Author's Note: Hello again! It's officially summer break and I hope to be productive. I survived the first year of teaching and I hope this next one won't be so consuming. With luck I'll be able to update more frequently, but don't hold me to that. I do plan to finish this, it may just take some doing. Anyway, hope you enjoy!


Vera looked down at her body, at her closed eyes and black hair fanned out on the pillow. The veins of black like a web beneath her skin, hard as stone with a glint of the magic that was keeping her alive, but only just. She looked like hell- had been looking like hell for some time now. How much time, though, was not apparent to Vera. Figures came and left, dark and indistinct, and sometimes it seemed like they were only there for moments while others lingered for an eternity. Occasionally she'd check the clock on the wall above the door, but its hands jerked in place as if the damn thing were broken. It had taken great effort and focus to get here, to escape the desert and the taunting moon, yet the longer she stayed the more it seemed this was just another prison. She'd found her body, yet remained unable to return to its inhabitance.

The anguish of the swan is in her hands…

It had to be a reference to the black mark across her own palm; what other hand could possibly be relevant here? But that was the extent of her understanding. She'd tried holding it with one astral hand, both hands, lining up the marks, nothing seemed to take. It had occurred to her to go back to the desert and ask for help, but she was frankly afraid if she left she wouldn't make it back. Afraid she couldn't do it a second time, or do this for much longer. The secret was here, in her Black Blood. Her task, if she was brave enough to stay in this stagnate hell, was to find out how to access it.

It was during one of these sessions where she refusing to accept that she was fading into nothing that something new happened. The door to the infirmary opened and a bright light came in. Dark figures swarmed around it but the light itself didn't seem affected. It glided over the threshold and settled in one of the beds, tranquil and patient. There was something unsettling about it; she knew it wasn't supposed to be there. Biting her lip Vera moved away from her own body and closer to the light, investigating. It reeked of a magic that had gone… stale, but it was still magic enough to draw her in closer to reality. She could hear them whispering to one another, thoughts on the edge of dreaming.

Why did this happen, and why didn't I stop it? Why didn't I see the signs?

I should've known- should've, I don't know, sensed it. What good is this Black Blood if I can't use it to help my friend. I've always sensed the Madness before, so what's different now?

He's completely unstable, but this is not Madness. If it were our counter measures would be working. Could this be true mental illness, brought on by grief? That must be it; he's never shown these symptoms before.

Vera could see shapes now, a form with spikey hair, another with pigtails, and a third tall and wearing a lab coat. That combination, coupled with the concerned musings she'd managed to glean, could only mean one thing: the light was Crona. Why he glowed so brightly or was so silent was anyone's guess, but it had to be him. Why was he in the infirmity? What had been going on while she was trying to get back to reality?

Vera placed a hand on one of the figure's shoulders, the one she hoped was Soul, and felt him shiver. She was close to reality now, closer than she'd been in some time, but why? Was it Crona, proximity to the source of her Black Blood? But surely he'd come to visit her, been one of those shadowy figures at her bedside. Right? She though back, biting her lip, and nothing came to mind. If he'd come to visit it had been before she'd been there. No, the last time she'd seen Crona he'd been working in his lab with that hunk of choral. The Panacea… Her astral stomach dropped right out of her astral form and she gripped Soul's shoulder even more tightly, digging her fingers into his flesh. That lump of stone had infested Crona's mind and spoken through him, using his voice without his knowledge. In those moments where the Panacea was in control she'd seen this glow, in his eyes. Now it was everywhere; what had happened! How long had she been gone that this- this thing, had spread so systemically?

"Crona," she tried, releasing Soul and advancing on his bed. "Crona, it's Vera. Can you hear me?"

The hair on her arms lifted and her flesh pricked as the stale magic washed over her. There was no movement but its focus shifted to her, the light grew brighter and the air crackled with cold electricity. Vera brought up her arms to shield her face, looking away from the light and back towards the dark figures of her friends. They began to blur, smearing with movement and swelling into a crowd that swarmed the hospital bed and then drained from the room. Time was rushing by her, her connection to the world was starting to fray again as this pale yellow pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

"No! Stop it," she yelled, bringing her hands down in terror and furry. "Crona stop this!"

