My file wasn’t here.
Which had to mean it’d been pulled recently. Probably sitting in the Magistrate’s office right now, being studied, analyzed, used to build whatever case he was constructing against me.
Where Vitoria’s daggers also waited.
... I needed both.
“We should go,” Wickett said quietly, reading the determination on my face. “You’ve got a lead.”
“In a minute.” I moved toward the door, toward the connecting corridor that led to Tiberius’s private office.
Wickett caught my arm. “Syn?—”
“I’m not quite done yet.”
“You’re going to get usbothkilled.”
I met his eyes. “Then you should probably leave.”
He didn’t.
We moved through the connecting corridors in silence. The Magistrate’s office loomed at the end—massive oak door, more runes, more of my own magic turned against me.
“Have you lost your mind?” Wickett demanded and grabbed my wrist when I reached for the door handle.
“Probably.” I jerked away, twisting the knob. It wasn’t even locked. “You coming or not?”
He followed, muttering what sounded like prayers to gods he probably didn’t believe in. Inside, Tiberius’s office was as intimidating as it was this afternoon. Massive desk. Bloodwood furniture. Windows that stared over the city like a throne room surveying its kingdom.
I went straight for the desk, trying to open locked drawers with increasingly desperate pulls.
Locked. All of them. Of course.
“Here,” Wickett said, moving beside me. He gripped the center drawer and pulled with hunter’s strength.
Wood splintered. The lock broke and gave way.
Inside, silver gleamed. Both of Vitoria’s daggers lying crossed, like an offering.
I reached for them, fingers closing around familiar hilts. These weapons had been her constant companions, extensions of her will. Seeing them here, taken as trophies or evidence, made rage burn in my chest.
The daggers disappeared into my cloak.
“Now we go,” Wickett said urgently.
But I was already shuffling through the stack of papers within the drawer. “My file. I need to see it.”
“Why—”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Heavy. Deliberate.
Wickett stiffened the same time I did. His hand found mine, yanking me away from the desk. We moved fast, his body steering mine toward heavy curtains that flanked the tallwindows. He pulled me behind them. The fabric fell closed around us with barely a whisper.
Darkness swallowed us whole.
Sandwiched between the thick velvet curtain and the wall, I couldn’t see my hands, couldn’t see Wickett pressed against my back, could only feel him, the solid wall of his chest, the heat radiating from his body, the way his breath stirred my hair.
His arm locked around my waist, pulling me tighter against him. Not gentle. Desperate. The kind of hold that said: don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t exist. I could feel his heartbeat against my spine. Racing. Wild. As terrified as mine.
