“Good luck then,” he called back before stopping. “And do try to not to harm any more of my friends, Handy." He turned to look at Jacques but couldn't make out his expression through the heavy rain, the water running off the brim of his hat. He watched as he disappeared into the gloom. If there was anybody still outside at this hour, or even on the few remaining ships in the harbour, they couldn't see more than a foot or so in front of him. Handy certainly couldn't. A faint tremor of pain, familiar to him now, arced up his arm, and he winced, reminding him of yet another little problem he was pretending didn't exist. On a whim, he reached out with his left hand, placing it against the wall of the warehouse, slick as it was with rainwater. Nothing, no little clouds of light signifying life inside that he could see. No subtle indentations or stress lines or other almost imperceptible weaknesses he could see and exploit. The power was gone, the pitiful amount of blood he had consumed used up, despite having never actually used its power. He'd hold out for maybe another day before the hunger bit again, and he scowled at the thought.