She reached towards the light that was inhabiting Crona's body and clawed at it, flailing until her fingers found flesh. Desperately she grabbed at it, making a fist around what felt like a boney wrist. The contact sent a pulse through the air that sharpened everything and suddenly she was standing in earnest next to Crona's bed. The glow was still inside him, concentrated is swollen lymph nodes under his jaw and in his armpits. He was looking at her with wide blue eyes and features downcast with anguish. She squeezed his wrist with one hand and brought the other to his shoulder.

"Thank you."

"I don't want you to be sent away," he said simply, blinking at her. "I can't lose anyone else."

"What do you mean? What the hell's happening here? Why are you in the infirmary and what's with this light?"

"I found the Panacea and it… Ragnarok's gone."

"Gone," Vera repeated, shaking her head. "He can't just be gone."

"He is. Maka said so, there's only one soul inside me now. I'm alone-"

"Hey! Cut that out! You are not alone!"

"Don't try to make me feel better," he snapped back, giving her a fierce look brimming with tears. "I've shared my body with Ragnarok for as long as I can remember. He's protected me, stayed with me, and now he's gone. I'm useless without him. I can't fight, I can't use magic. The Black Blood won't work. No one can help me."

"You can't think like that," she whispered after a moment. "I may not have shared my body, but I know what grief feels like. You'll get through this; there are other people who love you who are going to help you."

"Really? I can't feel them."

"Listen to me," Vera leaned in closer, keeping the contact and smiling. "Maka, Soul, all your friends, they're there for you. You're not alone-"

"But I can't feel them! I see them and I hear them but all I feel is this emptiness. I want it to stop. Can you make it stop?"

The light flared and Vera winced, resisting the urge to shield her eyes. It reminded her that they weren't alone, that she wasn't the only one bending Crona's ear. Licking her lips, she met Crona's intense gaze.

"What you're feeling is normal," she said flatly.

"Is it normal to feel alone when you're surrounded by people? Is it normal to want everything to end?"

"Of course! When my parents died I wanted you and the rest of the world to die along with them."

"Including yourself?" There was a moment of silence before Crona continued. "That's what I want. I want to die."

"Crona you can't!"

"Don't you think I know that! If I die I do this to everyone else, I make them feel for me what I feel for Ragnarok. I'm trapped. I need to get away from this…"

"Don't be a coward; you can't run away. Nothing will make the pain stop except time, not me, and not whatever that light is."

"The light? You mean the Panacea? It's not here. It was destroyed after it killed Ragnarok."

"It's inside you Crona," she said incredulously, shaking her head. "Isn't that why you're here? To get it out."

"Inside me…" Crona breathed, bringing a hand to his chest and resting his fingertips on his sternum. "Yes, I hear it now… It says it can make everything go away, that I can die without being killed."

"That's just a load of bull shit! Listen to me: the Panacea killed Ragnarok and now it's using you. Even when you were studying it in your lab it was manipulating you. You need to tell Professor Stein what's happened. Let them help you."

"But they can't. They can't help me, they don't know how. All they can do is lock me up in here. And you can't help me either. Not in the way that I want to be helped. You want me to live like this- be this useless monster alone in the void. And I can't do it. I can't be brave and I can't stand hurting everyone with my failure. This is my only chance, my only way out."

"Don't believe that- it's just another lie! I've been where you are, Crona, and I made some mistakes I'm not proud of looking for a quick fix. Please, even if you won't let me help you, at least let Maka. She loves you."

"I know. And I love her; I can do this for her, so she won't be burdened by grief. I'll die without dying, stop hurting without hurting anyone."

"Don't be naive! You have a call button, press it right now! Get that thing out!"

"We share a goal… I'm sorry Vera but this is… the only way…"

Crona's eyes closed and his chin lulled to his chest. Vera gave him a firm shake, but aside from remaining upright he gave no indication of consciousness. His lips parted and he shivered, tensing beneath her fingertips. For a moment there was silence, then there was the sound of ripping flesh. Quiet at first, but loud enough to send goosebumps across her flesh and prick the air, this horrible shredding sound as the hospital white sheets were sprayed with black blood. Tendrils of a spongey, off-white flesh spilled from Crona's lower back and coiled around the bedframe and around his arms. Up around his neck and… he tilted his head back and the fungal growth pushed its way past his lips. Vera screamed, hurling herself back and landing hard on the ground.

