Here we have it, the beginning of the second part of this story, and the first bit of new content for this uploading! It's hard to say if I would have written the exact same things if I had actually been able to continue this story as part of R2, but I imagine there'd be a lot of similarities. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this!

Taygete hadn't been able to sleep. Though the bed in her cabin was undeniably wonderful, with the mattress so soft she almost felt swallowed up by it and the silken sheets, it was also utterly alien to her. She was used to being cramped in the dark, lulled to sleep by the heat of her companions' skin, the melody of their breathing. It did not help that the sun was shining brightly through her windows, illuminating a view that was supposed to be breath-taking. She was used to grabbing a few moments of rest whenever she could, knowing full well that with the next situation she'd lose out on sleep for days but this felt different. Of course, what had happened during the night probably hadn't helped.

Or rather, what hadn't happened.

Because Taygete was sure that there was something else that should have happened, something more than the flickering lights and the necklace nearly being lost to Leigh, something more than Alistair Cox cornering her and Chione with accusations. There had been so much anger in the air, thickening it as Delilah left the games table with her triumphantly lifted chin, anger that had been too strong to be coming from Leigh alone. Some of that extra anger, she thought, had been coming from Jackson- but she couldn't be sure. It still felt like too much. All she knew for sure was that something was supposed to have happened, but it hadn't.

Which meant that sooner or later, it would. If it was a fated thing, it would happen, for not even gods could escape fate. Taygete sat up, shivering despite the warmth. She fought back a yawn, but even as she did she realised she would have to give up on sleep. So she swung her legs out of bed and wearily got dressed before leaving her room. Just as she got to the door, however, she paused and then turned back to get the map from Leigh's shop. She thought that she would head up and out to the nearest deck, look out at the ocean for a while and so wandered in that direction.

As she headed up the stairs, she noticed that she wasn't the only person awake. There were a few people around, and while most seemed to be staff, a scattering were clearly fellow guests. But she knew that this was only because of the fact the ball had run into the early hours. If it wasn't for that, at this time everybody would no doubt be flocking for breakfast, making the corridors more crowded than they were now. It's nice here when it's so quiet, she thought, I'm sure that will mean the decks will be peaceful as well. With that happy thought, she decided to take a gamble and go to one of the decks that went along the side and round the front of the ship. She was pleased to discover that when she reached the nearest door to that deck that it seemed empty, and she started to carefully make her way around to the front when she heard the sound of somebody talking.

Taygete froze. The talking stopped, and she was convinced whoever it was had heard her, but then they started up again.

"Yes, she is rather more difficult than…"

Leigh! Taygete realised with a start. She took a few steps forward, thinking that perhaps she could talk with him. He'd seemed to like her yesterday, so if she was lucky then maybe she could ask him about what had happened at the party. She wasn't as good at wielding words the way some of the others did, and she didn't have Atropos' cheerful and innocent charm to make up for it either. Still, she had to try for them all. She didn't want to be left behind by them, after all. But as she edged forward again, she heard Leigh begin talking again:

"Look, you and I both know that she was always going to be one of the most difficult…and yes, yes, her connection to Lachlan doesn't help. I'm working on it…and that necklace…there really…"

The sounds of the waves muffled Leigh's speaking for a moment, and Taygete took the opportunity to withdraw backwards, to the doorway. There, she concentrated hard, trying to grab the thread of Leigh's voice, pull it towards her and push back the other sounds.

"Well, it does seem like Lachlan did not keep her as deep in the dark as we thought…she clearly knows some significance of the necklace…and I've had a few run-ins with it. What is it made of?"

A pause, then a throaty chuckle.

"Of course you can't. It's not that fun being kept in the dark-and I suspect she feels the same, which is why she is proving to be such a liability…but you know, even if we cannot get it there is plenty of income to be made from her anyway, and from other guests aboard this ship. Oh yes, I know, they're small fry in comparison…but actually, there are these kids. Well, not kids, they're eighteen at least…"

Taygete went cold, but then she heard Leigh laugh:

"You dismiss it, but there's something about them…but don't fear, I'm not taking my eyes off of the prize anytime soon. I've got an idea for how I can finally get the necklace…I'm sure I shall have it by the time we make our first stop. Oh, it will be a challenge-oh, that reminds me. There's a photographer. Not even a fully-fledged reporter, but a photographer, but my god he acts like a reporter. Sticking his nose into everything. His name is Alistair Cox and I'm pretty sure he's onto me but don't worry, he doesn't know a thing about us and I'll make sure that it stays that way-"

