she would never have come to him like that.

She would never have kissed him like that.

He glanced toward the bed and the clothing that had been gathered and organized with obvious intent and care. If it had all been an act, she wouldn't have bothered with anything like that. And yet Azrael was contained, the bed was made, everything was neat—there was no sign of any sort of struggle. She had to have left voluntarily, and planned to, at that, in some form or another. So where could she have possibly gone?

"And why?" he murmured aloud to the empty room as he sank down on the edge of the bed himself.

His first thought was that he had done something wrong that morning, and he hunched over to prop himself against his lap and walk through every step, every turn, every breath he had taken since getting out of bed. She had been downstairs already, standing at the door. Staring into space, fidgeting. So something had been bothering her already. Then, that odd way she had just looked at him; the push-back he'd received when he'd asked. He had let it go then—he shouldn't have. And then breakfast, and then he'd gone...to…

The rest of his blood froze as he stared down, eyes wide and gaze intense and every muscle seized. He had gone to the Lezareno. Where George had warned him off of this new relationship, implored him to keep his distance, told him how foolish he would be to pursue it.

That wasn't possible.

He couldn't have. Wouldn't have.

...But he had before.

In a shot, Regal was on his feet. He balled the shirt and threw it against the far wall as hard as he could, some primal part of his brain wishing it had been something heavier, something breakable. The edges of his vision were fuzzy, his hands were starting to shake, and if the door hadn't already been open, he might have ripped it straight off its hinges. It was only after he was in the hallway that the needles digging into his shoulder even registered.

He pulled up abruptly and snapped his gaze to the side, where little Azrael was clinging for dear life. In among the mixed anger and horrified dread, he felt a pang of guilt. He had forgotten all about his passenger. Closing his eyes and taking an instant just to breathe, he gently pried the kitten from his shoulder, turned, and walked back into the bedroom to deposit her on the pile of clothing. He did manage not to slam the door behind him when he left again—but that was all he could manage.

Still shaking and fighting the coiling knot in his stomach, he left the house behind. He didn't lock it, barely had enough presence of mind to shut it, and made directly for the tram. No one and nothing else he passed registered, and it was automatic when he snarled at the poor operator, "The Lezareno main building." The tiny shred of lucidity didn't envy anyone in his path. He didn't even bother to sit, leaning with his hands gripping the side of the tram so tightly every knuckle was white. He half expected the metal to be bent when they finally drew up into the lobby and he let go.

Several people blinked at him in surprise, but not a soul said a word until he reached the front desk and the receptionist looked up from what she was doing.

"Lord Bryant? Did you forget-"

"Where is George?" he demanded, cutting through the pleasantries and leaning forward on the desk.

The young woman shrank back just a little, intimidated, no doubt, by the rage she had likely never seen him wear before. "I-I'm not sure, maybe, um-"

"I want him found and in my office now."

Without waiting for her answer, he pushed away from the desk and stalked toward the elevator. The door clicked shut behind him to the tune of the meek, "Y-yes, sir…"

A better man might have used the time, first in the lift and then waiting in his office, to calm himself, nurture the voice of reason tickling the back of his mind, and approach the situation with a clear and level head. A better man might have assumed innocence until guilt was proven. However, the fight he was losing against imagining all of the different ways he could put someone through the wall was a clear indication that he was not, in fact, a better man. Not today.

The sound of the elevator's approach, come after far too long a wait, had him stop pacing his furious path and whirl. He didn't even blink as he strode forward, and as soon as the door reopened to George's puzzled face, he lashed out.

Regal grabbed the old man by the collar in both hands, dragged him from the elevator, and shoved him against the wall so hard it knocked a painting to the floor. There he pinned him, lifted almost off the floor entirely. "Where is she?" he roared.

George grasped instinctively at his wrists, but he didn't have a prayer of overpowering the duke, and they both knew it. "I don't understand-"

"Raine! She's gone! What have you done?!"

"Master Regal, I've done nothing, I swear!"

He pressed harder, and George's feet did leave the floor this time. The terror on the other man's face was satisfying, he had to admit. "Don't lie to me! You made it very clear what you think about my relationship with Raine, and now she's vanished. We've been here before, and I know where it leads. Now where is she?!"

