Yaxley had tried to explain what happened with Walter the night they'd disposed of his body, but seeing it—experiencing it through her eyes—caused bile to rise in his throat, leaving a stinging sensation when he finally swallowed it back down. He could have killed the man if he hadn't been dead already; he almost wished he would have given him an extra kick to the face before they finally rid of him. The thought of someone putting their hands on Rowan in such a manner was enough to make him see read; watching it was a new kind of torture.

Fortunately the scene didn't drag on, and before he could even begin the process of relinquishing a hold on her mind, she managed to yank herself from his grip. The connection was lost so suddenly that sparks flashed behind his eyelids, briefly blinding him. He blinked rapidly until his vision cleared, the lights and shadows finally separating into coherent shapes.

"Rowan—" he started, watching her struggle to catch her breath as she leaned against the shack walls. He took long, deep breaths, steadying himself not just for his own sake, but so he didn't say or do anything that spooked her. "Are you alright?"

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