“She is not in the administrative wing,” I tell her. I keep my voice level, trying to cushion the blow, but her face immediately falls. “Voss handed her over to a family called Grieves twenty minutes ago. Officially, they claimed her as a runaway under a legal guardianship.”
A hiss escapes Aurora. “Guardian? He’s a human trafficker, and you let him take her.” Her voice cracks, tears of absolute fury welling in her eyes. “You promised me. You’re a fucking liar, François.”
The word cuts deeper than any blade, but I do not lash out. I look at the devastation fracturing her beautiful face.
“I am not a liar, Aurora,” I say softly, stepping closer. “I do not care for sparrows, but I care that your heart is breaking. I will find the girl. I will tear her from their hands and bring her back to you. I swear it on my mother’s memory.”
An unexpected, ragged sob escapes her throat. “How? It’s too late. She’s gone, and we’re locked in a cage.”
“Then we must simply unlock it,” I reply, the cold finality of my decision settling into the air.
Beside her, Bevan pushes himself forward, his golden-brown eyes fixed on me with an equal pain. “There is no way out.”
“Not for you, Mutt,” I clip out, though the usual mockery is absent from my tone. “But for Aurora and me there is.”
Aurora looks between the two of us, her breath hitching as she absorbs my words. “I know you’re hiding more magic, François,” she whispers, her eyes flashing with a sudden, terrifying clarity. “Can you really get us out of Quo?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. No more games. No more tedious secrecy. “I have the capacity to dismantle this fortress from the inside out.”
She blinks, stunned by my blunt honesty. “But… if you could leave this entire time, why the fuck are you still here?”
I allow my gaze to linger on her, letting her see the raw, terrifying truth of my obsession. “For you,chérie. I volunteered for this pit because I knew Thomas would try to break you from afar. My father truly thought I would be his hammer—the tool to crack you until you became a pliable, hollowed-out bride.Imbécile.I am not guarding his treasure; I am the pirate stealing it. I stayed to keep you safe from the barbarians, but the entertainment of this little escapade has waned. If you require a revolution to keep your family whole, then I am turning the keys.”
“She doesn’t need your protection,” the wolf growls, stepping between me and Aurora, his protective instinct stubborn to the point of suicide.
My patience finally eclipses. Before the wolf can even register my movement, my arm snaps forward. My fingers wrap around his neck, biting into the corded muscle. I do not do it out of malice, but out of an urgent need for absolute order. He freezes as the black film floods his marrow, his eyes blowing wide as paralysis locks his jaw.
“Listen to me very carefully, Taliesin,” I hiss, leaning close enough to smell the copper of Imran’s blood on his shirt. “I have no time for your fragile masculine pride. If we are to survive what comes next, you will mind your manners and follow my lead. Do you understand?”
The wolf grunts, fighting the paralysis, before giving a single, tight nod. I release him, and he stumbles back onto the cot, gasping for air as Aurora beats a frantic, angry rhythm against my shoulder.
“Stop it! Stop touching him!” she screeches.
“Be calm. Hysterics will not help, Aurora. Now, do you have any indication of where this Grieves family would take the child?”
My furious girl swallows her rage, forcing her mind back to the logistics.
She sighs, a defeated sound. “Sky told me about an island… somewhere off the north coast with a massive blue mansion. That’s where they keep the stolen girls before they auction them.”
“An island with a blue house,” I repeat, my mind instantly mapping the coastal territories. “The Elites do love their fortresses. It narrows the parameters, but not enough.”
“She mentioned trees with pink flowers,” Aurora pushes on, her brow furrowing as she concentrates desperately. “And a statue of Athena.”
“Parfait.A slight improvement.”
“What about her brand?” the wolf coughs out, clutching his bruised throat. “Could it be a hidden frequency? A coordinate set?”
I pause, suppressing the urge to mock him. In the cold math of human trafficking, assets are logged, but coordinates? Idiot.
“Yes!” Aurora’s eyes light up with a sudden, triumphant spark. “The tattoo is the key—and I know someone else in this prison who is branded just the same.”
I arch an eyebrow, this could be helpful indeed. “Who?”
“London.”
36. AURORA
“London?” repeats François, looking unusually confused. “Your solitary friend?”
