LOGINLeo's eyes had turned silver. A pale light rippled beneath his skin like moonlight on a lake, and a thin plume of smoke curled from the sleeve of Adam's coat where the boy's wrist pressed against him. Adam grunted through clenched teeth, and I saw the flesh of his forearm blister and split, but his grip never loosened, and the smile on his bleeding face was fixed and fond and terrible."It stings, does it not, my boy, and the master told me that it would," Adam said breathlessly. "Hold on a little longer, because we are nearly home."He kicked open a gray steel door beside the linen cart, and a gust of cold air rolled out of a long concrete tunnel lined with pipes and flickering bulbs. I lunged forward with my fingers outstretched, and my fingertips brushed the sleeve of Leo's sweatshirt for the span of a single heartbeat. Then Adam hurled himself backward through the doorway with my son clutched against his chest, and the heavy door swung shut with a clang that seemed
AlexiaThere are moments in a life when time does not slow but simply stops, and I have stood inside three of them, and the third began with a boy's footsteps in a hospital corridor.I felt his presence before I turned my head. The pendant against my breastbone gave a single hot pulse, the mate bond hummed in my chest like a plucked string, and I knew with the dreadful certainty of a mother that my son had walked into the trap that I had spent a week trying to keep him away from. When I looked, he stood at the end of the hall in striped pajamas and a gray sweatshirt with his hair standing up in tufts, and Raine was clutching his sleeve with white knuckles."Leo, go back down the stairs right now, and do not stop until you reach the street," I cried."I came to warn you, Mama, and I am sorry that I was too slow," he called, and his voice cracked in the middle.Adam did not lower his hands. He stood perfectly relaxed in the center of the corridor wit
Leo had already vanished from the room. I heard his bare feet slap across the marble foyer and a drawer crash open in the hall, and when I caught up with him at the garage door, he had pulled a gray hooded sweatshirt over his pajamas and seized the spare keys to Mark's black SUV from their hook."You are staying here, young man, and I will not discuss it," I said, planting myself in front of the driver's door."If I stay, the only people guarding me are the same men who guarded the basement of my father's house," Leo answered, and his chin lifted in a way that made him look exactly like his mother. "Somebody inside this mansion has been feeding Lucian our secrets for weeks, and I would rather stand beside you in a speeding car than sit beside a stranger in an empty room."I opened my mouth to refuse, and I closed it again, because I could not find a flaw in the argument. I climbed behind the wheel, Leo buckled himself into the passenger seat, and I set the phone
RaineFootage has a way of lying politely for hours before it finally tells you the truth, and I had spent four hours and ten minutes teaching a stubborn camera to confess.I sat in the mansion war room at four in the morning with five empty mugs lined up beside my keyboard like tiny ceramic witnesses and my glasses pushed so high that they had fused with my hair. The alarm company that guarded Warehouse Six on Albion Quay had protected its feeds with a password that had cost me two hours, a security question that had cost me one, and a favor from a former colleague that I would be repaying with baked goods until the next century. At twenty past four the final lock clicked open, and a dim gray image bloomed on my screen, showing the quay from the height of a roof gutter.Leo stood behind my chair in striped pajamas with a mug of cocoa cooling in both hands. He had crept down the stairs half an hour earlier, announced that he could not sleep, and refused every offer to be carried back
GerbranoSt. Aldric's surgical waiting room kept a private time of its own, a slow, humming, antiseptic hour that bore no relation to the world beyond its windows. A plastic fern wilted in the corner beside a vending machine that offered tea in four flavors of regret, a television on the wall replayed the muted footage of Marlowe House dripping beneath a rain of sprinklers, and on the vinyl sofa my wife slept with her cheek against my shoulder and her bloodstained sleeves folded in her lap.I had not slept in thirty-one hours, and I did not intend to begin now. Every time that I closed my eyes I saw my sister's face in the gangway lights, and every time that I opened them I saw the clock above the nurses' station crawling toward five. Behind the double doors at the end of the corridor, a team of surgeons had been working on Gemma for four hours and eleven minutes, and I had counted every one of them.Adam had arrived at midnight with an armful of gray hospital blankets, a paper bag of
AlexiaA hundred sleeping girls lay on the quay behind me, a clock ticked in the hold beneath my feet, and I knelt on a rusted steel floor with a pair of wire cutters in my hand and a stranger's breath against my neck.Gemma crouched at my shoulder with a pen torch clamped between her teeth. She had tied her scarf over her mouth against the sour reek of the hold, and the beam of the little light danced across the knot of yellow, red, and blue wires that bound the gray cylinder like a nest of snakes. Every few seconds her fingers brushed my sleeve to steady herself, and I realized that I had stopped flinching from them."Raine, tell me what the schematic says, and tell me quickly," I said."The Harbinger datasheet insists that red feeds the timer and blue feeds the main charge, so cutting blue disarms the bomb and cutting red kills the display," Raine said, and her voice cracked down the middle. "But Boss, I have just found a second page in the archive, an




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