Another pause, then:

"Yes, pass it on, but nothing needs to be done. Likewise with the detective-he's too entangled with her to really be that dangerous thought. He's clueless about the truth, too. Even if Lachlan was a little too free with his words around her he'd have made sure nothing could have gotten back to him. But yes, don't call in the troops. It's not like you can do anything while we're sailing. Anyway, you don't need to worry about anything. While the road is bumpier than it has been, our fortunes will be made on this cruise. Lachlan would be delighted at how things were going-he always did like mind-games, didn't he? Well, I should be going. Most people will have slept off yesterday's excesses…"

Taygete decided she'd heard enough, and let the other sounds rush back in. Over the onslaught, she backed away rapidly but carefully, keeping her eye on the deck door until she was sure Leigh would not come at that moment and spot her. Then, she turned tail and ran as fast as she could to get back to her room, barely pausing, not even when she almost bumped into somebody just before she reached her cabin's corridor.

"Oh, sorry!" she called out.

But there was no response, and when she glanced over her shoulder she only saw a heavily-cloaked figure disappearing out of sight. Strange, she thought idly, but thought no more of it as her mind was too busy buzzing with what she had overheard. Her thoughts didn't rest even once she managed to get back into her room, gripping the doorknob tightly as she tried to catch her breath.

So, Leigh really is guilty, rather than Jackson…

Taygete looked to her bed. She was more tired than she had been before, but if it had offered her no comfort then it wasn't going to now. She had to tell the others what she had heard. So, once she had managed to pull herself together, she left the room and went in search of Phaedra.

…

That damned necklace.

Over the churning in his stomach and the pulsing that was beginning somewhere deep inside his head, that was the only thing that Narcisse could focus on. He could see it, in the blur of everything else. The entire thing glowed from deep within every bead, and the pendant was brighter than it had been the night before. It was bigger, redder. It was louder too, and he could hear what it was demanding this time: more. More, more, more. He did not know what it was that it wanted but he did not care about that, just that he in turn wanted the necklace. Whatever it wanted, he would offer it just for the chance to finally grasp it for himself.

"Narcisse! Narcisse, pull yourself together."

Deimos…

Narcisse heard his thoughts voice the name of his comrade as if from a great distance, and blinked heavily. The world around him came into a little more focus, enough to see Deimos was frowning at him.

"What's gotten into you? You are acting as though you have been cursed. "

Maybe I have been, Narcisse thought, still distantly.

"It's warm in here," he heard someone say. "Perhaps he is feeling the heat. We should finish eating and reconvene in your room."

"That's…do you know what, that is a good idea, Chione." Deimos' voice said in reply.

Narcisse let himself be pulled back down into his chair again by Deimos and Chione, but when they began to talk with the others again he looked around, listening to the demanding humming of the necklace and its responding call within his own blood until he saw it, radiant around the neck of Delilah Wright. Her hair was tied in a more casual style, and she wore a button-down shirt and well-tailored trousers rather than a ball gown, but still she looked radiant. Cold and unforgivingly so, but nonetheless radiant. If anything, Narcisse thought she looked more dazzling than she had before. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were pink, her skin seemed smoother and more supple than it had the evening before.

Indeed, to Narcisse's increasingly exhausted eyes, she looked younger.

If that isn't proof that the necklace is our artefact, then I do not know what is. The humming became louder, causing the pulsing in his head to vibrate harder. Propelled by something beyond his own control, Narcisse got up, pushing his chair aside and staggering forward. Hands tugged at his sleeve but he pushed them away as though they were dust and he pushed forward, pushed through the increasing pressure building up and the increasing nausea. His eyes were fixed on Wright's retreating form, watching as she sat herself down, picked up a glass and drank from it, before then eating breakfast.

Desperately, Narcisse stumbled his way there, and then gazed at her. Or rather, her necklace. Wright looked up at him and raised an eyebrow as she scoffed.

"What do you want?"

"Y…your…."

Narcisse swayed a little, eyes fixed upon the necklace.

"My what?" Wright asked. "My money? My time? My body? Do you think that makes you special? Oh please, you're just one of many in a queue."

