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“That’s a very clever speech, but it won’t save you.” Pope moved toward Ethan, the dagger raised.

Ethan kicked the display case. It toppled with a crash of breaking glass, its contents spilling across the floor. The wooden base smashed down on the antique carpet, and Ethan felt the ward seal crack. It wasn’t broken, but it was fracturing, creating gaps in the barrier.

The bond exploded with Rook’s triumph.

Pope lunged forward, but Ethan had already dropped and rolled, glass slicing through his jacket as he scrambled toward the door. Pope’s hand caught his ankle, dragging him back, and Ethan twisted, kicking hard at Pope’s wrist. The dagger skittered across the floor.

“Security!” Pope shouted.

Footsteps thundered from the hallway - two guards, possibly three. Ethan’s mind raced through options. The fractured ward would let Rook’s shadows through, but not at full strength. Pope still had the suppression device, and the guards were armed.

The bond pulsed with Rook’s instruction: Stay down.

Ethan flattened himself against the floor as shadows poured through the gallery’s walls.

They came through the fractured ward like oil through cheesecloth - slow, strained, but relentless. Pope grabbed his suppression device and pressed the activation button. The sigils blazed with cold light, and the shadows recoiled for a moment, and then pushed on. Rook wasn’t trying to get in anymore, and so the shadows could keep going, wrapping around the display cases, around the electrical fixtures, around anything containing metal, wood, or stone.

They squeezed like one giant fist. Wood splintered, metal shrieked, and the gallery’s lights exploded in showers of glass and sparks, increasing the room’s natural shadows.

Pope’s guards fired blindly into them, but there was nothing to hit, and the bullets ricocheted off stone walls. One guard screamed as shadows wrapped his ankle and yanked him off his feet.

Ethan rolled behind an overturned display case while chaos erupted around him. He felt Rook through the bond - still outside, still restrained by the suppression field, but using every ounce of power to turn Pope’s gallery into a weapons cache against itself.

Another guard went down as shadows shattered a display case and hurled artifacts at his head. Medieval relics became projectiles and ceremonial daggers flew through the air. Realizing the scene had gotten well out of his control, Pope ran for the hallway, the suppression device clutched in his hand.

Ethan surged to his feet and tackled him. They both hit the floor hard. Pope was stronger than Ethan expected, twisting and driving an elbow into Ethan’s ribs. Pain exploded through Ethan’s side, and the bond flared with Rook’s answering rage. More shadows poured through the fractured ward, and Ethan heard stone cracking.

Pope’s hand closed around the ceremonial dagger he’d dropped earlier. Ethan grabbed his wrist, forcing the blade away from his throat. His other hand scrabbled for the suppression device, fingers closing around cold metal and carved sigils. Pope’s knee drove into Ethan’s stomach, and for a second his grip loosened, and the blade descended. Twisting just in time, Ethan watched as the dagger buried itself in the antique carpet two inches from where his head had been.

His fingers found the suppression device’s activation button and pressed down until he felt the mechanism break. The device died with a sound like glass shattering underwater. At that exact moment, the gallery’s walls exploded inward as Rook’s full power hit Pope’s wards.

Shadows flooded the space - not the restrained, careful tendrils Ethan was used to, but a tidal wave of absolute darkness. They wrapped around Pope, lifting him bodily off Ethan and slamming him against the wall hard enough to crack plaster.

Rook materialized from the shadows, and Ethan had never seen anyone or anything so furious. His eyes were gleaming orbs of amber, shadows writhing under and over his skin like living tattoos. His hands had transformed into claws, and when he spoke, his voice resonated with harmonics that made Ethan’s teeth ache.

“You touched my mate.”

Pope struggled in the shadow bindings. “The wards…”

“Are broken.” Rook’s claws pressed against Pope’s throat. “Your suppression device is destroyed. Your guards are unconscious. You’re going to tell me everything about your network, and then I’m going to decide whether you deserve to die quickly, or if I should take my time with you.”

Pushing himself upright, Ethan winced at his aching ribs, and Rook’s attention snapped toward him.

“You’re hurt.”

“Bruised. Nothing serious.” Ethan retrieved the ceremonial dagger, examining the sigils carved into the blade. “We need Pope alive for the moment. He has information about the suppression technology’s development and distribution channels.”

Rook’s shadows tightened around Pope’s throat. “He threatened you.”

“He did. But killing him now would be irresponsible.” Ethan met Rook’s bright eyes. “We need to know how many suppression devices exist, who else has access to the ward specifications, and where Voss is currently being held.”

The predatory rage in Rook’s expression didn’t fade, but his shadows loosened incrementally.

“Thorn’s incoming,” Rook said. “Silas is handling the guards. Cillian’s searching the building for Voss.”

Pope laughed - a desperate, slightly hysterical sound. “You think this ends with me? The research is distributed across six locations. Kill me, and you’ll never find it all.”

“I don’t need you to tell me.” Ethan photographed the ceremonial dagger’s sigils, then moved to the scattered manuscript pages. “Your documentation is remarkably thorough. These ward patterns, the suppression device blueprints…you’ve cataloged everything. Between me and Julian, we should have the complete specifications within an hour. Then my mate can have his fun with you.”