“Hey! You’re here!” A man’s voice echoed from behind the torch, but the friendliness of his tone—an American accent, Ian noted—sharpened into alarm. “Shit, what happened to you?”
Ian lifted his arm to shield his eyes, trying to see who now approached him with far quicker steps. The man who emerged was only a few inches shorter, with dark hair shaved in a military cut, and darker eyes shadowed in a long, angular face. The additional shadow in his chin could only be a cleft, and the full slash of his mouth was now drawn into a worried line. At the moment, his heavy brows were pulled together, and he switched the silver torch, nearly as long as Ian’s forearm, to his left hand in order to reach out with his right.
“Did they drop you down or something?” The touches were careful and fleeting, moving from one torn part of his jumper to another. “And where’s your coat? It’s freezing down here.”