Three pairs of eyes looked anywhere but Cinn’s.
“Not… exactly,” said Julien at last.
Cold ice threaded through Cinn’s veins so fast, he jerked backwards.
“Let’s go sit by the fire,” Darcy suggested. On autopilot, he pulled on his clothes, then let himself be guided into the living room. Soon, roaring flames were heating his cheeks as he sprawled on the rug.
“Obviously,” Darcy began, glancing at the other two. “Auri would have rescued you from the prison system, regardless. Well… they might have, I’d like to think, but there’s actually another specific reason they’ve brought you here.”
“The reason you were personally escorted all the way here by Madame Eleanor Sinclair,” said Elliot, snickering. “Not just anyone would get that honour.”
Darcy and Elliot were taking the lead, but for some reason, it was Julien who Cinn wanted to hear from. Sitting with him on the rug, Julien faced the fireplace, hands outstretched, and Cinn stared at him until he turned.
Julien sighed, a frown line crinkling his forehead. “The consortium has high hopes that you will be a useful tool in our fight against the increasing number of umbraphages, a near-constant and very deadly threat we’re finding incredibly tough to manage. The amount of moteblessed we’ve lost fighting them…”
“Umbrawhat? And who’swe?”
“The world.”
A stunned silence.
“It’s practically becoming an epidemic. Almost every few weeks now, another one appears. Sometimes following a natural disaster, but not always. The Arcane Purifiers have been claiming that they’re linked.”
“And I will help, how?” Cinn said, voice flat. “I’m not sure I like the phrase ‘useful tool’, to be honest.”
Julien winced. “Sorry. I meanthelpful asset. The consortium is convinced the umbraphages originate from the shadowrealm. Which you may now have just proved. As the only person able to channel shadowmotes—”
“Theonly? Surely not!”
Julien’s eyebrows shot sky-high. He rested a hand on Cinn’s knee before saying, “I figured Noir told you. Cinn, you’re the only confirmed shadowslipper currently alive today.”
Julien, Darcy, and Elliot froze stone-still, awaiting his reaction.
When Cinn threw back his head and laughed—laughed so hard his whole body shook as his breath came out in little snorts—they still continued to stare, albeit with a dash of concern on their faces.
“Of course I am.” Because this was his life, and it always had to be as difficult as possible. Cinn’s gaze drifted over to the window. “Why… is it dark outside?!”
Darcy crinkled her eyebrows. “It’s seven p.m., Cinn.”
“What?! How many hours was I out for?”
“Are you not normally gone for such a long length of time?” Julien asked.
“I don’t think so. To be honest, nothing about that trip was normal.”
“Speaking of the time, I have to bounce,” Elliot said, but made no move to do so, his gaze subtly flicking between Julien and Cinn. Just what was his deal? And did Cinn even want to find out?
Darcy rose first. “I have a paper due tomorrow.”
Julien cleared his throat. “Cinn looks tired. Perhaps we could crash—”
With a raised hand, Darcy silenced him. “Julien. I love you, but please go home to your apartment. It certainly costs you enough in rent to deserve to be used. Plus, you might be a freak that enjoys sleeping on sofas, but I doubt Cinn wants that old armchair.”
Cinn could easily list ten far less comfortable places he’d slept in.
“I’ll make some tea for you two, then you can be on your way.” Darcy headed off, with Elliot trailing after her, pulling on his coat and giving Julien and Cinn one long last look. Cinn resisted the impulse to wave sarcastically at him.
Alone with Julien again.
