There was too much fire in my veins to remember everything clearly. I had only one thought then. I only wanted that sick bastard off me and burning. And when his face blurred together with Caius’ and those awful eyes looked down at me, I had wanted to end him. To end all of them.
We were back in the corridor, but this time it was lined with battle mages. Explosions thundered from above, the sound rolling down the stairs as the squads marched through it.
The crack of splintering wood echoed where it seemed like a few Scions were already engaged with battle mages.
As we reached the ground floor, Reagan gestured once to Heil, who caught the signal.
The Scions in our way scurried out of sight. Reagan took one glanced around the mansion’s corridor, and his power expanded outward. Doors and windows slammed shut, the ward sealing all exits and trapping the Scions inside.
Battle mages poured from everywhere. Furniture lay overturned, a chandelier swayed overhead, and dust hung thick in the air, stinging my throat.
Few Scions attempted to flee, others were already bound, pinned in place by translucent bindings that gleamed faintly as they strained against them. The ground floor unfolded like a slow-moving battlefield.
We made way for the captives emerging from the rooms, frightened bodies and gaunt faces guided by battle mages toward the waiting portal underground.
We were barely needed. All the squads moved in complete organization.
It was oddly satisfying to see so few of the Scions attempt to fight back, and those who did fell swiftly, the prolonged exposure to the bloodbane likely the cause.
My focus narrowed on the staircase and we pressed forward.
On the next floor, I led us through the widest corridor of the mansion, searching for Madden as Reagan held back the men in our path. Predictably, his rooms were in the most lavishly adorned space.
The man Reagan identified as Madden’s shield stood at the doorway, barring our advance.
“Madden might already be trying to shuffle threads,” I warned Reagan as the Scion glanced between us.
“Can you find him?” Reagan urged low. “I’ll deal with this one.”
“I’ll try.”
I pivoted behind him, staying within Reagan’s ward. He taunted the Scion who was broader than he was. My eyes closed, and I let the eagle go, finding that dreadful silver thread from the Order’s head, along with the ones tangled close by.
Accessing the Sight was as naturally as breathing now. It had become instinct to reach for the threads, especially Madden’s.
Static and loud grunts crackled through the corridor where we stood, yet I kept searching for a disturbance in the threads, for a single strand of time disturbed.
Tracing Madden’s thread backwards, I saw him bark orders, saw him jolt awake at the explosion, saw him moments before, asleep.
Further along the thread, the sheets shifted. Someone had been beneath him, someone I hadn’t seen leave. In the gloom of the Sight, another thread quivered near me, warming suddenly.
“Reagan, we need to enter the roomnow,” I warned.
There was a rough grunt in his general direction. “Just a second.”
But we had no more time. The other thread was warmer, brighter, and I knew Giddeon was walking in it. Tempering with it. He would have to find the exact moment the ambush started.
He would have to findmythread.
The sound of a door shattering from its hinges ripped me from the Sight and back into the mansion.
Giddeon sat on the edge of his bed, clad only in loose trousers, a faint sheen brightening the veins beneath his skin. He barely had time to react before Reagan pounced, forcing him to his knees and pinning him there.
I could see Madden’s arms wrenched behind his back, his skin shifting from power-lit to an angry blood-red, blistering beneathReagan’s grip. The man grunted, and a muffled welp echoed from the corner of the room.
I strode inside the chamber, passing the shield Scion who lay sprawled at the entrance.
“Leave,” Reagan told the woman who edged away from the far side of the bed.
