The rain had long since stopped, leaving behind a thick mist that clung tightly to the night like a warm blanket.
Ilyan started awake as a cold breeze swept into the room. His eyes swept the room frantically, looking for something that wasn't there.
He muttered feverishly, sweat sliding down his forehead. "The wall... Ross... they're closing us in. Trapping us like cattle. They'll come. I know it. They always do."
The light from the flame of the oil lamp on the nearby table flickered, sending shadows dancing across the room. Ilyan eyed them suspiciously, staring without blinking.
He sat up slowly, his muscles aching. He could feel his exhaustion clinging to him, weighing him down, but the voices in his head screamed louder. Much louder.
He slowly rose to his feet, staggering before steadying himself. He needed to do something. By himself. Bellamy and Maria would try to stop him. He mustn't allow that.