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Harrington checked his breathing and opened the first few buttons of his shirt.

Mira began with a simple diagnostics spell to identify fresh wounds. White lights danced over his body, indicating he was injured on his chest and stomach.

She moved his coat to the side. His shirt was sticky with blood. Before she could treat him, she needed to know what the Dark Magic was doing to him. Lifting her hand again, she started to cast the spell, when Obryn appeared. He stood over them like an angry shadow.

“Out,” he said forcefully.

“You’re not a healer. I can help with—”

“Get. Out. Now.”

The Wielders stood up, but Mira couldn’t let go of Aidric’s hand. The Highmage’s dark eyes bored into her.

She wanted to protest—someone should be here with him—but Harrington grabbed her and pulled her away from Aidric’s unconscious body and out to the hallway.

With a flick of his wrist, Obryn closed the door behind them and it locked. They all stood outside in shock.

“Has this ever happened before?” Mira asked frantically.

Harrington shook his head. “I know he’s gotten injured on assignments before, but he’s never coin traveled half dead to my doorstep. In fact, he’s never come to me for help when he’s been injured. I only ever hear about it afterward.”

Mira pressed her ear against the door and heard Obryn mumble spells under his breath. What Dark Magic could possibly help Aidric now? He needed a healer.

“He’s drenched in Dark Magic,” Evren added. “I haven’t seen him use this much since the war.”

“What was his assignment?” Amelia asked, and even her voice had a nervous hitch to it.

“Killing demons in Gleahthis,” Mira answered. “He was also sent to kill high-ranking Wielders.”

“By himself?” Amelia shrieked. “What were they punishing him for this time?”

“Like they need a reason,” Evren scoffed.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that Aidric received this mission right after they had taken the relic. The council probably knew he had something to do with it but couldn’t prove it.

In her head, she went through all the different Dark Magic spells she knew and how they could impact the body of a Wielder. Or had he overspent his powers? She should have checked for that first. She had wasted valuable time just staring at him in shock.

“Does he trust Obryn?” she asked.

“About the only person he fully trusts,” Amelia answered. “As ‘fully’ as Dawson trusts anyone. I’m sure not even Obryn gets the entire story.”

“He’s going to be all right.” Evren’s reassurance felt hollow. “It’s Dawson.”

Given how the frequency of Obryn’s spells had dropped, Mira was inclined to agree. The room went silent, and the only sound was her heartbeat in her ears.

Why didn’t Obryn do anything else? Had she misinterpreted the spells? Had he slowed his spell-casting because there wasn’t much else left to do? Her fingers pressed against the wooden door as she waited for any sign of life from the other side.

Then the door opened, and Obryn stared at her disapprovingly. She brushed past him, darting straight to Aidric, who was lying unconscious on the examination table. Some color had come back to his face.

“Two qevium spells, one to the abdomen, one to the chest,” the Highmage announced in a clinical voice.

She touched Aidric’s wrist and could feel the steady drum of his pulse against her fingers.

Obryn adjusted his glasses, and she realized he didn’t give her Aidric’s diagnosis out of generosity—he gave her a task.

Mira connected with her White Magic and held her hand over Aidric’s chest. She didn’t need to see exactly where the injury was. She could feel it now, pulsing through her. The qevium laceration was deep, its Dark Magic seeping into his flesh.

What had Obryn been doing this entire time?