Vin paced just outside the entrance to the docking bay that held his parents’ ship. Four Imperial Legionnaires stood at the door, barring entry to everyone—including him.

Kaveh had picked up on his mood and also stalked back and forth, making periodic low, rumbling growls at the soldiers. Legionnaires were, for the most part, fearless, but there was a definite air of nervousness as the lion curled his lips and snarled. Vin would have done the same thing if he’d thought it would help.

Vin wasn’t the only person here waiting for news. More marshals and legionnaires spread through the port, holding back the larger number of Griffons who had gathered, desperate for answers. Fear and anger pressed in with suffocating weight.

Vin had gotten through that first barrier on sheer force of will, but the guards at the door that stood between him and Executor were holding to their orders and wouldn’t budge.

He was still struggling to believe. The ship—his parents—how could this be true? How could this be real?

The commotion behind escalated as a familiar voice demanded to be let through. A familiar presence against Vin’s nima-granted senses. Vin wasn’t at all surprised when the guards relented and Hamilton joined him.

He didn’t ask any questions, didn’t make any demands. He stood quietly, but Vin could feel the tension, the anger that Hamilton wasn’t making any effort to bury beneath his etheric gift.

The docking bay door slid open and the Emperor was there, with Kristoph and Roderich behind her. Hamilton knelt. Naveen stayed standing, his eyes on Alexia’s face, searching for a better answer than what he feared.

And then her grief slammed against him like a tidal wave, so staggering he had to take a step back. A moment later it was gone, pulled back under tight control, but Vin knew what he’d felt and what it meant.

Still, she came over to him, rested a hand on his shoulder as she looked up into his eyes. Her other hand she held out to Hamilton. He stood and came over next to Vin. She regarded them both. “I’m sorry.”

It didn’t feel real. Vin only half listened as Roderich filled in the details of what they’d found on Executor. His voice sounded hollow, like it was coming from a great distance. Or maybe Vin was the one at a distance.

Vin said…something…in response. The words left his mouth and he had no memory of them after.

Clearer were Hamilton’s words. “Thank you, my Emperor.” Polite, courtier sounds. They were a mask over the pulsing pain within him, a counterpoint to Vin’s own ache.

Roderich spoke his next words slowly and clearly, and they stabbed into Vin like so much ice. “Funeral arrangements must be made, Lord Suri.”

“No.” Vin wasn’t sure what he was arguing with. The title? The arrangements? Everything that was happening? “No.”

“That can wait.” Alexia’s voice was nothing but kindness, but she gave Roderich a sharp look.

Vin understood. Roderich was reminding him—reminding him of everything. Of his abandoned duty, of the clan, of all those things that the Lord of the Swan would consider the highest priority.

Vin simply couldn’t. Not right now. He pulled free of Alexia’s gentle hand and pushed his way back through the assembled crowd.

He could feel Hamilton follow. Hamilton’s anguish was sharp, hot. Vin’s own insides were a void, a deep, dark hole threatening to pull him down and drown him, but Hamilton’s pain was fire and razor edges. Vin stopped, let him catch up.

“This can’t be real.” Hamilton’s words were raw, his voice hollow. Gone was his polished, perfect veneer.

Vin might have felt the same way except for the battering onslaught of Alexia’s own grief. That had made everything concrete. It was real. It was impossible, but it was true.

In a heartbeat, Vin’s world had shattered and reformed, and the enormity of everything was too much. It wouldn’t fit into his brain, this new shape. Every time he tried to make sense of it, he started to sink back down into the black pit.

He couldn’t look down there. It was too much, too much. He needed a lifeline. Something to keep him from falling.

He grabbed Hamilton by the shirt, dragged him close, and kissed him.

His senses were wide open, letting Hamilton’s emotions wash through Vin as though they were his own. A flare of surprise, followed quickly by need as Hamilton’s fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. That desperation for escape, the search to feel something, anything else.

Vin pushed, drove Hamilton back without breaking contact, until they hit a wall with enough force to make Hamilton grunt. Vin swallowed that sound, and drank in the pain that had driven it.

Hamilton’s twinned anguish and desire were a drug. Hamilton was a drug. Had always been.

Hamilton’s pain was safe. It wasn’t Vin’s pain. It wasn’t that bottomless pit of loss that he couldn’t escape. It was sharp and aching and Vin could stoke it, control it.

Use it.

Vin’s stomach rebelled and he pulled back so fast he felt, rather than heard, Hamilton’s gasp.

“No,” Vin choked out. “No, I can’t.”

He wouldn’t use Hamilton. Not like this. Not on top of his parents’ graves.

“Vin…” Hamilton’s eyes were liquid pools behind his mask. They were begging with words Hamilton would never say. A desperation Vin could feel reaching out for him.

“I can’t,” he repeated and pushed Hamilton away.

He didn’t run as he turned towards his own section of the palace, but he was fleeing nonetheless.