Rufus scowled. “Spit it out, Brent. Who is it we’re supposed to avoid meeting?”
The door opened before the secretary could be coerced into breaking his employer’s confidentiality. Evander tensed at the sight of General Hartwick. The older man’s face grew shuttered when he spotted Evander.
“Your Grace. We meet again.”
Evander dipped his head curtly. “General.”
Rufus issued a stiff greeting.
Evander frowned as they watched Hartwick disappear in the direction of the exit. He knocked on Winterbourne’s door and entered the office with Rufus, his mind racing as to the reason the head of the War Office had paid a visit to the commander of the Arcane Division.
Winterbourne stood at the window, his hands clasped behind his back. His weathered face seemed strained behind its habitual stern expression as he twisted on his heels and acknowledged their presence, his silver-streaked hair catching the light from outside and his grey eyes sharp. At fifty-three, Winterbourne had spent the better part of three decades in law enforcement and had the scars, both visible and invisible, to prove it.
“Your Grace. Inspector.” He gestured to the chairs opposite his desk. “Sit.”
Evander lowered himself into the chair and noted the numerous files spread open on Winterbourne’s desk. The commander had been busy.
“How is young Simmons?” Winterbourne asked as he returned to his seat.
Evander exchanged a guarded look with Rufus. “In himself? Better. But I’m afraid I have worrying developments to report.”
Winterbourne’s shoulders knotted. “What is it?”
Evander explained what they had learned during their visit to the Simmonses.
Winterbourne turned haggard. His chair creaked as he sat back heavily, looking much older than his years for a moment. “By the Gods!”
“Indeed,” Evander concurred grimly. “We’re going to need our best experts to help him navigate the changes he is going through.”
“Of course,” Winterbourne said distractedly. He faltered before meeting Evander’s gaze squarely. “Do you think there is a possibility he will be able to wield magic one day?”
Evander hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m more concerned about what the magic inside him might do to his lifespan. There is a good chance it will kill him, long term.”
Rufus cursed softly.
Winterbourne recovered his composure.
“We should keep a close eye on the lad,” the commander stated in a hard voice. “He will be in danger if word of this gets out.”
Evander nodded briskly. “Viggo is assigning a couple ofNightshadeoperatives to watch the Simmonses’ home and guard Tom from afar as he goes about his daily business. They can share the workload with the Met.”
“Is that wise?” Rufus interjected. He glanced uneasily between Evander and Winterbourne. “If Tom’s condition deteriorates rapidly?—”
“You think we should lock him away?” Winterbourne’s eyes grew sharp. “Make him a prisoner for having magic forced into him?”
Rufus had the grace to look uncomfortable. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” Winterbourne rubbed his forehead tiredly. “The moment we start treating victims like criminals is the moment we lose whatever moral high ground we’re still clinging to.” He paused. “But I take your point, Inspector. If young Simmonsbecomes dangerous to himself or to others, we’ll have no choice in the matter.”
The words settled like lead in Evander’s stomach. Tom had survived being tortured. Now they were discussing possibly locking him away like some kind of villain. It felt obscenely wrong.
“Now.” Winterbourne’s tone shifted, becoming more clipped. “Regarding this morning’s Parliamentary committee hearing.”
Evander stiffened. “Sir?—”
Winterbourne raised a hand. “I already know what happened. Before you ask, it wasn’t General Hartwick who tattled. He was here on another equally unpleasant matter.”
CHAPTER 5