"I don't know where she is," George insisted, even pled. "You have my word, sir, that I would not and did not interfere! You must believe me!"

"Must I? Like I believed I had your support all those years ago? Like I believed you trusted me to live my own life? Like I believed you were above selling a human being for the sake of the court's worthless approval?"

"I was wrong. I freely admit that. What happened with Alicia-"

"What you did!" Regal snapped, cutting off the impersonal, distancing language.

"Yes, what I did. It was without excuse, and it was unforgivable, and I place myself at your mercy, but please, sir, I have not repeated that mistake!"

"With everything you said this morning, how can you possibly claim that?"

"Master Regal, I shared my concern. I spoke only truth, as I have done from the start of my service and as I will do until the end. Please, sir. I have not spoken with Ms. Sage, and I don't know where she's gone, but I promise you I had nothing to do with it!"

The almost animal snarl remained, but with fire in his eyes, he searched George's gaze, the desperation and fear, looking for any deception, any secret, anything. They had been here before, and it was a struggle to see any further than that. But last time, that small, nearly smothered voice observed, when pressed for an answer...he had actually given one. He had never, not once, lied to his face no matter how terrible the deed.

Slowly, he let the other man slide back to the floor. If he was telling the truth this time—if—then standing here, threatening him, would not give him the answer. His hands unclenched, but George, to his credit, stayed very much where he was, undoubtedly afraid to move. For that much, Regal wouldn't have blamed him. He was still shaking with fury, and he didn't doubt he looked quite the beast, but he turned his head and closed his eyes at last to try to swallow it; try to entertain the possibility, just the possibility, that George was not responsible.

At the very least, he wasn't interested in wasting time here by interrogating the cowering bastard. Raine was gone, and though he knew there hadn't been a struggle, he still had a horrible sense of dread. Between whatever had been bothering her that morning and the timing, he simply did not believe she had just left.

Regal turned away, back toward the elevator, but before he even took a step, he paused. Lifting one hand again, he placed it flat against George's chest. "You are correct," he said, his voice a deadly, icy calm now as he stared straight ahead. "You have never lied to me before. However." Here he just barely turned his head to fix the other man with a chilling sidelong stare. "If I find out you had even the slightest involvement, it won't be an innocent's life I take this time." And then, leaving his old manager still wilted against the wall, he stepped back into the elevator without another word.

Alone with his thoughts again, he braced himself against the wall, his eyes locked unseeing on the floor. He could go to the harbor, ask if anyone had seen her, if anyone might know where she had gone—but that was a gamble. Altamira's ships tended to make port several times across the mainland, and she could disembark at any one of the stops. There was the main ferry, which most vacationers used, but once docked, there was absolutely no way to know where she had gone from there. He was at a complete loss, and the loud clank as he pounded his fist into the wall barely registered. He couldn't possibly check the entire world over by himself. So how…

He stopped, lifted his head, and blinked for the first time. Sheena… Mizuho's information network. That was it.

When the elevator reopened to the lobby, Regal made directly for the tram. If anyone said anything to him, he didn't hear it. Even the request he made to the conductor was completely mindless as the urgent anticipation continued to build. The ride, the trip back to the house, everything was a blur until he'd climbed the stairs and pushed open the door to his den. He went at once to the desk and sat down to rummage through the drawers.

At the last parting, Sheena had given each of them a small pouch whose contents she had said would help them get in touch with her if there was ever an emergency. He was quite sure this qualified.

After a few minutes of searching, he finally pulled out his quarry and held it up, inspecting the soft tan leather. He'd never opened it before, had no idea what was inside, but he had long since stopped trying to understand Mizuho's methods. Still, when he pulled the knot out of the drawstring and tipped its contents out onto his desk, he felt one brow arch to see a piece of flint and a small pile of twigs and dried leaves and herbs. He picked up the former, looked down at the latter, and then glanced around. So...a fire.

He shook his head, deciding he was too desperate to start questioning now. He trusted Sheena, and she had given all of them one of these little kits. If burning some special kindling was what it took, so be it. Carefully, he gathered the detritus, and gripping the flint tightly in the other hand after grabbing his letter opener, he made his way back down the stairs and directly toward the hearth. In this season, it wasn't used much. Thankfully he still kept a small supply of wood and his own kindling stacked neatly beside it.

