A woman was screaming. The voice was far away, high-pitched and terrified, and Quinlan shifted, trying to wake up so he could make it stop. It took a few seconds, but he managed to open his eyes. As soon as he did, the sound vanished.

The central room was bright with the cold light of the flaming pillar, and it was absolutely quiet. When Quinlan cast a look at his chrono, he realized it had been a mere half-hour since he'd fallen asleep. With an irritated sigh, he buried his head in his arms again and shut his eyes. Must have been dreaming . . .

The second scream made him jerk fully awake. He leaped to his feet, turning sideways as he did so, and tripped over Wrecker – who only mumbled something, turned over, and went back to sleep.

"Quinlan?" Hunter, who stood on guard near the doorway, was watching him one hand on his knife and a concerned look on his face. "What is it?"

The Jedi stared from him to the others – first Tech, sleeping with his mouth slightly open; then Wrecker, who had started to snore again despite having been accidentally kicked in the side. Then Crosshair, who looked almost relaxed, lying on his back with his head tilted to one side.

Vythia was awake. She had propped herself up on one elbow and was watching him drowsily through half-closed eyes. When he met her gaze, she raised an inquiring eyebrow, but said nothing.

With a last look at the empty doorway near Hunter, Quinlan stepped back over Wrecker and slumped down on his blanket without answering the sergeant. If Hunter hadn't heard anything, then there hadn't been anything to hear. Nothing real to hear, anyway. He'd probably imagined it.

Trying to ignore the nagging sense of fear, he pulled the blanket around his shoulders and pretended to fall asleep.

Not even five minutes later, a horrible yell ripped through the air from several levels below. This time, Quinlan sat up slowly, running his gaze from one end of the room to the other. Nothing looked wrong. Hunter was leaning casually back against the wall, playing with his knife. Vythia had already fallen back asleep.

The cries continued for several seconds, then cut off as abruptly as though they'd been snuffed out. I am hearing an illusion, Quinlan thought, breathing deliberately as he focused on slowing his heartbeat. That isn't a person. It's just some impression left in the Force. Which is probably why no one else is hearing it.

Wrapping his arms around his knees, he stared fixedly at the floor. He knew the cries weren't from people, and that there was nothing he could do to stop them. That didn't change the fact that his first instinct was to dash down the stairs and locate whoever it was that needed help. . . or to run the other way.

Maybe meditating will do something to make those sounds – stop? Maybe? He was still smirking a little wryly at how pathetic his own thought had sounded when he realized that Hunter was watching him again, looking as though he were about to ask a question.

Glancing up, Quinlan whispered, "What, Hunter?"

The sergeant studied Vythia before sheathing his knife and approaching. Halting a couple of meters away, he dropped into a crouch. "What's going on?"

Quinlan took a moment to reassure himself that Vythia was truly asleep before answering. "Did you hear anything just now?"

"No . . ." Hunter's eyes narrowed worriedly. "Why?"

"Because I heard three different voices screaming in the past ten minutes." Quinlan wound the grey material of his blanket absently between his fingers. All the voices had cut off so abruptly.

Hunter's gaze flicked from side to side as though he were reading. "It isn't another illusion like before, is it?"

"Maybe? I kind of hope it is. . . except – you all heard that one."

"Yeah, we did." Hunter tapped his fingers against one knee and looked back at the door. "That was . . . really weird. I couldn't sense anything physically present, but – "

"That's because illusions aren't physical," Quinlan interrupted.

"Yeah, but the sounds were?"

". . . I guess?" Quinlan hesitated, frowning. "Soundwaves are sort of physical, right?"

They stared at each other for a moment, then simultaneously glanced at Tech before exchanging wry looks.

Hunter smiled faintly. "Better not let Tech hear you say that. Quinlan . . . why do you think I didn't hear anything just now?"

"I'd guess it's because you're not –" Quinlan shot a look at Vythia. "Psychometric, maybe." Pulling out the yellow crystal, he fidgeted with it. "That's the only thing that comes to mind immediately."

"Makes sense," Hunter agreed.

Wrecker turned over and dragged his blanket up to his chin, inadvertently leaning an arm against Crosshair's elbow. Without ever waking up, the sniper muttered something, shoved Wrecker's arm aside, and moved farther away.

Quinlan let out a distantly amused huff, then sobered. "I still feel like something doesn't want us here."

"Any idea what 'it' is?"

