“So here's the deal,” I say, tapping the page with my chewed-up pencil. “You're hunting for anything about the Appalachian paths, Salt Flats route, Sierra Red, or Yellowstone Track.”
Chad's eyebrow does that annoying arch thing. “And these are...?”
“Dragon breadcrumbs, genius. Hedder's scouts tracked the retreating dragons along these routes. One of them has to lead to Draethys, some underground hideout or magical doorway or whatever. The timeline fits perfectly with when they vanished after those last big battles.”
“Right,” Chad says, stretching the word like taffy. “Just four massive geographical areas to search. No biggie.”
“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming,” I mutter, going back to my notes.
I catch him watching me from the corner of my eye. Every time I look up, he suddenly finds Hedder's chicken-scratch handwriting fascinating. Whatever. Not like I'm sneaking glances at his stupidly perfect jawline when he's not looking. Okay, once.
Meanwhile, Jax is still half-dead in his tomb, Mom's practically living there, and I'm drowning in dusty books while the world outside keeps falling apart. Another skirmish, another clearblood attack, another day of dragons screwing up everything.
“Bonneville,” Chad says suddenly.
I blink. “What?”
“The Bonneville Salt Flats. I found something.”
Chad slides the notebook across the table. “Second paragraph. Read it.”
I squint at Hedder's cramped handwriting. “I identified a rune pattern underneath the salts. Ancient of origin. Could be them.” My heart kicks against my ribs.
“She tried to bypass them,” Chad says, tapping the page. “Got herself blown halfway to Nevada. Spent weeks recovering.”
He flips the page. A single line jumps out at me.
“Their secret is safe with me,” I read aloud, the words electricon my tongue.Holy crap. I look up at Chad, who's watching me with this expectant expression. “Well damn, Valgrave. Turns out there's an actual brain hiding under all that hair product.”
His face goes stony. No comeback. Just that muscle in his jaw twitching. Great. Now I feel like crap for insulting him when he actually helped. Which is stupid because he's been nothing but a pain in my ass for weeks.
Whatever. Salems don't apologize.
“Let's get to training,” he says, pushing back from the table. “We're done here.”
“Are you kidding me? We just found a freaking doorway to dragon-ville and you want to go play spirit tag instead?”
“It would be practice for the trial?—”
“No.”
The library door crashes open. Corvin storms in, face ghost-white, eyes like thunderclouds. My stomach drops into my shoes. Chad snaps to attention beside me, all broad shoulders and perfect posture, looking like some recruitment poster forHero Complex Weekly.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Corvin's voice booms across the stacks.
“Research, sir,” I squeak. Real smooth, Brynn. Real authoritative.
“Research for what?”
Chad's eyes dart to mine, and I catch the surprise there—guess he's not in on everything after all. Something cold slides down my spine, and I glance behind him where the faint, smoky outline of Ezekiel Salem hovers. Great-great-whatever Zeke shakes his almost-transparent head at me, one bony finger pressed to his lips.Fantastic. Because clearly, what this moment needed was a dead man with opinions.
“Just, uh, trying to find my sister, sir,” I mutter, frowning. “Thought maybe those dusty archives nobody ever looks at might actually be useful for once.”
“Nonsense.” Corvin's face flushes that special shade reservedfor when I'm being particularly annoying. “You're supposed to be training for your trials.”
Chad steps forward. “If you don't mind me asking, sir, how did the search go?”
“Not good,” Corvin grunts. “No trace of Esme anywhere.”