"It's you again," said Crona's voice, though there was no way he could be using it. "You're a tiresome creature. Why do you interfere?"

"What are you?! What have you done to Crona?!"

"I was designed to help and that is what I have done. That is what I will continue to do. With the help of this being I will end the Pull. Cease your interference, I will come for you when I need you."

"Now you listen you fuck," Vera spat from the ground, pushing herself up. "You're not helping anything! Let Crona go!"

"I have waited thousands of years for an opportunity to fulfill my function. You will not persuade me to stop. But if you persist I will stop you."

Vera felt the adrenaline hit her system before she understood the nature of the threat. She would've liked to have said she had a plan or some kind of rational thought, but the truth was the second she realized what the Panacea meant sheer terror took over. She turned so quickly she fell down again. Scrambling on her hands and knees, she chanced a glance behind her, back to the Panacea. Its tendrils, though still mostly focused on cocooning Crona's body, were turning towards her like eels. At best they were going to throw her back into the desert to wander the astral plane for however long, which would be permanent enough solution for the Panacea's problem. At worse…

The world around her ran into a pitch-black pool that domed all around her. The Panacea loomed behind her and ahead, laying inert in a hospital bed, was her body. The anguish of the swan… but it wasn't anguish she was feeling, it was panic. A panic that was boiling in her Black Blood as assuredly as in her human blood, an existential threat they both shared. She felt the blood come alive in her hand, boiling and screaming. It was screaming inside Crona too, but he wasn't listening; he'd been overcome by the Panacea. It wanted him back, and to do that it needed her. The black mark on her body's hand erupted with tendrils of its own, miniatures of Crona's vines which curled around her forearm as she grabbed at them. Fog descended around her, shrouding the Panacea's extended grasp, though to say she was safe was an overstatement. The muted grey brought a brief sense of security, but it also a sort of amnesia, like when she'd returned to the desert.

Vera lay on her stomach by the pool, reaching through it to her body. She'd never been this close and now focused her entire attention on reuniting with herself, putting the Panacea and the Black Blood and all of it out of her mind. All that mattered was becoming solid again. And slowly, like falling in a dream, she felt it happen. Her joints popped and her muscles crackled as she moved them for the first time in… she didn't know how long. Golden eyes opened to slits as even the pale moonlight hurt. Soul, the mocking moon, even the intense fear from moments ago, everything was fading into her newfound consciousness. It didn't matter haw stiff her body was, she had to act now, before she forgot entirely about the Panacea and its hunger for Crona.

There was a crunch when she moved her arm, up then across her chest, groping for the call button. Failing in that she rolled onto her stomach, wincing and crunching some more. It was if her entire body was filled with crystals, shattering as she moved. A shaky breath rattled over her lips and she looked over at the bed across from hers. In a nightmare she'd seen is writhe with fungal growth but now it was empty. And the door behind her was open. Inhaling again and bracing, Vera brought her eyes to the glowing red call button with its little speaker, flopped an arm towards it, and held the button.

"It's Crona," she croaked in a voice raw from disuse. "He's gone."


Marie was distraught. She had been at home when the call had come in: Crona was missing. Her husband was already at the school, making use of the dissection facilities to relive his nerves. She'd contacted him directly, confirmed that she'd meet him in the infirmary, then proceeded to make her way. At least, that had been her intent, but this school had always been so confusing! Ever since she'd been a student, the curving and winding passages had eluded her. In groups, with guides, she was fine and she hadn't had any trouble getting to class on time so long as she was with her friends. It was the between times, the desperate trips to the bathroom, that had gotten her into trouble. As an adult the problem had only worsened; now she was expected to navigate both meetings and the paths that led to them! And of course there were no signs anywhere. So, just like her school days, when she was at her most desperate she was also at her most vulnerable. She wanted to find Crona with an urgency that was making her sick and yet… she might've taken a wrong turn somewhere.

No, she'd definitely taken a wrong turn. There weren't so many stairs on the way to the infirmary. In fact there should have been no stairs, she remembered it being on the ground floor. Where she was not. There were no windows down here, no sunlight, and wooden doors lined the wall to her right. Cells. This was the dungeons. Nowhere near the ground floor, or the infirmary. Nowhere near where she wished to be, nowhere near the person she wished to see. She could only imagine him, alone in some dark corner, stewing in a despair she hadn't been able to fend off. She'd know losing Ragnarok was hard for him, that he felt he'd lost his protection with his partner. And she knew it was impossible to tell him otherwise, having witnessed him simply shrug off Maka's and her own attempts. It was as if he was in some dystopian reality where none of them could follow. But to do something like this? And then to just up and vanish?