"No. I can't even tell if it's physical or not . . . Or if it wants us to leave, or wants us dead, or what."

Hunter raised an eyebrow at him.

Quinlan sighed and put the crystal away. "Look, I know that's really vague, Hunter, but whatever this presence is, it's getting more and more . . . focused. I'm absolutely sure of that, just – ugh, I don't know how to explain it."

"I think I get your meaning," Hunter said with a wry tilt of his head. "Still – I wish we had a better idea what we were up against."

"Yeah." Another shrill scream made Quinlan wince and clench one hand. "I take it you didn't hear that one, either."

"No. I'll let you know if I do." The sergeant paused for a moment, then added, "Are we in any direct danger from the illusions, or are they just another . . . relic of the past?"

"I don't –" The distant voice was crying now, screaming over and over again in pain, and Quinlan got to his feet, unable to sit still any longer. Letting out his breath, he lowered his shields just a bit, cautiously letting the Force into his mind in an attempt to locate the source of the sound.

He did not find whatever was making it, and he hadn't expected to. But being able to pinpoint exactly where the sound was coming from – the central room with the stone prisoners, as he'd expected – without having someone or something actually there to make the sound. . . He shuddered and hoped that it was just an illusion, and not the statues that had been chained there.

Pacing restlessly, he stared at the dark stairway leading down and bit his lip, hardly aware of Hunter's watchful gaze. There was something . . . some part of an answer, maybe, just out of his reach. He was almost certain that if he released his shields all the way, and let himself access the Force fully despite the Dark Side, he would find it.

Maybe he didn't want to find it, though. He certainly didn't want to reach for the Force like he normally would. Quinlan tilted his head, surprised when he realized that he felt better, physically, than when he'd first entered the academy. The Dark Side had made him feel physically sick, earlier. Maybe he'd been more greatly affected than he should have been, because he'd been fighting it so much.

So – maybe I wouldn't get attacked by it the same way if I lowered my defenses entirely? Maybe if I just let them go . . .

He hesitated.

I should just do it. It's not like I'd really be using the Dark Side. And if there's something down there that's aware of us, I need to know what it is.

Still undecided, he rubbed a hand over his arm and looked between the two doors before noticing Hunter's gaze. Oh, right – he'd never answered him. "Danger from the illusions?" he asked. "I don't think so. I don't know about the ones we all heard earlier, but these . . . I think what I'm hearing is a memory. I think I'm hearing something that happened a long time ago. It was real, though."

Hunter folded his arms, eyes dark with uncertainty. "You're hearing something from the past? I thought psychometry only worked directly with touch."

"Yeah, well . . ." For some reason, Quinlan remembered Vythia's words to him, back when he'd first met her in the warehouse: But the crystal is touching you. It touches your mind.

She'd been correct, though not in the way she thought. But Hunter was right, because psychometry did only work with touch – as far as he knew. At least, that was the only way it worked when it came to psychometrics who weren't also Jedi. Blast it. Either way, Quinlan was fairly sure he was hearing things because of something that wasn't physical and had only to do with the Force, or Force-sensitives. And there was still that threatening, unidentified presence, hovering just out of reach of his abilities.

Sitting down cross-legged, Quinlan closed his eyes. He braced himself, released his shields even more, and allowed the Force to sweep through his mind – but he didn't feel any different, physically. Instead, he recognized that the presence he'd been increasingly aware of was malevolent, and aware of them – but he still couldn't sense a form. It was similar to how he'd sensed the stormbeasts . . . alive, but barely. But the mind of this being was far clearer and more conniving than any of the stormbeasts, and it had been watching them for days.

His understanding ended suddenly, and he realized that the being was shielding itself against him . . . No. It was being shielded. For the briefest instant, Quinlan sensed another watching entity, far more dangerous and immediate. It was similar – very similar – to the presence of the shadow he'd seen on the roof of the Lothal manor. Before he could react, it was retreating, he was losing his connection with it –

But he couldn't use the Dark Side. So instead, Quinlan released his shields entirely, letting his mind sort through the swirling black of the Force around him. As soon as the shadow touched his consciousness, he threw his will against it and demanded that it reveal itself. For a moment it faltered in surprise and almost seemed to take a form. Then it recovered, and dragged his intent towards the second, barely-alive presence – and before Quinlan could react, it had trapped him in the second presence's awareness.

