From the Arch of Veresear, the hunters on duty watched our approach with calculating eyes. One of them studied Crimson’s wrapped body, then looked at me with undisguised contempt.
“Another witch crime?” he asked.
“Yes,” Lucy replied coldly. “But notthiswitch.”
I broke off from the group silently to step through the arch. The last time, I was worried the runes protecting me had died with Eda Mire, but my true nature had remained a secret. This time I didn’t hesitate, didn’t push back, just kept my head down and walked forward, rejoining the group without waiting for permission and kept going, bracing for whatever the Magistrate did next.
He sat in his office. I could feel the weight of his attention before we even reached the door. Wickett must have felt the same, because his spine straightened, shoulders squared, his expression blanked into that perfect mask. The man who’d just protected me from a city out for blood—replaced by the Ripper, obedient, controlled, everything his father demanded.
“Report,” Tiberius commanded.
Wickett delivered the facts with clear detachment. The sprite. The curse. The failed attempt to extract information. When he mentioned DEC, Tiberius’s stylus paused for barely a heartbeat before continuing its scratching across parchment.
“Meaningless,” he declared, still not looking up. “Chase your phantoms if you must. Twenty-six days remain.”
But his apparent disinterest came too quickly, too dismissively. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as us. His cold eyes finally lifted, finding me with predatory focus as he pushed from his desk.
He moved to stand before Lucy, shifting the coat that covered the fallen sprite. Pip sank to the floor, a small cry falling from her as the Magistrate threw the jacket back over Crimson. “Dispose of this thing immediately.”
In less than a heartbeat later, he came to stand before me. “Rune Weaver. You touched the dying sprite with your magic. What did you sense?”
Before I could answer, Wickett spoke from beside me, taking a step forward. “I’ve already reported?—”
Tiberius’s hand cracked across his son’s face.
Wickett didn’t even flinch, just stepped back into position, that mask never slipping. But I saw the practiced way he absorbed the blow, the muscle memory of someone who’d learned exactly how to take his father’s violence.
My stomach turned.
“Did I ask you?” The Magistrate’s voice was soft, deadly, andnotto be answered.
“Nothing useful,” I managed, forcing my voice to be steady as I drew attention from Wickett. “The reaction was too strong. I assume the curse was negotiated into the terms of the original contract with Crimson. It activated before we could learn anything at all, probably the moment he considered revealinganything. Even the three letters are likely useless without knowing if they are the start of a word or initials. They could be a thousand things. The lead was a failure.” I hoped I’d kept my face blank as I spoke of the letters, like I didn’t care which they were. That’s what he’d been told to deliver. And so he tried. Gallantly.
Tiberius studied me for a long moment, and I felt him counting every micro-expression, every tell I couldn’t quite hide. His eyes narrowed slightly when they found my hands clenched into fists without me realizing.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “Contracts can be broken. Perhaps we should test your limits, see what you’re truly capable of. When properly motivated.”
The threat lingered in the air like smoke from a newly extinguished candle.
Wickett spoke carefully, his voice perfectly controlled despite the red mark blooming across his cheek. “Five minds are greater than four, Magistrate. Damaging one weakens the entire hunt.”
Tiberius’s eyes moved between us, calculating. Then something shifted in his expression, those eyes narrowing, the corners of his mouth lifting, satisfaction mixed with cruelty.
“You’re right, of course.” He waved dismissively. “Get out. All of you.”
We filed out, but his voice stopped me at the threshold.
“Except you, Rune Weaver. We have other matters to discuss.”
My blood turned to ice.
Lucette’s hand found my arm, squeezing once before Tiberius’s sharp look made her release it. Calder’s jaw worked, but he kept walking. Only Wickett paused, his body angled back toward the office.
“I said out, Wickett. Your presence is no longer permitted. Send in my advisors.”
The door closed, leaving me alone with the Magistrate for several silent moments before a different group of people entered. At least ten men and women hunters wearing fine jewelry, pressed suits, and pointed glares.
“Several days absent from your duties at the Chancellery. Did you think becoming Venatori excused you from your obligations?”
