One man's bubble of security is another's bubble of doom. The boy couldn't help but notice that glow, as his eyes adjusted to the surrounding colors in the dimness, as he did what the basilard suggested. He took off his shirt, some random ping of worry wondering what he'd do if the blade cut the material -- why'd he forgotten the thing's sheath? he only had one shirt, and without Iarei it was now precious to him -- as his own awareness pressed out around him. He was still calming down, would not be completely calm in such a situation, but his own will and drive to survive meant that he wouldn't go down into a blubbering mess. Kids on the street who did either wound up sold, beaten or dead. Boy'd survived enough beatings to have adjusted early on. Did that mean he was lucky? Still not so lucky as the fat kids up in the good parts of town, but now he was losing focus and he shouldn't do that.
He almost told the voice no out of some crazed desire to blame the thing, to deny it as a source of instruction even as he yearned for the familiarity of that instruction. He almost didn't move to show how independent and brave he was, no matter that he'd just asked for directions. But he wanted to move. He wanted something to do, anything better than staying frozen behind crates, waiting for doom to happen upon him.
Several shaky breaths later he was creeping towards the light, sticking to the outskirts of the warehouse. The light of the lantern 'aids his allies vision' according to the voice, but the boy could use it too. He had the voice, and he also knew that they were there, where they didn't know where he was. So long as he listened hard and watched his step he could figure out where they were compared to him, and stay out of their path. That was the problem with the warehouse -- there were things to hide behind, but they were scattered. He would have to decide ahead of time where he was going in relation to where the two men were, and not mess up along the way.
He had as good of night vision as anyone, but that didn't make him impervious to mistakes. He wasn't a fighter. He was out of practice when it came to sneaking. Iarei'd hit him when he'd made the suggestion that she get him lessons, and she'd been mad for a whole day about it. He didn't get it. Seemed to him the ones who were stronget always got what they wanted, no matter what she said about there being "different kinds of strength, could you be any more stupid?"
There was a scraping noise, followed by a spate of muttered words and a distant noise of wood hitting stone. It was behind him and to the side. He paused at the edge of his current cover, shifting to make sure it stayed between him and the other man. They weren't exactly trying to be quiet, but they still made noise: the other one was on the other side of the warehouse and -- after a few daring and excruciating peeks around his cover -- not looking his way at all. That left the one behind him. The man was getting closer, and boy's skin was suddenly wet while his mouth went dry. If he moved forward, he'd be caught. Breathing through his mouth slowly despite his lungs' sudden need for air, now, he listened as hard as he could so that he could crabwalk accordingly. He wanted to hide. He wanted a hole to curl up in, where he could squeeze his eyes shut and wait for all of them to go away.
"Door here!" It was the other one, the one from the other side of the warehouse. The boy caught his breath.
The man near him paused. Boy heard the scrape of his boot as he turned, and without thinking he darted forward for the next cluster of crates as the man answered with, "What about it?"
"I ain't goin' down there alone, c'mere."
The banter went on until the two men went into the room below, and the boy hopped forward by two new clusters. There was a new problem, though -- whether by the call of "Body! Been messed with" or some other reason, the man with the light had started walking into the warehouse. Boy had not yet picked up anything with which to use, and there was no handy debris with which to use to throw at the man. Not that he noticed. There was nothing he could see but the boxes he hid behind. "What do I do?" His voice was small, and angry, and pitiful all at once.
The two men emerged from the room, approaching the man with the lantern. They were discussing the body, and the disturbed dust in that long-sealed tomb.