There was a moment of silence, during which Nate had just enough time to get really, really, really worried. If that one jailbreak had taught him anything, it was that moments of silence were not good signs.
Then he had to stop being worried, because his brain was mostly taken up by screaming, OH SWEET MERLIN POUNCING GERARD at him in tones of great distress. POUNCING GERARD POUNCING GERARD GET OUT OF THE WAY OF THE POUNCING GERARD!
"Protego!" he shouted, scrambling backwards and wondering feverishly how the hell Gerard had figured out where he was. It wasn't sight, it wasn't sound — was it body heat? Brainwaves? Scent?
Body heat or scent, it had to be. Fuck, it'd been at least a year since he practiced concealing his scent. He crossed his fingers and tried it, hoping it would work.
"William, what's going on?" he asked, throwing his voice again.