Loss of light was certainly an understatement; it was going to be pitch-black by the time they made it to their destination on the western edge of the lakes. Inevitable delays and stalled stops had whittled the day down to the nub with a few miles remaining before them still.

Her strange companion showed enviable mastery in an unteachable skill after the last lull in their conversation settled. In the midst of crowded clamor, he'd drifted far from the discomforts rendered unescapable to Chiyo and resumed the realm of dreams that beckoned him so.

A twinge of jealousy that prodded the scrunched journalist's nerves was an unwelcome guest in an already congested head of emotions.

Perhaps she shouldn't generalize, wide-swept assumptions always proved too porous. But there was a degree of unfairness in how easily men could fall, and stay asleep. And this one seemed intent to prove he could perform such a feat just about anywhere.

Maybe if it had stayed quiet, she too could have slipped away and consciously checked out of her more protected cloister by the window seat. Silence or stillness, she'd accept either. The end of the train bounced on decades old axles, each anomaly in the track rebounded within the already rocky ride.

Bumped by every side-stepping passenger on their way to the privy, Solas took the assaults unflinchingly. A shift inwards after each collision to the slumped shoulder, unguarded elbow, and ill-cocked, long-legged knee soon had him removed from immediate jeopardy. The seats weren't particularly long, and soon her own scant space was heavily encroached upon, the polite inches afforded earlier now revoked. At least his wasn't a full-bodied, smothering lean, but the press of hip and thigh distracted Chiyo's thoughts away from the coughing, sneezing, snoring, prattling, nattering, crying, and grinding of the world around her.

These were terrible conditions. Scripting words was a delicate matter best saved for comfortable chairs that didn't leave ones shoulders aching, desks wide enough for notes to all have a proper place, lighting that on no occasion left eyes to sting or squint, and above all, a sacred serenity that came with knowing exactly what was to be written before ever setting it to print.

Beneath the intermittent glow of a single lyrium-laced line in the ceiling her draft failed to grow, let alone blossom, into an article worth the paper and lead she was using to cultivate something with time left fallow.

This was exactly why real writers arranged their interviews. On separate sofas. Piping hot coffee. Set schedules. Clear-cut goodbyes. They most certainly would not have allowed for the unprincipled acts of fleeing from the authorities, midnight drinking sprees in nightdresses, or hopping the next train together in a jaunt across the countryside— to chase ghosts of all things.

She was a fraud with a degree. A little girl with ink stains on her trousers, playing a game of hats.

The first rule of journalism was to have a plan and stick to it. The second, and more significant at present, was not come into such close vicinity with a contact that she could feel the sweat beading behind her knees and had to loosen the first button on her collar to prevent overheating.

Well, that may have been a little melodramatic—the second rule was to stay composed. The reality of the window nearest to her being jammed shut on the stifling train didn't help in the matter. But it certainly wasn't the Tevinter summer to blame for wreaking havoc on her mischievous thoughts.

Chiyo drew the line at looking upon the guilty party's reposed face, having no wish to see exactly how long Solas' lashes lay against high cheekbones or the pouty part his mouth had taken on. A precursory glance didn't count. The second was an accident too.

Grown women did not need to leer at men. And she was not going to become some creepy lech on the train over an innocent brush of thigh.

Professional pursuits and attentions shouldn't be sparking such abhorrent interests in a man whose appearance failed to distract from a prideful personality. Broad shoulder be damned! He'd have taken no notice of her were it not for their shared goal or her miraculous find. Once this was over, all would become calm again and she could forget the more fascinating details about his body for good.

From the fore a screech of breaks broke the relative hush, soon they'd slow and be free.

Chiyo began to shove her belongings back into the slender canvas bag on her lap. If only her emotions could be so easily stowed.

This is nothing more than circumstantial allure, born of convenience and chance. Yeah. Really cute chance. Stop that!

Maybe she was working too much, the memory of her most recent social outing seemed rather dusty and stale. No one agreeable had asked her to dinner in months, or more honestly—years. Of course, there had been propositions. And just as many calling cards thrown immediately into the rubbish bin.