Quinlan stiffened, unable to pull his attention back to the formless shadow, though he was aware of its exhilaration at his panic. Then it vanished completely, and he was left with the lesser of the two presences.

Too late, he tried to reconstruct his shields. The malevolent, half-alive presence that had been following them, the one connected somehow to the screams, focused its full intent on him and pulled.

For a moment, Quinlan floated in nothingness. Then his awareness of the Force vanished and he opened his eyes in alarm. He'd only just caught a glimpse of the central room when a skewering pain pierced his temples and chest and drove inward. The agony made his vision black out until all he could see was a blurred outline of the flaming pillar.

He couldn't do anything to stop it, even when he managed to shut his eyes. Gasping, he knelt upright, trying to reach – anything – for support. Then the attack was withdrawn, as fast as it had come, leaving him with only a headache and a feeling of hollowness.

Some deep-set instinct ordered him to reclaim his shields, and he fought to obey. At first it felt as though he were a padawan again, struggling to perform even the most basic shielding technique, but within only a few minutes his ability had returned. Only when the Dark Side was once more held back, oppressively constant but manageable, did Quinlan take a deep breath and open his eyes again.

The grey stone in front of his face made no sense until he realized that he was kneeling nearly doubled over, and that someone was holding him by either shoulder and talking to him.

Hunter, he realized, probably about three minutes late. Bracing his hands slowly against the floor, he pushed himself upright and mumbled, "It . . . two presences, Hunter, there's two of them."

"Quinlan!" the sergeant hissed, giving him an impatient, worried shake. "What are you talking about?"

". . . What?"

Hunter sat back on his heels, looking both exhausted and alarmed as he sent a glance at the empty doorway. "You were saying –" He gestured vaguely – "weird things. What was that all about?"

Quinlan's chest was still aching. He rubbed it absently as he stared around at the others. Hunter was talking again, but the rest of his teammates were peacefully asleep. It seemed impossible, given the chaos and upheaval in the Force that had just occurred . . .

Then something slithered gently against his mind and vanished. As it did, Wrecker shifted, face creasing in a sudden frown. Then Tech's hand closed in a fist, and Crosshair turned his head as though trying to shake something off.

Maybe not so peacefully asleep, Quinlan thought. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, which felt like they were full of ash.

Hunter shook him again.

The Jedi jerked his attention back to the present. "What is it?"

"What – did you even hear what I just said?" Hunter whispered harshly.

". . . You called me . . .?" Quinlan guessed, belatedly realizing that Hunter had probably been talking to him.

Hunter stared at him, then slumped. "I asked you what just happened."

Oh. "I don't know."

"You don't – know."

Quinlan shook his head and sat down, drawing one knee up to his chest and wrapping an arm around it. That sensation of nothingness – there was something he should know about it. It wasn't Nihilus; it had been much weaker in that sense than the crypt had been. Still, there was something nagging at his memory, that he knew he had to remember. Something Vythia had said . . .

Shaking his head, Hunter got up and moved quickly over to the doorway. He listened carefully for a long moment, then crossed the room to the door opposite.

Quinlan's gaze wandered from Hunter back to the others. He jumped when he realized that Crosshair was sitting up, watching him – the sniper looked almost suspicious.

"Not a word," Quinlan muttered, pushing his knuckles against his forehead. "I don't want to hear it, Cross. . . I know it was stupid."

Crosshair's eyes narrowed and he cast a sharp look at the door Hunter was standing next to. "What did you do?"

Quinlan's temper flared suddenly. "I didn't do anything."

"Hey!" Hunter whispered sharply, casting a warning look at Vythia as he picked up Tech's datapad. "Keep it down."

"Like you were just now?" Crosshair replied, without much heat.

Ignoring him, Hunter observed a readout on Tech's screen. "The storm's still too strong for us to leave. Quinlan, I don't hear or feel anything nearby. Will you be able to tell if it gets close?"

Crosshair went still. "If what gets close?"

"The presence – or one of them," Quinlan answered. He hesitated. "I don't know, Hunter. But it's not interested in us right now. It won't be tonight."

"And . . ." Hunter exchanged a quick look with Crosshair. "You're sure of that?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Quinlan shifted to lie down again, swallowing against the continuing ache in his chest. "And believe me, Hunter: if I'm wrong, I'll be the first to go."

"Very helpful," said Hunter, not sounding particularly relieved. "Crosshair, run another scan. Make sure you use the one Tech put together for the stormbeasts."

