Terror split me open.
Then darkness.
Then nothing.
Chapter 36
Cayden
Quinnhadbeenmissingfor two days. Forty-eight hours of replaying that night until it scraped my skull raw, wishing I’d stayed at her side instead of letting family politics pull me under. She had four men circling her like sharks, yet when she needed us most, we were scattered—Ezra on The Mile, the Architect glad-handing at his Mixer, Rowan locked with the Moores, and me close enough to save her, but letting Emil get under my skin.
Of all my brothers, why Emil? He wasn’t high enough in the Prophet’s circle to matter, nor were any of my brothers at his side. After the Architect intervened, my brothers took their leave, and despite my better judgment, I waited at the gates for my Prophet, waited until the cold made my bones ache. He never showed.
I was missing something.
I rubbed my wrist. My tattoo had gone suspiciously pain free hours ago. No sting, no burn, just a hollow quiet under my skin, like it was holding its breath.
I focused on finishing my task: tracking Quinn through the tunnels so we at least knew her exit. But it was proving impossible. The walls hid endless exits, but no trace of Quinn’s magic, only the burnt-caramel stench of The Rooster’s bartender, Horax’s old minion. If he had something to do with this… no. Focus. I hit a dead end and marked it on the map.
‘We’ve gotten a delivery,’ Rowan stated. ‘You’re expected in the Architect’s office.’
‘He can fuck off,’I responded.
‘You’ll come anyway. You’re going to have to get over this, Cayden. The Architect’s not your enemy.’
I didn’t respond. My girl had been missing for two days, and the mage who could literally pull the truth directly out of a person’s skull did nothing.
Even with magic driving my legs, the tunnels felt endless, each echoing footstep another accusation, another reminder she was still gone.
Rowan, Commander Ezra, and the Architect waited for me. Anger literally vibrated the air around me. I stepped into the Architect’s office, ready to give the man a piece of my mind, but one look at his face stopped me.
The collected mage I’d seen over the last few days was gone. Bags hung under his eyes, with dark gray veins shooting through them. A sign that he’d been eating his own magic to stay awake. His baby-blue eyes barely glowed while his tight shoulders looked ready to pop. Wrinkles creased the same rich, understated outfit of blues and grays he’d worn at the final Mixer event a few hours ago. He looked breakable, like one good shove might shatter him into pieces I didn’t havetime to pick up.
I slipped my hands into my pockets. Eating your own magic wasn’t something done lightly. A little bit didn’t hurt anything, but replacing days of sleep with it would fuck you up and fast. Instead of yelling like I wanted to, I sat next to Rowan, who faced the Architect across a chunky desk. Ezra, as always, stood at his lover’s back.
The Architect ran a stiff hand through his hair. “The Royal Mile’s ours. No one was willing to risk their families to challenge me, and no one was willing to leave my Mixer, or they would have fallen too far out of the political loop. However…” He took an uneasy breath. “Even the Abernathys are uncertain of Quinn’s absence. Her brief appearance the first night was not enough. Doubt that she’s not here of her own free will is rampant.” He laced his fingers together and squeezed. “I cannot find her. I’ve spent every night looking for her mind, her magic, anything. I am powerful, but my range is limited. If she’s gone more than a mile outside our walls, my telepathy won’t find her.”
Ezra gripped the Architect’s arm, and the man almost folded.
My anger surged, snapping at its leash, desperate to sink its teeth into someone. “Then why not take the answers we need?” I leaned on the table. “You have a list of suspects who had motive and opportunity to change her schedule. The same void that was used to steal the energy from the back of the dance floor was used to derail the train.” I hit the desk. “Four people besides Quinn are missing, one of them with the same magic that permeates The Great Hall.” My nails dug into my palms from squeezing my fist on the table so hard. “You could’ve read my family’s thoughts as they left, and no one would have been the wiser!”
The Architect clenched his jaw. “I am alive today because I live by a code. Reading someone’s mind is mental assault. It’s taking without consent. The information I gain is one-sided in a way you cannot possibly understand.”
I stood. “Then make me understand it.”
The Architect rose from his seat. His gaunt face darkened. “If you want me in your head, riffling through your thoughts, fears, and memories, making my own interpretations of your actions, I will. Right now.”
I froze. My past was a minefield, actions I’d willingly performed in the Prophet’s name. If I let him in, would he see them as the righteousness I’d felt then, or as the sins that now tarnished my soul?
I looked away. If I didn’t even know the answers, how could a stranger understand?
Which was his point. I hated that I suddenly understood.
“We’re doing what we can.” Rowan tried to clap me on the shoulder, and I lunged sideways to avoid his touch. “The Architect can,and has, picked up surface thoughts.” Rowan kept going as if I hadn’t dodged him. “Your family had nothing to do with this…”
I narrowed my eyes. Technically, I wasn’t sure my family had actually showed up. At least when I left, Emil had not been in the Prophet’s inner circle.
“…The missing people were most likely more of Horax’s minions and have fled.” Rowan continued. “The Architect has gone through their TBs and questioned their friends. He’s trying, Cay.”