She stood up suddenly, and gripped his chin tightly in his hands. Her sharp nails dug into his skin and forced him to look at her. Her face was suddenly far too close to his, her breath misting in his face with the strong smell of an alcoholic drink. He recoiled, but those nails dug in harder.

"No, I know what it is. My necklace, yes? Clearly, you recognise its value, don't you? Do you see past what everyone else sees, then? Do you see what this necklace is supposed to be?"

"I…yes…I…I just…"

"Then you are a fool! A fool, like everyone else who wants something from me."

"You don't understand…I need it…" Narcisse gasped.

He tried to reach out, his arms limp and floppy. It took a Herculean effort to lift them and then when he did, his fingers felt fat and fumbling, Slowly, gasping, he reached the necklace, brushed it but then his hands shook and he touched her skin instead. Wright's eyes flashed, but then rounded with shock as Narcisse felt a rough hand on his shoulder yanking him back, making her nails rake across his cheek, the sharp bursts of pain momentarily cutting through the rising, pounding one that grew all the while.

"What," growled the gruff voice of Jackson. "Do you think you're playing at?"

Narcisse stumbled, tried to lean against the table.

"I don't think he's well." A thin, nervous voice said.

"I don't really give a damn about that," Jackson grunted. "You just stay away from my client, thank you very much and as for you-what are you playing at, drinking at breakfast?"

"It's brunch, actually."

Narcisse watched, transfixed, as Wright turned and pointed imperiously at Jackson, cheeks reddening and eyes becoming fierier. He tried to look up at Jackson's face but everything blurred and spun. The only clear thing was Delilah Wright and that necklace of hers.

"You are being childish and petulant."

"Pah, as if you are any better, just because you choose to remain miserable and alone, and here I am, in deman-"

"I am not going through this in public, Delilah, but what sense is there in hiring me if you are not going to be sensible about things?"

"You're only saying that because you just want the money too. You want this necklace too, you want me-"

"Miss Delilah, I think you're still tired-"

The thin, nervous voice spoke again but was interrupted by Jackson, clearly irritated.

"Don't sugarcoat it, she's drunk! Drunk, at this time of the morning! It's ridiculous."

"I think I have a right-I'm a widow, after all. A widow, and everyone, every single person seems to forget that small detail. Oh, don't you all look so surprised. I hear you all talk, I hear all of you talk about his death and the so-called mystery of it-"

"Oh, Delilah."

Despite himself, Narcisse blinked. It was the first time he had ever heard Jackson's voice sound so compassionate. Narcisse tried to see how Wright had reacted but now everything was a smudge of colour and glow, and everything was loud. He had to strain to hear the rest of it.

"What? I know you think it, but he did love me. Doesn't this necklace prove it? After all," Delilah said with a bitter laugh. "It's meant to keep wives beautiful, right?"

"Miss Delilah," the thin, nervous insisted. "Come on, let's go back to your room. I will bring you your food. Mr Jackson, please don't rile Miss Delilah up more, she gets so upset when talking of Mr Holmes."

"You're right-"

No, no, don't go…I need…

Narcisse tried to open his mouth to say the words, but couldn't. He tried to reach out again, but couldn't. The humming rose higher, the most dazzling it had ever been, overwhelming him completely.

Then, everything faded to black.

…

After getting some food, Phaedra had sent Atropos to chat with Leigh more, and Andromeda, Pollux and Iapetus to monitor Tomas', Scarlett's and Jackson's movements. Iapetus had stayed back to make sure that they all had packed the extra snacks they'd bought from the small restaurant after having their brunch, as well as anything else they needed. Since Iapetus used her cuteness as a weapon, but she wasn't known for her solicitousness, Phaedra found herself rather touched by this. She did not know what the members of Memnon were doing and for the time being didn't care. Not only did they have plans to meet after dinner anyway, but she knew that their double agent could keep an eye on them in-between the other duties they were doing. She'd given the double agent an extra instruction to look on Atropos, too. She did not think that Leigh would try anything, even if he had tried to tell someone from outside of the cruise about them, but she wasn't leaving anything up to chance where the safety of her beloveds were concerned.

