Did I kill any of them? I was careful. I soaked my blades in white poppy this time, not wolfsbane. They should only wound, not kill.
But the man Malachi stabbed, his throat is sliced and his eyes are open. Fixed. The blood pooling beneath him is already going dark.
"Eyes on me," Mal says sharply. "Ada. Look at me."
I force myself to focus.
"These aren't legion guards." His voice is steady, certain. "They're Cato's hunters. They would have killed us both without hesitation." He scans the alley. "They probably murdered real guards to get those uniforms."
A shudder runs through me. Arlo probably isn't on duty tonight. But still. Legion guards are like the laborers: no memories from before, no thoughts of their own. They do what the Council tells them and believe what the Council wants them to believe. Easy targets for men who needed uniforms.
"How do you know they're Cato's hunters?" I whisper.
"No amulets. And legion guards don't carry that mark."
I follow his gaze to the nearest body. On the inside of the man's forearm, black ink stands stark against cooling skin: an eye inside a heart. The Everlasting. My stomach drops.
Malachi turns to leave. I struggle against his grip.
"You're hurt," I hiss. "Put me down."
"I'll be fine."
"We don't know how deep it went. Let me down so I can?—"
He stops walking and fixes me with a look that steals the words from my tongue. "Will you just let me have this?"
I stare at him for a long moment. Then I stop fighting. I let my head fall against his shoulder, let my body sag into his arms. He exhales, and I feel the tension drain from him too, as if my surrender has given him permission to breathe.
For the first time since I made the bargain, I wonder what I'll feel when the bond is gone. If there will be a hollow place where his presence used to be. I don't let myself think about the answer.
Whatever fragile peace we found shatters the moment we reach my apartment.
The door hangs open. Inside, chaos. Books scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. My brother's bag, gone. The table where he drew his maps lies on its side, one leg snapped clean off.
My eyes catch on the bookshelf. It's been shoved aside, exposing the hidden alcove behind it. The entrance to the Veritas hallways, the secret we've guarded for as long as I can remember, laid bare.
I don't know what terrifies me more: that someone who knew about this passage betrayed us, or that the Council finally found it on their own.
Either way, nowhere is safe anymore.
Chapter Eighteen
My first thought is that someone knows about the scepter. My second is they're looking for anything to condemn Jordi as a renegade. Either way, I'm rattled. More rattled than I already was, which shouldn't be possible. I force myself to breathe, to push everything aside as I wash my hands and gather my supplies.
"Take off your tunic."
He raises an eyebrow, then flinches as he shifts toward me.
"Take off your tunic," I repeat. “And keep your infuriating comments to yourself."
Something dark flickers in his eyes. It hits me somewhere deep, somewhere I refuse to acknowledge right now. I force myself to look away. He starts to pull the tunic over his head, and I lunge forward when I see the fabric catch on the wound.
"Stop!"
He freezes, arms half-raised. "What now?"
"I need to cut it away from the wound. Just …" I scan the apartment until my eyes land on my brother's open doorway. "Let's do this on the bed."
