Holly could hear Artemis breathing. And she shouldn't be able to hear him breathing, from the distance she was at, and that was both a good sign and a bad one: a good sign because the increased activity meant the sedative was wearing off and the girl would soon wake up. But it hurt so much, seeing her thrash around: at least, in the deep, sedative-induced sleep, Artemis had had some peace.

Oh, Holly had tried to distract herself, to make conversation, to look away, but her eyes inevitably fell back on the couch. Artemis, who loved to show off her self-control, was sprawled in a slouching pose. They had carefully laid her down, tucking a blanket around her but all it had took was to glance away to find her curled up like an animal, tendons protruding from the backs of her hands, clawed around the fabric and trembling, and a sheen of sweat beading her furrowed brow. Purple capillaries branched out across her eyelids, and behind them her eyes darted nervously, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. The lamplight cast merciless shadows on her cheekbones, and her waxy skin appeared impossibly thin, almost transparent: with her makeup ruined and the strategic spotlights gone, Artemis looked like a ghost pretending to be human.

Holly had never seen her like that. Never. Not when Butler died, not when she had found herself back to the present three years too late, not even when she had decided to erase her existence from her family's memory. Even when all odds had seemed against her, Artemis had fought with a strength that belied her thin frame. She had always had a plan to emerge victorious, no matter how desperate the situation.

"No weapons, no connection," said Minerva in a singsong voice. "And you can easily solve the stealth ore issue by just swallowing your pride and applying Artemis' method." She gave Foaly a smile that was more shark- than human-like: “So, hold your horses, centaur. Behave, and I’ll make you a tinfoil unicorn. It’ll be more useful this way than on your head, oui?”

Of one thing, she was certain – the elf had thought while Foaly asked yet another question that Artemis would surely have answered in a sentence or two, if only he had let her speak: with the Atlantis Complex consuming her from the inside out, Artemis needed her friends to be there for her (whether she liked it or not), to support her. Not to throw jabs at her and risk breaking the tenuous bond that still kept her anchored to sanity.

Holly was about to point this out to Foaly with a discreet gesture (a kick in the shins, and horses have very long shins), when Artemis reminded her that – Atlantis Complex or not – she was still the girl who had outwitted the LEP, and then Jon Spiro and Opal Koboi, who had ripped Hybras away from Limbo, the cure for Spelltropy from her own grasp, a force to be reckoned with.

And never forget: Artemis is a huntress, she will never become a prey.

The Wooden House in Kilmore hadn't changed much since the events that had caught Artemis' interest. And what had changed hadn't been for the better. Perhaps at the beginning of the 20th century, an inn built on the hulk of a ship wasn't noteworthy, but a century later, more unscrupulous – and farsighted – investors could make nice money off that idea: after all, there were plenty of establishments claiming to be authentic Irish pubs when a quick search of the city archives would reveal that a year or two earlier they'd been hardware stores or plant shops.

But farsightness wasn't a trait of the current management. Oh, Butler had been in worse, far worse places but he could well imagine the glare Artemis would have for the graffiti etched into the ancient wood, the jukebox in the corner, or – most horrifying of all – the lollipop display proudly perched on the counter. Two of his former principal's peers were engaged in more age-appropriate activities with the arcade machines, and a few younger children passed between the tables singing, "Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday, christened on Tuesday, married on Wednesday..."

Butler stiffened. Of all the nursery rhymes...

He had hoped his reaction had gone unnoticed, and it certainly had among the patrons of the Wooden House, but someone else’s eyes were sharper. Much sharper. "I'm fine," he said. He feared his voice would sound annoyed, and was ready to apologize for it, but it was just tired. The principal’s death was a bodyguard's nightmare, surviving them the capital failure. But knowing her in the grasp of an enemy he couldn't fight with his weapons was a thousand times worse. "It was the only nursery rhyme Artemis' father recounted her. He said it would teach her something. Artemis always hated it."

The hand that had brushed his shoulder retreated. Her owner understood. Her, yes. Butler suspected that in the early 1900s, the Wooden House might have attracted rebellious young aristocrats – he had hung around St. Bartleby's enough to know the type, even if Artemis had never shown anything but contempt for that kind of behavior – but no respectable woman would have voluntarily set foot in there, and he doubted a hundred years had changed things... unless said women were accompanied by six-foot-two of hard muscles in a dark suit. The patrons turned to look at the two girls... and continued to turn as soon as they noticed him.

Not that said girls needed it. The patrons of that hellhole probably believed such things restricted to the wuxia movie playing on the flat screen, but Butler knew the training his sister had undergone, and Juliet would be capable of taking down all of them. At the same time. With one arm tied behind her back.

Silence had been a part of Artemis' life for longer than she could remember. It had been a part of it before the sinking of the Fowl Star, the silence of a father who talked with her via email, and it had been a part of it afterward, the silence of her office as she worked to bring the father she'd never truly wanted back. Two opposite kinds of silence, but Artemis had suffered them equally. And yet, she had made it her own, integrating it among her weapons. Hiding herself under it like a cloak. And, as the silence gradually faded, as life returned to Fowl Manor, as Fowl Manor was no longer hers, she had found herself time and again missing it. Searching for it.

But there was a third silence, and it was the greatest silence, one that had accompanied Artemis throughout all her life. A silence she could no longer ignore. It accompanied her footsteps, the tapping of her fingers, the music Artemis desperately tried to drown it out with. It followed her everywhere.

Because the third silence was more subtle one. The third silence was the silence of genius. The silence that answered her voice when her musings on art and science went unheard. The silence that reminded her she spoke a language no one else could understand. The silence that separated her from the rest of the world, solitude the price she had paid for her intelligence.

The bodyguard answered on the first ring: "Holly?"

"Yes, it's me," she said, leaning her head against the back of the couch as a wave of nostalgia washed over her. And it was strange, because in the past, she had gone much longer without seeing or hearing her human friends, but never had she felt so happy to hear Butler's deep voice. Something had changed in the meantime, even if it were just the memory of a world beyond goblins to be thrown in jail and malfunctions in an antediluvian maintenance plant. Or maybe her world had always been this, and only now had she realized how small Haven really was? She quickly pushed that thought away: "It’s been a while."

"It is," and Holly frowned. Unlike his principal, who at times could be quite the little bitch, it wasn't like Butler to rub salt in the wound, and – now that the thrill of hearing the voice of an old friend was fading – she noticed that there was a tension in the bodyguard's voice she'd never heard before. Actually, no, she had heard it: on the occasions when Artemis had been in trouble and Butler couldn't be there to protect her.

Holly wasn't one to beat around the bush: "Is everything okay, big man?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line: "I think it'd be easier to explain if you were there. Can you come aboveground?"

Holly considered it: the emergency was over, so no problem in that regard. Trouble would probably make a big fuss: had been like this since the New Year's Eve incident, and Holly found that prince charming attitude unbearable: she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Luckily, Vinyáya would give her a visa without further questions: the Wing Commander had been the one monitoring Hybras's return, and then the supposed booster shot for Spelltropy, enough to know that when Artemis was involved, things could go either south or north really fast.

"Sure," she said.

Butler sounded relieved: "Perfect. Do you know where Minerva's flat is?"

"In Geneva?" Holly asked, wondering what Butler was even doing in Switzerland.

"That one."

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