His throat was dry, his lips cracked. When he tried to open his eyes, the light was bright, the room warm. There was someone close to him. He could feel their presence nearby, and reached out with a large scarred hand. He gripped her wrist with calloused fingers.

"Water," he managed to croak, his voice catching in the back of his throat. "Please."

He felt her shift, and released his grip. Then the hard rim of a glass pressed gently against his lower lip. He took three long desperate gulps before relieving her of the glass entirely. His head felt heavy, but he pushed himself into a sitting position with all the strength he could muster. A damp cloth fell from his head and landed in his lap. As he removed it and set it down on the floor, he noticed the cat watching him with suspicious yellow eyes from the other side of the room.

Luke drained the rest of the water and set the glass down on the floorboards. He rested his head in his right hand and took a moment to get his thoughts in order.

"You're Minori?" he asked the young woman, lifting his gaze from the floor for the first time. It felt strange, unnatural to look at her so directly. It had been heads down or a whip lash on the boat. "You write the newspaper?" He shifted himself, sliding across the floor to prop himself up against her sofa.

"I found your paper last time I was on shore," Luke explained, drawing up his knees to his chest. "I read your report, about kids going missing." He paused, and took a deep breath. "I thought...I hoped, you might be able to help me."

Exhausted tears burned at the back of his eyes. Embarrassed, Luke pressed the heels of his hands against his face, trying to push them back. He took a deep steadying breath, chancing another glance up at her. She had kind eyes, and a sympathetic mouth. It had been so long since he'd seen either.

"Eight years ago," he explained, "I was one of those kids. Tonight...tonight I ran away, from the bastards who've kept me. But miss," Luke reached out and took her hand. He looked imploringly into his eyes. "They've still got my familiar. Isaac. And if I'm not back there at sunrise, they're going to kill him. I need...I need you to help me save him. Please, he's the only thing I've got. I need him to be okay! I promised him I'd get help. He's counting on me. I..."

He broke off, unable to say anymore. Luke wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his father's jacket. The feel of the leather stirred something in the back of his mind. And it wasn't just another headache. "My case?" he said, looking around the room, "I had a case? A guitar case? Where is it?"

His stomach growled. Not now.

"Will you do it?" Luke asked the girl again, giving her hand a squeeze. "Please tell me you'll do it? Otherwise I've got to go back. And if I go back..." He shook his head, "If Isaac and I can't be free," he told her, firmly, "I can't take it any longer, I won't. This is the last chance for both of us. Please miss. Please say you'll help."