In the meantime, she, Orpheus and Taygete were trying to find out everything that they could about Alistair Cox. While it was not something they did for every mission, as part of their preparations they often had to research prominent people that they were likely to encounter, especially those who could prove threats such as journalists, other rival organisations, and the outside world's law enforcement. Their bosses usually gave them names, either of individuals or of organisations, but this time there had been nothing. The question of people of interest had been sidestepped with vague excuses and they'd been redirected to looking at the itinerary and re-memorising everything they knew about Tithonus. In fact, looking back, it seemed as though the bosses had been intentionally vague and she was kicking herself now for not realising it back then. Now, however, they had to make up for lost time.

Given his profession, it wasn't surprising that a lot of results came out when they typed his name into the internet search engines. He had his own accounts on those websites people liked to use to post pictures of themselves and other random things, but his seemed to be set that only those who had 'friended' him could see. However, he did also have professional social media, seemingly for the purpose of sharing the photographs he had taken as part of his profession. However, Phaedra did not need to look at those, for Orpheus had found that Alistair's name popped up as being in the by-line for articles from all sorts of newspapers. Photographs by Alistair Cox popped up almost everywhere, in articles going back a good three or four years. They did not go through all of them, but read a few headlines to know that he'd taken photographs for all sorts of articles, primarily dealing with crime or high society, and occasionally crime in high society.

Orpheus and Taygete were looking through those articles, but Phaedra had also discovered a number of photo series that Alistair had apparently done by himself and submitted to a variety of online newspapers. The one that came up the most was his most recent, focussing on the homeless communities in Brooklyn, New York. Apparently, he had visited them before as a fledgling photographer, while under the training of one of the most celebrated photographers in New York as a whole. The series she was looking at charted Alistair revisiting the communities, finding those who had been able to make lives for themselves in the intervening years and meeting those new to the streets.

But there were also just as many in the series who apparently still remained homeless, hopeless. Nowhere to go, no purpose given. Her attention was drawn by one particular photograph of a woman, staring defiantly into the camera while holding a pair of tiny little fabric shoes that, although old and worn, were clean and well kept. A stark contrast to the rest of the woman's appearance, hardened beyond her apparent 40 years of age, dirty and unkempt. The caption said:

"What they don't understand," says Kayla. "Is that if my baby hadn't been taken I'd have had a reason to try and get off of the streets."

Underneath this, an explanation that Kayla's infant daughter had gone missing twenty years ago, soon after she had ended up on the streets after an unscrupulous landlord had kicked her out. Alistair had detailed how Kayla had cared for the little girl, who she'd called 'Lumi' as best as she could under such circumstances but had only been met with contempt and blame when she'd woken up to find the child had vanished and sought help for it. Lumi had never been found in all those years. Most thought she had probably died, but Kayla refused to believe it. She claimed to have no hope anyway, but refused to believe it. Her theory had been that somebody had taken the baby from her, deeming her 'unfit' without giving her a chance.

Phaedra's eyes welled up as her eyes flicked from the caption to the picture to the explanation. How could there be a world where babies were taken from people who loved them but whose only crime was being poor, while other babies were abandoned by parents who were more than privileged? Phaedra wouldn't have minded being poor, if in exchange it meant she had a family who loved her. If she didn't have to always remember that her birth parents had left her out to die.

"That's really sad," Orpheus commented. "I didn't think that such things could happen."

"Whyever not?"

Phaedra jumped, then immediately hated herself for it. Stiffening her shoulders, she turned to see Alistair leaning against the wall next to the computers, smirking at them. It was clear he could see what was on their screens and she quickly moved to close the tab but then Alistair put out a hand as if to stop her.

"Don't bother," he said, coming closer. "I am well used to seeing people research me."

Phaedra felt her skin prickle as Alistair stood right next to her, and she stared up at him guardedly as he took in the picture on the screen. To her surprise, his practised, carefree smirk fell away, replaced with something altogether more wistful.

"It was not a detail that made it into the series, but do you know where Kayla got the name 'Lumi' from? It's not what you'd expect from a poor all-American female who barely made it through high school to come up with, is it?"

Phaedra stared blankly at him, only to find herself startled again when Taygete spoke up:

"It's a word for 'snow' in another language."

Phaedra gawped at Taygete, as did Orpheus. Alistair also raised an eyebrow, looking thoughtful.

"That it most certainly is, but she didn't know that until Philip told her. Philip's the photographer I worked with when I met Kayla for the first time, as I'm sure you knew. In any case, Kayla's reason was because it sounds as though it came out of the word 'illumination' and she liked that, because the baby was her one bright spot. Her source of illumination, you could say. But the child was born in December, so the real meaning was fitting too."