Marie had let his friends go first, in no small part because she didn't know what to say. What do you say to someone you love who's hurt themselves? She would rather he'd cut her with that kitchen knife but instead they were here. Crona had hurt himself and now he was missing and she could do nothing about it because she was trapped in a labyrinth of corridors.

"Why are you like this," she asked the walls, running her fingers through her hair in frustration and trying to hold back tears. Then she slammed a fist into the stone and repeated: "Why are you like this!"

The walls did not give her an answer she could make sense of, but they answered none the less.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

"Hello," Marie repeated, tensing. She recognized the groggy voice, but couldn't fathom what it was doing down here. "Hello?"

"Yes, hello? Can you help me?"

There was the shuffle of someone getting up, then bare feet across stone and pale toes peeked around the corner ahead of her. Lean but strong calves and the hem of a white, hospital night gown. An androgynous figure with long fingers held relaxed at his sides, then a long neck. Uneven pink hair framed a face with angular features, a sharp chin and an upturned nose. Large eyes the color of dark storm clouds. There were no signs he'd suffered the injuries of which she'd been told, no bandages or cuts or even bruising. Nor was there any indication as to how he'd gotten down here. Yet she knew who this was.

"Crona," she asked, even though she was certain. "Crona, what are you doing here? How did you…"

She trailed off, staring at him. Whole and unharmed. And he stared back, perplexed, blinking his huge eyes and tilting his head. The little furrow of anxiety between his eyes was gone, he wasn't cradling himself. In fact he looked entirely unconcerned, if not a little confused, as if none of the tragedy of his life, let alone the past week, had happened. As if all the burdens of his past were gone and for the first and only time in his life he felt truly free. Relief burst into a boil in her chest as the tears she'd been holding back broke from her eyelashes. Her heels clicked sharply on the stone and before either of them knew what was happening Marie had her arms around Crona, pressing his face into her chest.

"Oh Crona, I've been so worried," she cried, squeezing him.

"Excuse me," the muffled sound of his voice came from somewhere around her shoulder, indignant and stern enough to give her pause. His hands found her body and pushed at it, fighting to break the connection. "Excuse me!"

Reluctantly she conceded, releasing him from the embrace but keeping a hand on his shoulder. Crona frowned up at her, disapproving. It was so unlike him, so contrary to the soft embraces she'd come to expect, that Marie had to frown back. She tried to smile, but the sternness in his face caused her to faulter.

"Crona… what's wrong?"

"Do you usually go around hugging complete strangers," he chastised, taking a step back and breaking contact completely. "I don't know who you think I am, but you're wrong."

"Whatever do you mean," she asked with a short laugh. "We're not strangers."

"Yes we are! I've never met you before today- I don't even know this Crona person you keep talking to."

"You're telling me," she repeated slowly. "That you're not Crona?"

"No, I'm not Crona. I just want to get out of here. Can you help me with that or not?"

"I'm sorry, I'm still trying to understand. If you're not Crona then who are you? How did you get down here?"

"I was just here. I don't remember anything before I met you. It's so dark down here and I don't like it."

"Hmm," Marie pursed her lips and folded her arms, regarding him as one might an obvious trick. "We need to consult Lord Death about this."

"Lord Death? Who's that? Will it take long? I just want to get out of here."

"Lord Death is the master of this city," Marie paused, wondering how much to tell this person who wasn't Crona. "If you're going to be here, you'll need his permission. Come with me; we'll see what he wants us to do about all this."

Reflexively she grabbed his wrist, dragging him into the nearest cell and positioning him just next to the sink. She then leaned forward and fogged the mirror with her breath, using her index finger to trace a number: 42-42-564. The mirror rippled as if liquid and then Lord Death and Franken were standing in the reflection.

"Why hello there! I must say we were expecting you quite some time ago," Lord Death's jovial voice reverberated off the stone walls. "But never mind that. You must've heard, Vera's awake and Crona's gone missing! Naigus went to check on him early this morning and he's up and vanished!"

