He can hear the light cutting through the air; it makes him think of the sharp crack that comes as lightning heats the air around it. That's the first thing that triggers unease, the kind of feeling that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The lights clash, slide apart, clash again.

Declan moves a bit faster through the dark wood, navigating as carefully as he can to avoid tripping or making too much noise. As he gets closer he can see the bodies moving. He hates the rush of adrenaline that comes when he recognizes the choreography of a fight.

And of a party that is possibly losing ground.

Is that--Ronan? He'd recognize the shape of his brother's body anywhere. Jesus. Jesus.