Regal knelt and arranged two logs, surrounded by thin sticks and crumpled scraps of paper. If he was to burn the pouch's contents, he wanted to make sure there was a fire already built. The last thing he wanted was to burn it all off before it did...whatever it was supposed to do. In the back of his mind, some small voice made a note to get instructions for things like this in the future.

As he set the steel edge of the knife against the flint, he caught a faint whiff of something almost herbal—but that wasn't entirely surprising. The little rock had lived in a bag of essentially potpourri for a good three years. Still, when he leaned over and began trying to catch the dried wood with a spark, he did jerk back once to see the spark was a very bright green. Regal looked from the flint, to the logs, and back. Then, shaking his head, he went back to it with purpose. It took several strikes, but at last the tip of one of the sticks began to smolder, and he hovered there for a moment to be certain, but soon enough there was a real, albeit small, fire in the hearth. He released a breath, checked the flue out of habit, and then reached down to pick up the pouch.

Seconds passed like hours while he watched and waited for the flames to take to the larger pieces of wood. Finally, when he had a healthy fire, he carefully emptied the aromatic contents, hesitated, and then quite literally threw caution to the wind by tossing it all in.

For the second time, he recoiled, this time falling over completely as the flames roared and turned a rather fantastical array of colors. He was a little worried about setting the rest of the house ablaze, and in fact he did move to find something to snuff it out—but just as quickly as it had exploded, it shrank and settled into something far more reasonable. And less alarming, though the ever-changing colors hadn't faded. The whole room, rather than the pleasant smell of a wood fire, was full of a different sort of earthy scent. He was curious about what had been in that pouch, but at the moment, he was more interested in knowing exactly how it was going to help him.

He looked around as he sat there for several minutes more without any sign of anything. Sheena certainly hadn't appeared in the flash. A frown creased his brow, all the doubts and worries setting in. What if something had gone wrong? What if he had done it wrong? Had he understood her correctly when she'd given it to him? Restlessly, he tapped his fingers against his thigh. Was there something else he needed to do? Go outside? Maybe it had something to do with the smoke, although Mizuho was nowhere near the island and he couldn't imagine she'd see it…

Regal pushed to his feet, tired of waiting idly. Just as he turned toward the door, however, a knock startled him nearly into a misstep. He blinked. Or...maybe she had?

Almost cautiously, he crossed to the front door and pulled it open. The puzzlement and utter frustrated dismay was probably clear as day on his face when he saw not Sheena, but a young woman dressed in the uniform of one of the casino's dealers. One hand came up to rub his face. He had no idea in hell why someone like this would have come to his private residence, but company business was not on the agenda.

"Forgive me," he managed, unable to keep his voice from sounding terse, "but I do not have time—"

"You need to let me in, sir."

Again he blinked. One brow quirked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I have what you need, but you have to move out of the way and let me in."

It was somewhat automatic again when, after a moment's perplexed hesitation, he shuffled slowly backward enough for her to slip in, turn, and close the door firmly behind her. Only once she'd crossed to the hearth and placed her back to him did he see the satchel she had slung across her body.

"Who are you?"

"The person you were calling," she replied without even looking at him. She seemed to be examining the fire, and once she was apparently satisfied, she spun and went instead to kneel by the coffee table and slip off her bag. Meanwhile, the stunned man followed her with his eyes first, and then slowly with his feet as well as it began to clear for him when his head stopped spinning.

"You're...from Mizuho," he finally concluded, though even he couldn't quite decide if it was a statement or a question.

Here she glanced at him, though she was fishing in the satchel and bringing something out he couldn't see well around her. "Yes, sir. I'm in Altamira to observe you and your company. The chief said if any of her companions ever used the kemuri, it was imperative they speak with her at once."

He tilted his head ever so slightly and came around to her other side, where he could see at last the...odd little box she had placed on the table. It certainly didn't scream "Mizuho." It looked more like that contraption they'd used three years ago to communicate with Yuan. "It is, yes. How…"

The woman tapped the box. "We can communicate with the village through these."

So it was like that device, after all. He'd had no idea Mizuho's information network had begun to use anything so technologically advanced. The prospect of speaking so directly with Sheena had him more grateful than surprised or confounded, though. He lowered himself to sit on the very edge of the nearest chair, hands clasped between his knees, and wait. There wasn't much else he could do; he didn't really know what she was doing, but she had it well enough in hand. After just a few minutes, she leaned over the odd little box.