Careers lasted longer than fruitless dates better left declined. Her first amateur position had been lengthier and more satisfying than her most extensive, and failed, relationships. The nature of most men was just too frivolous to warrant a lady's better-applied energies, though that ideation gave no excuse for unsolicited behavior on her part.

A modern woman she may be, but she'd been raised better than this.

Even when her eyes obeyed, the nose below betrayed, unable to escape the gentle aroma that permeated off his person. She was teased by a unique smell she'd not perceived before, unnoticed in the mildewed ruins or the riverside cafe or the noxious photo lab or the musky boudoir. It was subtle and stayed close to his being. Words from a perfume advertisement she'd trimmed up in Orlais surfaced and faded: phenolic, chypre, fougère, all too pompous and pretentious to match what baited her nostrils without mercy.

Maybe if she leaned a tad closer, she could describe the elusive qualities better. For research purposes, of course. Just in case this field didn't pan out…

Then—as Chiyo shifted in her seat—he turned and nearly rolled into her to evade his latest assailant.

Heavily pregnant and hoisting a drowsy toddler around on her already widened hip, the encumbered lady who squeezed by would have had to consciously try to hit the side of the seat any harder than she did.

Chiyo froze in the commotion, sweltering in the earned punishment for her perversion.

Oh no… No, no, no.

Those could not be the tips of lengthy, lethargic fingers grazing against her lower arm or a head within inches of resting upon her shoulder. Blunted nails skimmed across a few inches of skin, signaling a static charge to the fine, exposed hairs just under the rolled up sleeve that had at the time been a source of reprieve from the heat.

The train could explode at any time now, its obsolete engine given permission to extinguish her suffering. Lightning aimed precisely at her seat would suffice. A humane heart attack embraced with a welcome like a lost friend. The Maker, or Andraste, or Falon'Din take her, she wouldn't be choosy as long as she died before he woke up.

There was nothing quite like a twilight stroll down an old road to relieve the strains of a six-hour train ride. A whisper of a breeze cooled her overheated skin and dried the damp from her curls. Its touch the only one she'd accept, having been harried twice too many times that day already by the hands of odd men. She'd implode if he, or anyone, touched her again. Best steer clear for a time and let the overstimulation work free from her system.

The crunch of gravel beneath Chiyo's boots kept an earnest pace, a heel-to-toe quickness resolved on staying at least a yard ahead of the man following behind her.

Her shadow stretched further out still in the low hang of Solas' oily lantern light that illuminated their path as the sun's diminishing afterglow slipped away. Darkened blacks and purples were left to take over where bright blues and golds had been just moments earlier.

Membranous-winged creatures cut across the sky, flitting through the trees in search of insects now that their feathered rivals had gone to roost. As long as they stayed airborne, Chiyo gave the bats only a wary eye, but she'd turn swatting fiend if one so much as came within striking zone.

"You could slow down a smidge. We have all evening and then some." His placating voice did well to obscure yet not fully hide the demands and windedness her brisk march taxed him with. The length of his legs was no match for a small woman's need to ventilate her pent up energies. "These spirits have waited for untold ages, what are a few minutes more."

"You don't have a deadline hanging over your head. My landlord won't be so patient when rent comes late—or never. I can't pay in photographs like some." Chiyo huffed as the outline of an archway finally came into view. Its iron face was flanked by gnarly fieldstone boundaries choked over with unmanaged brambles.

Seldom visited, the upkeep appeared kept at a minimum. Elves were bad for the economy, she'd heard that said in many ways in many places, some spoken, some not. There was little money to be made off their prior sufferings. Unprofitable sites were frequently abandoned—or held in 'trust'.

"Please don't believe I meant that in jest. Only that your enthusiasm seems unconventional." Solas tested the gate and found the rusty latch secured by a heavy, weather-pocked lock of dwarven make, distinct by the grainy remains of a hammer stamped inside the letter O. Picks and pins were mostly useless without the advanced knowledge required to even decipher how the exact inner mechanism worked. Waiting for it to disintegrate with age would take less time and deduction than forcing it open.