"It was as if fate guided her to that name." Taygete said gently.

"I suppose so," Alistair mused. "But it's a bit cruel of fate to do that and then send someone to take the baby away, and condemn Kayla to not being believed or helped."

"Fate is cruel, and unflinching with it."

Alistair frowned at this for a moment, before exhaling and nodding:

"I suppose you are correct. But it doesn't seem like your friends agree."

He then pointed to Phaedra and Orpheus, and Taygete blushed, her shyer side coming back to the forefront.

"No…that's…uh…."

She trailed off, presumably because there was no good way of saying, no, we were just freaked out that she had overstepped by talking about The Fates. Phaedra looked uncertainly at Alistair, and he gave her a look.

"What?"

"Um…nothing."

"Anyway, she died since then, you know. Kayla, that is. Pneumonia. All too common amongst the homeless community. Well, that and the overdoses, the crime, other illnesses. Do you know the other odd thing I found a number of them had in common?"

"N-no?"

"Missing babies. These women, particularly in Brooklyn and Queens, all had babies taken from them, in similar circumstances to Kayla. All in similar time periods-between twenty-five to eighteen years ago."

"And none of them were ever found?"

"Not a single one."

That fact settled hard deep in Phaedra, somewhere beneath her heart.

"Nobody…nobody ever looked for them?"

"Why would they? Babies they may have been, but they were homeless. There's a multitude of reasons why their plight would have been ignored. Even I am guilty of neglecting it, just by being here. Nonetheless, once I am done here I'll be returning to that, amongst other projects."

"You sure like sticking your nose into lots of places." Orpheus muttered.

Alistair laughed at that, freely and loudly, causing a few other library visitors to look at him. He flapped a hand at them and smiled, before returning his attention to Phaedra, Taygete and Orpheus.

"That I do, but is not as if you're immune to curiosity. Otherwise, you wouldn't be looking me up now, would you? So…what is it you want to know? I'm here now, am I not? Let's leave those computers, sit somewhere else."

"Let's stay in the library," Phaedra said, considering her options as she did so. "But we'll log off the computers."

"Alright then."

Phaedra was all too relieved to not have to use the computers anymore, and happily logged them out before following Taygete and Orpheus to a small circle of armchairs by the windows. Alistair came behind them, and rather than sit normally on the fourth chair he perched on the arm of it instead. He regarded them all keenly, but then as Orpheus put down his bag and riffled through it to get a drink, Alistair pointed and asked:

"Where'd you get that from?"

Orpheus gave him a confused look, but Phaedra was on guard immediately.

"What are you talking about?"

Alistair pointed, and Orpheus looked down at the bag.

"This is…my bag?"

"No, what's inside i-oh, you know what?"

Before any of them could react, Alistair reached down and stuck his hand into the opening of Orpheus's bag, before pulling out a small black item. Phaedra frowned at it, and then asked:

"Is that a…battery?"

Alistair gave her an odd look.

"No…" he said slowly. "It's a recording device. And it's mine."

"Huh? What? How did that get in my bag?" Orpheus spluttered.

"You tell me."

Alistair had suddenly turned cold, taking his jaunty hat off and placing it on his lap, still clutching the black device. Looking a little closer at it, Phaedra could now see very well that it was a recorder, and kicked herself for not seeing that before, and exposing her own stupidity. She sat up straighter, leaning forward slightly.

"Why would we know?" she demanded, voice low.

"It is in his bag." Alistair said, voice equally low. "Tell me how it got there."

"I don't know." Orpheus retorted. "I've never seen that in my life, I don't remember it being there. "

"Are you sure? I can report it to the ship's secur-"

"Please," Taygete said. "My friend wouldn't steal. And not from you. Truthfully, we're trying to avoid you-oh!"

Taygete blushed, covered her mouth and looked to Phaedra.

"Sorry." She whispered.

But somehow, the slip-up seemed to have an effect on Alistair, for he regarded them all with puzzled curiosity, thawing out slightly. Then, he said:

"Empty out your bags, please. And pass them to me so I can check there are no hidden compartments."

"Why, what else have you lost?" Phaedra demanded.

Alistair looked at her, and she gulped. Wordlessly, furious, she upended her bag, but then rather than pass it to him she held it out, and demonstrated going through the different sections to show that there was nothing there. Then, as she put everything back, Taygete and Orpheus followed suit. Whatever it was that Alistair thought they might have, however, they clearly didn't (because of course they didn't) and he relaxed slightly.

