I shifted in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position that didn't aggravate my injuries. My knee throbbed dully, a constant reminder of old weaknesses made worse by new dangers.
"We should be there in twenty minutes," Zane's voice broke through my thoughts. "Traffic's light today."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The closeness of the car was becoming overwhelming, his scent, something electricand wild, like the air before a storm, filled my lungs with each breath. I was hyperaware of every movement he made, the flex of his fingers on the wheel, the slight furrow between his brow as he concentrated on the road.
This thing between us had been simmering for weeks. The almost-kiss at the hot spring, the lingering touches, the way his eyes followed me when I moved. We'd been dancing around it, both of us too cautious to take the final step.
And then there was Rook, with his unexpected gentleness and that searing kiss that still haunted my dreams. And Milo, sweet Milo, whose lips had tasted of blood and courage in the aftermath of the Void Eater. Not to mention how Fenric had shown his true self to me.
God, I was a mess.
"You're thinking too loud," Zane lips quirked in a half-smile. "I can practically hear the gears grinding."
"Just wondering what fresh hell awaits us at this 'routine check-in,'" I snorted. "Twenty bucks says Fenric has at least fifteen new forms for me to fill out."
"Sucker's bet," Zane chuckled. "He probably stayed up all night creating custom paperwork just for you."
The joke lightened the mood momentarily, but as we turned onto the highway that would take us to Bureau headquarters, I couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that had settled over me like a shroud.
Something was wrong. I could feel it in the way the markings on my arm pulsed, in the hollow pit of my stomach. Horrace had sensed it too, becoming agitated before we left. Only Zane's promise to bring me back safely had convinced the manticore to stay behind with Milo, his skeletons and Frank.
We were about halfway to our destination when it happened.
The SUV's wards flickered, a brief pulse of blue light across the windows before dying completely. The dashboard lit up with warning signals, and Zane swore under his breath.
"Ward failure," his body immediately tensed. "Something's interfering with the magical protections."
I scanned the road ahead, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Cultists?"
"Probably," Zane's eyes darted to the rearview mirror. "Call Fenric. Now."
I reached for my phone, but before I could dial, something caught my eye. A roadside stand had appeared where none had been before, a simple wooden structure with a hand-painted sign reading "FRESH PRODUCE." Behind the counter stood a figure in a wide-brimmed hat, their face hidden in shadow.
"Zane," I gripped his arm, pointing. "That wasn't there a second ago."
"Glamour," he confirmed grimly, accelerating. "Hold on."
Too late. The figure raised their hand, and a series of glowing sigils erupted from the ground in front of us, spiked glyphs that formed a net across the road. Zane swerved hard, trying to avoid them, but the SUV plowed through the magical barrier with a sound like tearing metal.
The steering wheel jerked violently in Zane's hands as we careened off the road. I grabbed the dashboard, bracing for impact as the vehicle crashed through the guardrail and down a short embankment, finally coming to rest against a cluster of trees.
For a moment, everything was silent except for the hiss of the damaged engine and our ragged breathing. Then Zane turned to me, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead.
"You okay?" His voice was steady despite the circumstances.
Before I could answer, the driver's side window exploded inward. Zane reacted instantly, throwing himself between meand the attack, his arm coming up to block a blow from what looked like a curved blade.
"Winter, run!" he shouted, already shifting into battle mode, his movements fluid and precise as he fought off our attacker through the broken window.
I scrambled for the passenger door, my heart pounding in my ears. The prophetic markings on my arm were blazing now, responding to the danger, power building beneath my skin like electricity.
As I tumbled out of the car, I found myself face to face with three more figures in dark robes, their faces obscured by elaborate masks carved with sigils similar to the ones we'd seen in the factory chamber.
"The Chalice-Bearer," one of them intoned, voice distorted by their mask. "Our Master awaits your gift."
"Your Master can go fuck himself," I snarled, backing away as the blue markings on my skin flared brighter.
The cultists advanced in perfect unison, their movements unnaturally synchronized. I could hear Zane still fighting on the other side of the SUV, the sounds of combat punctuated by grunts of pain and exertion.
