"Where were you?" He had to ask. His imagination had been far too good at filling in the blanks with the worst scenarios it could create. A cold lump of dread formed in his throat formed in his throat at the all too real possibility that what had happened to him had happened to Claude - except Lloyd had only been tortured one night. Claude had been missing for days.

He searched again for any sign of injuries. His own injuries from that night had healed well enough, at least on the surface, new skin growing around the edges of the fake Key Crest that he'd been given, but all he had to do was notice how dull his sense of touch was to know with cold certainty injuries didn't have to be visible in order for there to be something very, very wrong.