"Got it."

Quinlan shut his eyes, glad that the screams hadn't returned. Apart from Crosshair's and Hunter's whispered conversation, the central room was once again quiet and almost peaceful, and even the cold light of the pillar was reassuring.

Tech looked up from his datapad to check his surroundings using his physical senses of sight and hearing, then returned to running a scan for partial lifeforms. He was not fond of the term 'partial lifeform', as the definitions of each word used seemed mutually exclusive, but there was nothing else he could think of calling it. Even plants showed up more readily on his scanners than did the stormbeasts.

After noting the placement of several groups of stormbeasts, many levels below them, he changed his scan parameters to search specifically for moving partial lifeforms. It might be the case that the stormbeasts had a pattern of movement.

Near the pillar, Vythia woke up again to glance around the room. She'd been waking quite frequently, even compared to Quinlan, who'd woken every thirty minutes, on average, for nearly Tech's entire shift.

When Vythia sat up, sighed quietly, and reached for the pouch that contained her scroll, Tech went back to his datapad. His sensor range was limited, so he accessed the Marauder's systems and reran the scan.

Something caught his attention, and he let out a soft hum as he zoomed in. Six levels up from the main entrance, no fewer than fifteen stormbeasts – three on their own and twelve in groups of two or three – were milling about, moving erratically around as though uncertain of where to go. The only thing they had in common was that they all seemed to be headed away from the center.

"Curious," he mumbled. "It is as though they are attempting –"

Vythia got to her feet, holding the scroll and he glanced up. But she merely walked quietly back and forth near the pillar, lips moving as she sounded words out to herself. Tech wondered if the writing on the scroll shared any similarity to the writing he'd seen in the temple. The characters were unlike those of any language he had seen before; and, if he was correct, each symbol stood for an entire word, rather than a specific sound.

"Vythia," he said softly. "Are you able to understand the writing?"

The purple Nautolan woman cast him a blank look, interrupted from her reading, then inclined her head. "I can understand it – but only because of this."

She touched the golden headdress she wore.

"What does it say?" Tech asked, curious.

"It describes another, even more valuable scroll that was buried in the tomb of Zenaya's master," she told him, then smirked. "Ironically, we already searched, or at least entered, the level on which his tomb is hidden – the sixth."

"I presume you mean the sixth up from the main entrance," Tech clarified.

"Yes."

"That does not surprise me," said Tech, using the Marauder's sensors again to compile a simulation of the storm's current path. "We did not make a very thorough search of most of the levels we entered. From what I recall, what we saw of the sixth level was mostly living quarters."

"Yes, and we only truly checked four corridors on our way to the entrance." Vythia seated herself again, narrowing her eyes as she attempted to make out a particular section of writing. "Even if we had searched, though, I suspect we would not have found Darth Ghant's tomb. The entrance is concealed. Zenaya sealed her master in a crypt with the scroll."

"Why would she do that?"

"Presumably because she did not want anyone who did not have her scroll to be able to locate that which she hid with Darth Ghant."

"I see."

"We will have to look for it," Vythia went on. "Though it would take a shorter time to fly back down and enter from the main entrance again than to go down through the other levels."

"That is true." Tech glanced down at his scan. "However, if this storm continues, we will not be able to return to the Phoenix by oh-six-hundred or even oh-nine-hundred."

"I suppose we will have to continue downward, then . . ." Vythia's voice trailed away as her attention returned to her reading.

Tech got up to check the opposite doorway. As he returned to his post, he was forced to hold back a yawn. Clearly, he was not getting enough sleep. He suspected that none of them were. Although he did not have any hard data on the matter, he had observed over the past few days that no one was sleeping very deeply, or for very long. Given the strange dreams that had started to accompany being in this place, that was perhaps unsurprising.

Of course, dreams were simply projections of the unconscious mind, which linked ideas and sensations and emotions and images together in odd and often incongruous patterns. . . So it was not farfetched to assume that the sheer strangeness of this place would cause strange dreams.

As he considered that, Tech felt, inexplicably, as though he were being watched by someone. When he looked at the others, though, they were all still and silent, with the exception of Vythia, who was putting her scroll away. And yet the feeling persisted.

With a quiet exhale, Tech turned away and peered out into the hall, lowering his visor over his goggles as he turned on night vision. There was nothing out of the ordinary, just like the last twenty-eight times he had checked.