"Right. So, why are you trying to avoid me?"

"Because we don't like the media." Orpheus spat.

"We're just trying to mind our own business and enjoy the cruise," Taygete put in. "And it's a bit off-putting to see you always trying to photograph everyone. We're nobody really."

"Aren't you?" Alistair asked.

He put his hat back on, a smile flickering across his face, only widening when he took in their confusion.

"You might not be a big name like the likes of Wright and her entourage, but you all are clearly somebody. After all, you're clearly tied up in something strange. Isn't that right, young lady?"

Alistair paused to point to Taygete, making her blush again, before continuing:

"And the more I've been looking at you, the more I am convinced-you all remind me of somebody. I'm not sure who, but you look like people I've met before, and one way or another I will figure it out. So, you're going to have some trouble avoiding me, I'm afraid. As you'll have noticed from so diligently researching all of my work, I'm persistent when I want to be. It will be no different this time. With that being said, if there's anything you'd like to tell me, then perhaps we can come to an agreement."

"Never. Our business is our own." Phaedra said.

"Not anymore it isn't." Alistair said. "But I'll leave you to it, now."

To what, he didn't specify. Instead, he got up with a flourish, even having the audacity to bow slightly before leaving the library. And leaving the three of them sitting there, gawping like goldfish, with no idea what to do next.

…

Deimos wondered for the fifth or sixth time if it would have been better to leave Narcisse in their cabin. Then, for the fifth or sixth time he scolded himself for having such a thought. Narcisse had been climbing the walls, lost in feverish delusion and desire. In such a state, they could not be trusted to be left to rest. Deimos felt it in the air, something very bad was going to happen tonight, and he was damned if any of them would succumb to it. So he'd sent the others ahead to the main dining hall, and then followed on a little later, holding onto Narcisse's hand tightly. The corridors were busier, which made it easier for Deimos to bluster on ahead without looking back, without having to look at Narcisse's clammy skin and vacant eyes.

Nonetheless, he didn't ease his grip when the two of them entered the hall, and he spotted the statuesque Nike standing to attention and clearly looking for them both. Instead, he used his free hand to wave, and then pulled Narcisse through. Then, he sat them both down, making sure Narcisse was in the seat closest to the corner. But still, he did not let go.

"You can't eat with only one hand." Tyche said.

"Watch me." Deimos bit back.

Since the dinner was self-serve in the main dining hall, Tyche, Nike and Chione had gathered all three courses of the meal in one go. Deimos found it was an easy matter to scoop up soup with one hand, but then cutting up the roast potatoes, vegetables and steak was another matter completely.

"They're fine," Chione said quietly. "They're hemmed in, after all."

Narcisse was staring straight ahead, eyes flickering rapidly despite their emptiness, clearly looking for Delilah. Thankfully, there was no way that they'd catch sight of her-that was why the girls had been sent ahead, in order to ensure that their table wasn't anywhere near where Wright would be sitting. Nonetheless, there was nothing fine about the way Narcisse was so unresponsive. Deimos was all prepared to fire a scathing retort at Chione when he realised that she wasn't even looking at him anymore. Instead, she was guiding the soup spoon to Narcisse's mouth, wordlessly coaxing him into taking a sip. Apparently, she had been doing this for a while without him noticing because he saw the bowl was almost empty. Once it was actually empty though, Chione seamlessly moved onto chopping up Narcisse's main course and feeding it to him, bite at a time. She only paused to tuck strands of her hair behind her ear, to readjust the strap of her top, but otherwise she was unfaltering in her concentration.

Deimos scrutinised her for a moment longer, watched her steadfast devotion and the way her dark hair glittered under the lights whenever she had to tuck a strand away. Then, slowly he lifted his fingers away from Narcisse, and carried on eating his food with much more ease than he had done before. As he did so, he looked around the room. He did not see Wright, but he did see her maid going to and from the food table looking nervous, while Tomas seemed to be sitting apart, looking at paperwork. Geez, he really is a 'square', isn't he? Deimos thought. Isn't he worried about getting gravy and stuff all over his food?