"Altamira, haze sixteen," she announced. "Chief, are you there?"

A sharp crackle was the only response for a second, but then a familiar voice came from the device, distorted but unmistakable.

"Sheena. What's going on, Meiko?"

"Duke Bryant used the kemuri."

There was a distinct shift in Sheena's voice when she asked, "Seriously...? The hell happened? Meiko, is he there?"

"Yes, Chief. Hold."

Meiko pushed to her feet and beckoned to him, and obediently, Regal slid from his chair to kneel in front of the coffee table where she had been. A little uncertainly, he leaned over. "...Sheena?"

"There he is. Haven't heard that voice in a while. Hey, big guy."

"It's good to hear from you, as well."

"We'll catch up sometime. Right now, let's hear why you sounded the alarm. Lloyd's accidentally done it twice now, but somehow I don't think you did."

A weak, distracted smile tugged at a corner of his mouth, but though she couldn't see him, he shook his head. "No. Mizuho may be my only hope. Raine has gone missing."

There was another pause, and he blinked, a little concerned the connection had dropped. But then there came a clearly confused, "Sorry...you said Raine? Like Raine Sage Raine? Professor? Ice queen? Hates the ocean?"

"Yes."

"How in the world did Raine end up in Altamira? And what do you mean she's 'gone missing'?"

"It's a long story," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't even know the whole of it himself. "Several weeks ago, I ran into her here after an attack on the hotel. She turned out to be the culprit, but she...has no idea who she is. She wouldn't tell me much, but she calls herself 'Flare' and clearly remembers nothing about her past or any of us, even her brother. I've been doing my best to set things right, and we were, seemed to be, making progress. But today she vanished, and without your help, I'm afraid finding her again will be nearly impossible."

"Wait..." Again, Sheena's voice changed, became a little more urgent in among some audible surprise. "Are you sure?"

"Very."

"She doesn't know… Okay. I'm glad you called; this is bad. You need to get to Mizuho ASAP. Does Genis know?"

"He and I have exchanged a few letters. She's been...skittish, and we reached the agreement that he should wait to come until she seemed less likely to flee." A lot of good that had done, he thought bitterly.

"Okay. I'll get word to his spotter in Palmacosta, and I'll meet both of you here. You remember how to get here, right?"

He paused to think. "...Yes, I believe so." It would take more time than he wanted to spend, but he had little choice. "I'll board the first ship I can and-"

A short laugh interrupted him from the other end. "You don't have to sail, Regal. We don't have time for that."

"I don't…"

"Hey Meiko?"

The young woman he'd all but forgotten about stepped back up to his side, and it was with some surprise that he blinked up at what she was holding out to him. Was that...a wing pack? His felt his brow fly toward his hairline.

"You have...a rheaird?" he marveled as he accepted the pack.

"Let's just say we have an agreement with Yuan. That's how we got these communicators, too. Now I've gotta go grab the kid. Get on that rheaird and make for Mizuho. We'll talk more then. Nice work, Meiko," she added, and with another crackle, it was once more just him and the Mizuho field agent, who was already packing up the device.

Regal stood, looked around. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, and it took Meiko's prod of, "Sir?" to snap out of the odd suspension.

"Right." He turned toward the door at first but pulled up short when he remembered he had a kitten locked away upstairs. What the hell was he… He looked over at the young woman watching him intently. "Thank you," he told her quite sincerely. "I apologize, but I must ask another favor."

"Favor?"

"Upstairs, in the bedroom at the far end of the hall, there is a cat. A kitten. Her name is Azrael." He was already making preparations, dousing the fire while he spoke breathlessly over his shoulder. "She's no trouble, but she will need to be looked after. There is food for her in the kitchen. You can help yourself to anything there if you'd like. I will return as soon as I can."

And then, after shedding his suit coat and tossing it on the sofa, he picked up the wing pack he'd set aside and slipped out the door to the poor young lady's stammered, "But I...cat…? What?" He hardly even heard her, probably would have felt some remorse if he'd had the room in his mind, but there was purpose in every long stride he took.

He didn't have time to waste.