He pushed his visor up and turned back in time to see Vythia leaning forward, one hand close to Quinlan's face.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"I am checking to ensure that he is still breathing," she answered, without even looking up. "And he is . . ."

"Why would he not be breathing?" Tech asked, moving closer. He would have thought that she was lying, but she exhibited none of the usual tells.

She sat back unhurriedly, folded her hands in her lap, and said, "I don't know. Why wouldn't he be?"

Tech tilted his head at her and dropped to one knee beside the Jedi, who looked perfectly normal. "I meant that I wished to know what it was that made you think he was not breathing."

She touched one of the long tendrils that hung around her face and pushed it back over her shoulder. "He was quite still, but he was panicking."

Of course, Tech thought. Nautolans possess the capability of recognizing the emotions of most other species. Their ability is greatly diminished by being above water, but it is still possible. "It was most likely another dream," he said, running a quick check on the lifesigns of his teammates.

"You are probably correct." Vythia stood and stretched her arms out to either side, then folded them. "Would you like me to stay on guard?"

"There is no need for that."

"You mean you do not trust me," she interpreted with a faint smirk. "A fully justifiable sentiment. But I meant that I would watch one door while you watched the other."

He hesitated, but saw no reason to refuse her request. It was not as though she could call in an enemy, after all. And he would still be at his post. "That should be fine."

Vythia nodded and picked up her satchel, slung it over one shoulder, and wandered across to the opposite door.

Tech checked on her every couple of minutes, but apart from removing Lord Lothal's mask from her satchel and studying it, she did nothing else of note.

It was thirty minutes later that the silence and early hour began to make him drowsy again. He got up and walked the length of the room to stave it off, drank some water, and checked the storm again. It will be over by noon today at the earliest, he thought, narrowing his eyes at the screen. I suppose Vythia is right, and that there is no option for us except to go down – or wait where we are.

Across from him, Vythia jerked a little, as though she'd started to doze off, then got to her feet and started walking.

Tech watched her put the mask back in the satchel. Then, with nothing better to do, he went back to pacing himself. He was not particularly eager to go back down through the prison level. That illusion had shaken him badly. Vythia had told him that illusions, once created, continued to exist until they were blocked by light or until their source was destroyed.

Wishing he knew what that last phrase had meant, but not quite willing to ask, he stopped walking to consider the illusions. Rattling chains and dragging footsteps, continuing around and around the halls of that particular level for at least four thousand years – with no one to hear them, most likely, until Tech and his teammates had arrived.

He straightened against a sudden chill and went back to the doorway. His shift was almost over, which was good; he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. Leaning one shoulder against the door's edge, he gazed into the empty hall for several minutes.

Quiet footsteps alerted him to Vythia's presence as she walked behind him, some few meters back. He glanced at her and went back to staring out at the darkened hallway.

The next thing he knew, a hand was on his shoulder and Wrecker was saying, "Hey, Tech, your shift's been up for ten minutes. Weren't you gonna wake me?"

"I –" Tech blinked twice, unable to believe he had fallen asleep. "I had not observed the time."

"It's okay, Vythia woke me. You can get some sleep now."

Vythia? Tech tensed, wondering if perhaps she had drugged him the way she had apparently drugged them all, that night in the mansion . . . No, if that were the case Wrecker would not be awake. And this is by no means a sealed room, or a small one.

Still, he couldn't shake the impression that he had been drugged – the mild grogginess felt exactly the same. But – why . . .

"Tech?" Wrecker asked. "Uhh – you okay?"

"Perfectly, thank you, Wrecker," he said a bit stiffly, and went back to his place.

As Wrecker settled in for his turn at guard, Tech observed the others, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Hunter and Crosshair were sleeping soundly, and so was Quinlan – and Vythia was very nearly asleep.

Just to be sure, Tech ran a quick scan on his immediate surroundings, but found no trace of any incapacitating agent. But she must have done something – or else I simply dozed off. But if I did, why didn't Vythia wake me?

Crosshair tried to push back the suffocating blackness, but he couldn't touch it, even though it pressed against his nose and mouth until he couldn't breathe. When he struggled to pull away, it followed, clinging to the inside of his throat and seeping down through his chest in snagging threads that made him want to cough and gag. He couldn't.

It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream, he thought over and over. Wake up, it's just another kriffing dream. You're not suffocating, you're not, it's a dream, wake UP!