From his assessment he looked up as a backpack was tossed over the shingled fence and the smaller elf took a few steps back.

"We could wait for Dorian…" Solas tried a disregarded persuasion that did little to impede her quick vault up and over the mortared stone where the vines appeared thinnest and least likely to bloody her hands. "Or not."

Her descent was softened by a pad of uncut grass. No one had been buried here in ages, its confines reportedly filled to capacity in the years before she'd been born. And thanks to no trivial act of legislature, no one legally could be thereafter while the elves claimed its value to their heritage and history. An empty victory, the most offensive damage already done chiefly by the removal of sacred trees, but a victory regardless.

From off his neck and shoulder, Solas lifted his camera bag and carefully passed it through the bars and into Chiyo's care once she'd picked herself up from the overgrown ground. The lantern barely fit, but a moment of finagling soon had all his equipment transferred.

She expected more nimbleness from the fit-looking fellow, but his first attempt left a snicker sneaking through her nostrils. Lanky limbs weren't always an advantage, his arms snagged a solid hold but his legs couldn't quite gain the right leverage to finish the job. With a second leap, the maneuver was completed and his feet landed squarely on the matted lawn.

"Where should we start?" Chiyo tried not to look too long at the new split of fabric across his knee, the state of his dress already verged on disrepair. Even she could afford the occasional pair of pants to avoid shabbiness. Unless she were mistaken, they were one in the same the set he'd worn for the last several days.

"With a baseline for comparison. I may need to make a few adjustments." Retrieving his camera, Solas began to assemble together the most recent addition to his instrument. To the top he set a large round flash, the front received a newfangled glassy eye with more fine-tuning rings than she'd ever thought required. Perhaps that's where all his money went, maintaining such technology couldn't come cheaply. Six months had gone into repaying the small loan on the recorder that currently hung from her wrist, charged and ready.

Experienced hands removed the protective cap and lifted the camera to his face in one quick motion.

"Smile."

"What? No!" With a pop she went blind, rubbing her eyes only produced bright spots and circles until the effects began to fade on their own.

Solas twisted the lens again, unphased as his subject stumbled. "Hmm, still a tad out of focus. The light should be powerful enough, though."

"A warning would have been nice," Chiyo growled as she leaned against the nearest monolith, her vision still speckled with stars. "Save your film, we've work to do."

"I thought you'd prefer your adventures documented. Does the adage still ring true about an image's value compared to words?" He seemed keen on ruffling her feathers ever more; a grin stretched Solas' closed lips when she refused to comment on his playful game. "Pretty faces sell papers, well, at least when not scrunched and grimacing."

"Take my picture again and you'll have some words alright." Every family gathering, school yearly, and Dalish wedding she'd ever attended had left a trail of awkward images that—wait. What did he just say about her face?

"Y-you know, I have been wondering since last night if what we heard was an echo from the past or if there could possibly be any intelligence gleaned from these phantoms. We can see them, with help, maybe they can see us, hear us. I thought we'd try a few sessions where we ask questions. With any luck maybe, there will be a response back. Or maybe, better yet, we could just be really quiet and say nothing more tonight. Be diligent listeners. Keep this purely academic." She yammered without so much as taking a breath as she unnecessarily fiddled with her own piece of technology.

The judgmental eyes of her peers, her coworkers, her boss, already burned upon Chiyo from half a continent away.

There was no margin here for error. One bad article stood between her and self-publicizing a zine in a basement. She wiped her mouth; the bitter taste of stamp glue curled her tongue and faded.

"I doubt they'll get a word in edgewise." He arched with a wry grin, and before she could formulate a scathing reply he'd already moved on, fingers clicking away with a few more test shots interrupting the condensing dark.

"Just get me on the front page and out of here before we get caught." With a click of her thumb a tiny light came on and the recording began. She decided the latter idea would be best, for now, it would keep her ruinous mouth shut for a time.

He knew. The sly bastard with his handsome face and insolent confidence. Of course he did. And she was still playing right into it.