Not that that was his problem in any shape or form, so Deimos didn't spend that much time looking at Tomas, and instead noted how Jackson seemed to be going in and out of the room constantly, looking a little grey while Alistair darted from table to table, chatting cheerfully and taking pictures, not just of the people but of the room itself. I wonder if he's looking for something, Deimos thought, for certainly there seem to be plenty of places here things could be hidden. Deimos began to study the room closely, as best as he could while still sitting down and eating. He didn't know quite what it was he was looking for, though. However, as he looked, he realised that he could hear the humming that the necklace had been making. It was a distant sound, muffled by the noise the other guests and all their cutlery were generating, but it was there.

"Hey," he turned to ask the girls. "Did you see if Wright was wear-"

A glass shattered.

A glass shattered, and bought silence with it. The entire room seemed to hold its breath. Deimos reached to grab Narcisse's hand, ready to pull them up and away from all this, when all the light seemed to get sucked away. One minute there, one minute gone. Blackness, all-consuming. Deimos searched and searched but couldn't draw from a single thread of light. The windows…he thought faintly as people started to scream…what about the windows? He pushed forward, pushing and shoving just as much as he himself got pushed and shoved, trying to say something but finding his words swallowed up by the chaos. The air was so thick, so hard to breathe in. Nothing made sense, he was reduced to instinct and movement, helpless. But he kept pushing, until another sound seemed to cut through the noise.

"Detective, Detective?!"

Is that…?

Then, a piercing scream and:

"Frederick!"

Recognising Wright's voice for sure, Deimos tried to turn towards it but in that moment was pushed so hard that he fell to his knees. The thick, pulsating fear in the air made it hard to get up again, though he tried and tried. Just as he did manage it, however, there was a loud click and an eerie red glow. Deimos stiffened, cringing instinctively, but then he realised that the people around him seemed to be calming, the air thinning out again.

"Emergency lights." Nike's voice said next to him.

Deimos whipped around, embarrassed by the squeeze of his heart when he saw that Nike, Chione and Tyche were standing nearby, seeming unharmed. But that feeling didn't last very long when he saw that Narcisse was not with them, replaced with a rapidly rising nausea that just kept going when a new but familiar smell wafted into his nostrils.

Blood.

Looking to the others, he saw that they had noticed it too, and beckoned them forward. A small crowd was gathering, and there were murmurs of horror, a few shrieks bubbling up here and there. He saw the members of Emathion at the edge of this crowd, but didn't care as he also spotted a familiar ponytail. Deimos practically leapt over other onlookers to get to them.

"Narcisse!"

Narcisse turned, and their eyes were alert again. Alert, but scared and tired.

"It's gone, Dei," they said in a broken whisper. "It's gone."

"What's gone, Narcisse?" Deimos asked, still gripping Narcisse's wrist despite the fact he seemed more himself.

"It's gone…"

Deimos clicked his tongue, suddenly annoyed. But that smell was overpowering, and he forced himself to focus. I need to see what is happening. Somehow, he knew that what he was going to see was so much worse than the last time he'd followed such a smell, but he made himself push forward.

"Dear gods…." He murmured.

Delilah Wright lay on the ground, curled up on her side, legs splayed at unnatural angles. One hand was held to her neck, which had been slashed violently. The blood pooled through her fingers and all around her, and it seemed she had been stabbed elsewhere too, from the slashes in the dress she wore, a backless number in a similar shade to the blood that now stained it. Her expression was frozen in anguish, and would never change again. After all, Deimos knew what death looked like when he saw it. Something was wrong with this picture though, wrong beyond the brutal violence inflicted upon Wright.

"She's-She's DEAD!"

This scream from a random guest re-sparked the hysteria, making a deafening din, but as Deimos leaned forward to get a closer look at Wright he realised that there was one sound that he was not hearing. Voices, screaming, furniture moved and glass shattered. All of those, he could hear. But there had been one sound that had disappeared into the darkness and not come out again.

The fizzing and the humming.

Narcisse kept muttering 'it's gone, it's gone', but Deimos had a feeling he knew now what his co-leader was talking about. So he allowed himself to briefly let go of Narcisse's wrist and kneel down, taking a closer look at Wright's body. Or, to be more specific, her neck. Not the elegant column of it, marred by that horrific wound. Not the blood coating the perfect skin or the hair that had ended up stuck in the blood as it draped across her face. Not the hand clutching at that wound so desperately. No, Deimos did not look at what was there but rather what was not. What had gone.

The necklace had gone.