A hush fell over the campsite. The fire whipped in sync with his words, cackling as if to mock him. Cobra closed his eye to block out the light. Even closed, he could feel the presence of their stares on him. But he was past the point of caring. All he wanted to do was be done for the day.

"…Cobra?"

His one eye flew open at the voice, his shock palpable. There she stood, wrapped in the guild cloak she so despised for its gaudiness. Her unusually mild look made her features lose their sharpness, the light from the fire reflecting dimly in her eyes. If he didn't know any better, he would have assumed she'd just woken up, or caught in a rare moment of reflection. But he knew better. He knew far better.

"…Your jacket."

Cobra blinked, looking down at himself, then sucked in a breath. In his shock, he'd let go of the tight hold on his cloak, revealing the disintegrated jacket sleeves. He heard gasps from the sides, and Macbeth's eyes lingered in surprise. Only Sorano gave no noticeable reaction, besides a slight arching of her eyebrow.

"That was a nice jacket too. It's a shame it got ruined. You should take better care of your things."

Cobra's blood chilled as Sorano spoke. He'd been berated by her for ruining clothing and other materials dozens, hundreds of times. Never had it been said in such a plain, matter-of-fact way, with no hint of sarcasm, annoyance, or even resignation. Even if he couldn't hear her soul, he would know something was wrong by the way she spoke, the way she looked at him.

Like a stranger…no, like he was mere thin air.