Dhomhes hated that he had brought it there.
“We haven't found them,” he said before the old male could ask.
Head Hawn lowered the blade.
“All right.”
It was not all right. The words were only a way of getting to the next breath.
He dismissed the attendant at the far door and set the weapon on a side table. Not in its place on the wall. Close enough to take up again.
Dhomhes told him about the orders. He kept to what he knew: the valid credentials, the missing hazard report, the equipment assignment no receiving team had requested. The search was continuing. The records were being secured.
Hawn listened without interrupting.
When Dhomhes finished, he asked, “Does whoever sent them know where my son is?”
“I don't know.”
“But you think there is something there.”
“I think someone wants us to stop looking. I can't yet tell you why.”
Hawn turned toward the wall of weapons.
His gaze found Fiviel's place as readily as Dhomhes's own had. The empty space beneath the hanging ju-nak seemed indecently ordinary. Stone and shadow. Room for a male who ought to have been standing there, objecting to both of them discussing him so solemnly.
“He would have gone back for her,” Hawn said.
Dhomhes swallowed. “The guard saw him catch her.”
“Yes.”
The old male reached for the practice blade again. His thumb traveled along the worn grip.
“I used to make him repeat a hold until he hated me for it. He thought strength should be enough. Why bother with his fingers if he could simply pick his opponent up?”
“That sounds like him.”
“He was six.”
Despite himself, Dhomhes smiled.
“He's improved his argument since then. Very little.”
Hawn's mouth moved. The resemblance to his son hurt worse when he almost smiled.
“I keep thinking about those hands,” he said. “How much he could hold.”
Dhomhes had no answer worthy of the confidence.
He stood beside him instead.
After a while Hawn set down the blade, carefully this time.
“When you know who has been doing this, I want the name,” Hawn said.
“You will have it as soon as I can stand behind it.”