He thought he woke up then, because he was sitting and the others were there, barely visible in the black air as they all gazed off in different directions. Their eyes were distant; they were looking at something far away, and he could almost not see them, though they were scarcely a meter away.

Then the black air pressed against his face again and he realized he'd never woken up at all. He struggled to open his eyes – he should be able to, he'd done it before, he knew it was just a dream – but the same thing happened again. And then again.

At last, after the third time the dream had repeated itself, he found himself suffocating yet again – but this time, the dream faded into nothing.

Quinlan gazed at the scan that Tech was holding out to him. Even upside down as the display was, he could see that the storm wasn't going to stop any time soon.

"Oh, man," Wrecker grumbled. "Another nice day on Malachor."

"The weather here is certainly . . . regular," Hunter said dispiritedly. "That's not gonna stop any time soon, is it?"

"If by 'soon' you mean 'in the next two hours', then no." Tech cleared his screen with a quick tap and put away his datapad, then joined the others in cleaning up their camp.

Quinlan rolled his blanket up and fit it into his pack, observing the others as they moved. Hunter looked tired and a little pale. . . so did Crosshair. Sitting back on his heels, he noticed that they all did, except for Vythia. But he wasn't sure she was capable of turning pale, so maybe physical appearance wasn't a good way of gauging her condition.

All he knew for sure was that eight hours of sleep was one thing, and that eight hours of constantly waking up was entirely another. None of them seemed to have slept well.

After – maybe before as well, but certainly after Quinlan's brush with the Dark Side last night, which he hadn't mentioned to anyone apart from Hunter – the others seemed to have suffered from nightmares. He'd mostly been woken up because Wrecker had sat up with a jerk; or Tech had muttered the same incoherent thing ten times; or Hunter had jolted to his feet, then started walking back and forth; or Crosshair had gasped. Quinlan himself only had one dream, where he thought that someone was stabbing the back of his left hand – with what, he had no idea, but it hurt. And then he'd woken up and found nothing but a scratch that barely even stung. He wasn't even sure what it was from. Probably from that statue attack.

Vythia . . . he hadn't noticed Vythia in particular, but as he watched her, he realized that even she looked more subdued than normal as they ate and packed up.

"Tech," said Hunter. "What's the earliest the storm could stop?"

"Thirteen hundred, given the projected direction and rate of movement."

"How long until it might slow down enough that we can get back up top? One hour, or two?"

"Ah – no. I would estimate at least six."

The sergeant nodded. "Vythia, you said you knew where to head next. Is it the last place we need to visit?"

"If no one has stolen the artifact that is hidden there, then yes."

"Where is it?"

"On the sixth level, counting from the ground."

"Well, that's just great," said Crosshair unnecessarily. Quinlan rolled his eyes as he noticed that the was, once again, unnecessarily running a cloth over his unnecessarily polished rifle barrel.

"Hey. . ." Quinlan slid his arms into his pack and gestured at the rifle. "Crosshair, you do know that's a waste of time? I can literally see my reflection."

"Hm." Crosshair spared him a glance. "Sorry to make you go through that."

Quinlan snorted just as Tech tripped to a halt nearby and announced, "There are only one hundred and nine stairways between us and our goal."

Wrecker and Hunter groaned.

"Distance-wise, that is not an outrageous amount," Tech went on.

"No, not distance-wise, at least." Vythia smiled. "We could wait for the storm to end, go up to the Phoenix and fly back down, then head in through the main doors."

"We could . . ." Quinlan shrugged at Hunter's questioning look. He didn't feel any watchfulness from the presence now – it was there, but not actively seeking them. "But I think we should head down. If the storm ends up going on longer than anticipated –"

" – we'll be trapped here for another night," Hunter ended for him.

Wrecker shifted uneasily, and Crosshair narrowed his eyes at the floor.

"That would not be ideal," Tech muttered.

"But if we go down, we can get to the Marauder, right?" Wrecker asked.

"Yes," said Tech. "The windspeed at ground level is perfectly safe to move through, if a bit difficult."

Hunter hesitated, glanced at Quinlan, then said, "Vythia, we're going to head down to the sixth level and look for that artifact. But whether we find it or not, we're leaving this place before nightfall. Understood?"

She bit her lower lip thoughtfully, then nodded. "Very well. I admit – I do not want to stay here another night either."