He balled his fists, the leather that covered his hands pulling tight. He hadn’t felt this out of control since... Christ, since his mother’s death.
A shadow moved at the edge of his vision.
Saint.
Silent as ever.
“You’ve got news?” Maxen asked without turning.
His brother nodded.
Maxen straightened, instincts bracing. “Where are Drake and Reaper?” They were the usual barnacles on his arse.
“Caves.”
Maxen frowned. That was not a casual errand. “Why?”
“Went looking for Serpent.”
Maxen stiffened, a sense of dread prickling along his scalp. “He hasn’t accounted for himself?”
“No.”
Coldness settled in his blood. Serpent never failed to send word. Never. Something had gone very wrong.
Saint’s expression gave nothing away, but the rigid line of his shoulders told Maxen he was just as unsettled.
“What’s the news then?” Maxen asked, forcing his attention back to the matter at hand. “Our captive?”
Saint shook his head. “Laughing. Like a damn lunatic.”
Christ. That was worse than silence. “Maybe I should be the next to visit.”
“He’s either mad or smart. Either way, he’s not talking.”
“You think he’s playing for time?”
Saint shrugged. “But that’s not all.”
Maxen waited.
“Rollings.”
The name landed like a thunderclap. Him again? “I thought we were done with him. We let him go with a warning.”
“Knight trailed him to the post office and,” he reached into his coat and withdrew a letter, seal already cracked, “intercepted this. It’s addressed to John Fitz.”
Calliope’s solicitor.
Maxen unfolded the thing and cursed. Then cursed again. Only one line scrawled there.
She’s been exposed.
“Damn it.” Damn it all to hell.
“Does this mean she’s trouble?” Saint asked.
Devil take it and devil if he knew. “Could be many things.” Exposed to danger. Exposed to them. “Where is Rollings now?”