"Yes, I know. I was coming to see you when… Well, I might've found him," Marie said, forgoing pleasantries and cutting to the chase. "Or at least I think I have. He was wondering down in the dungeons."

She beckoned him forward and, with a resigned sigh, he obliged, coming into view for those on the other side of the mirror.

"There's been a mistake," he said in a flat tone. "I'm not Crona. I don't know any of you people."

"You certainly look like him," Lord Death returned, tilting to the side playfully. "If you're not Crona then who are you? What are you doing in my dungeons?"

"I… don't know," Crona replied after a minute, shifting his gaze downward. "I don't know anything except that I'm not Crona."

"Is that so," Lord Death considered him for a long, silent moment. Then he turned to Dr. Stein and continued in his same, unreadably pleasant tone, "Professor, why don't you go retrieve Marie and Crona. I'll call Maka and Soul, let them know they can call off their search."

"Can I leave," asked Crona hopefully. "It's dark down here and I don't like the dark."

"Not just yet I'm afraid," Lord Death answered as Franken moved from sight. "We need to decide what to do with you, determine how you came to be inside the DWMA, that sort of thing. But I'd rather do all that face-to-face, wouldn't you?"

"I don't have a preference so long as I don't have to be down here anymore."

"I'm sure you'll like the Death Room better. It's like you can see the sky."


Maka stood statuesque in the Death Room, keeping her face blank even though her heart was beating so fast she was sure it was going to rupture in her chest. She hadn't been told much, perhaps because they didn't know much. Everything was happening so fast, in flashes, so they didn't know much about anything. Ragnarok was dead and Crona was devastated, so devastated he'd hurt himself, tried to cut out the pain. She'd been helpless to do anything about it, her love hadn't been enough to stop him. He'd done it anyway. Now Vera was awake and warning that Crona was in danger and he was missing and… she felt like she knew nothing but that wasn't true. She did know something, something that made it worse. Something she was too afraid of to mention, a fact that Crona'd confided in her as he sat bleeding on the kitchen floor. He wanted to die and now-

"Soul," she gasped, grabbing at his arm as a flicker of movement on the guillotine pathway up to the Death Room. "It's Mrs. Marie and…"

"Is it Crona," Soul asked, craning his head to get a better view of the mop of pink hair that was bobbing up the stairs. "They said they'd found him."

"No," Maka shook her head and dug her fingers into Soul's arm, causing him to wince. Her heart was still racing, but her once stable stomach had turned to sludge. Her already tight ribs locked in place.

"What do you mean," he barked trying to pry her off with his free hand. "Of course it's him!"

"But it's- it's not Crona. His soul it's… it's almost Crona but not. Professor!"

She turned towards Professor Stein as he climbed the last step, releasing Soul and moving like a child to his side. He was smoking as if unbothered, but she knew he could see what she saw. It was Crona's body without a doubt, his lean frame and sharp features, the curvaceous hips which gave him a distinctive silhouette. The soul, however, was just a little off, like looking at someone in a very subtil trick mirror. Or staring at your own reflection, smiling when you're not. Stein inhaled deeply, taking his place by Lord Death's side and watching Marie approach with not-Crona. Maka bit her lip and curled her hands into fists, her eyes flicking to the pink haired meister before returning to the ground. She was sure of what she saw, but wanted confirmation. She didn't want it to be true, didn't want to consider the consequences of this distortion.

Crona, for his part, felt curious. His dark eyes swept the room, the headstones and facsimiles of clouds, the people. There was the woman who brought him here, honey hair loose around her shoulders and one, shining, golden eye intentionally not looking at him. She had been trying not to cry; he knew this but didn't understand what about his appearance had upset her so much. Then there was the man in the lab coat with a screw in his head- he'd never seen anything like that before. Granted he hadn't seen much of anything, but that in particular seemed odd to him. He'd wanted to ask about it on their way here, but the silence had been stifling. The man had narrow, olive eyes that stared at him from behind round glasses as if he were something fascinating but not sentient. Crona wondered if this was how he looked at everyone, with that unnerving, hungry stare, or if he, on account of apparently being Crona, was special. There was another obvious male, with white hair and lazy crimson eyes, looking critical and shaking his head. He was trying to smile at him, to be happy to see him, but he wouldn't look him in the eye. That crimson gaze would flick to his eyes, but was predominantly focused on his forearm; for what reason?

And a girl with wide emerald eyes and straw hair in pigtails. She was looking at him like he'd broken her heart and he… He felt sad somehow, for having done this. As their eyes locked he felt something else and pain bloomed inside his skull. He brought a hand up to cradle it, screwing up his face. They noticed, watching him intently, but he couldn't care. For an instant all he felt was pain and then there was nothing. He felt nothing for this girl. He didn't know her, didn't know any of them. Blinking, he dropped his hand and brought his attention to the last figure in the room, the one who was so completely unlike the rest.

"Why hello there Crona," a pleasant, high pitched voice originating from the masked figure said. Huge hands extended towards him in a welcome, but Crona frowned instead. "You've been through rather a lot. Can I get you some tea?"

"No," he shook his head. "No, I don't want any tea. I want to leave."

"Don't you like it here better than in the dungeons?"

"Yes, I do like it better. I like the sky, like you said, but I want to see the real one. I still want to be away from this place."

"What would you do if you were away?"

"I don't know yet. All I know is that I need to be away from here."

"I'm afraid I can't let you go. See, we have a very strict arrangement Crona. Just because you've forgotten doesn't mean it no longer applies."

"I haven't forgotten anything," he snapped defensively. "I'm not Crona!"

"He's not lying," Professor Stein interjected. "It's very subtle, but there's a slight variance in his soul. This may look and sound like Crona but it is not the Crona we know."

"I see," Lord Death sounded at once perplexed and unconvinced, cradling his chin with one hand. He returned his attention to the pink haired meister without comment. "May we call you Crona? It would be terribly confusing to do otherwise."

"Why? Why does everyone keep insisting that I'm this Crona person? Why can't I leave?"

"Let's just say it's complicated and leave it there for now. Do you have another name you'd prefer, or shall we continue to call you Crona."

"I don't care what you call me," he said, folding his arms and looking disapproving anyway.

"Crona it is! Now Crona, I'd like you to tell me anything you remember about how you got here. Surely you didn't just teleport into my dungeons."

"I don't know; I woke up down there, when I heard that woman's voice," he gestured to Mrs. Marie, who's eye filled with tears upon being referred to as 'that woman.' "That's as much as I know. I don't remember a before and I don't recognize any of you."

"Crona was tied down in the infirmary. More than that, he was hurt. What about that?"

"I'm not Crona, I don't know anything about him! I've told you what I can remember, just waking up in that corridor. There's nothing else."

"Doesn't that bother you," Maka cut in, taking a step towards his solitary figure and startling him just a little. He turned to her, blinking large, vacant eyes. "Aren't you afraid?"

"Afraid," he repeated, looking around the room as if the answer was somewhere in the corners. "No, I'm not afraid. I know what I need for now, and I'll learn what I need for later. Should I be afraid? Am I unsafe?"

"No," she cried reflexively. "No, you're always safe with us."

"Is that true," Crona asked flatly, returning his attention to Lord Death. He didn't see Maka's face puff up with hurt indignation at his neglect. "Am I safe here."

"There's rather a lot that's unexplained," he replied evasively. "For my part I think you are Crona, regardless of what you claim, and that you've somehow done this to yourself. Something has, however, happened. Crona was very sick whereas you are quite healthy. Even yesterday's cuts are gone. He was also restrained and you are free. Variance in your soul or not, Crona is gone and you are here. Seems too much of a coincidence to me."

"I don't care what you believe," Crona said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Nevertheless, my will is law in this city. If you remember nothing else, remember that. We'll see to the rest of your memories. Professor, take him to your lab and run every test you can think of; I want to know if this is the work of magic or something else. Maka, Soul, when they're done I'd like you to take Crona home. Familiar surroundings may trigger something if he's Crona and on the off chance that he's not, you'll be keeping a close eye on him."

"Does this mean I get to leave?"

"With close supervision, but I don't see any reason to keep you locked up. You may not know this, but you've been through something traumatic. I will not punish you for trying to cope with it. First, though, we need to see if you're as healthy as you look. Go with Professor Stein to his lab."

"The man with the screw in his head," Soul clarified, breaking his silence and gesturing.

"Come on," Maka added, sounding reluctant as she stepped forward and placed a hand on Crona's shoulder. He looked at the hand, then at her, narrowing his dark eyes in suspicion. "We'll go with you. It's just this way."