Then, coughing.
Deep, wet, wracking coughs that went on and on. The kind that sounded like they were tearing him apart from the inside.
The fucking spider had reached my wrist, creeping across the thin skin there. I bit down on the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, using pain to anchor myself. I’d take a million spiders over Tiberius Veyne, but right now I had to remind myself of that on repeat.
Wickett’s forehead pressed against my hair, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts that matched my terror.
More coughing from Tiberius.
Worse now. Desperate. Like his body was betraying him.
And then finally, footsteps, unsteady ones, moving toward the door.
It slammed open. Slammed closed.
We didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stood frozen, counting heartbeats in the sudden silence.
The spider reached my hand.
In one swift motion Wickett brushed it into darkness, then turned me to face him, though we still couldn’t see a thing.
“Stay put,” he whispered.
He moved to the edge of the curtain, pulling it back just enough to peer through. I heard him exhale slowly.
“Clear.”
He stepped out into the destroyed office. The moonlight through the windows revealed the devastation. The desk was overturned, papers were everywhere, ink was splattered like blood. The broken drawer lay in pieces near the wall.
Wickett moved toward the door.
I grabbed his arm, yanking him toward the window instead.
“Have you gone mad?” he hissed. “Openingthatwindow will trigger every ward in the building!”
“Not if you know how the runes work.” I moved to the window, studying the patterns. My own handiwork. “I make these things. Which means I know exactly how to work with them. Don’t get your hopes up though. I’m not immune. There’s just a delay while it recognizes me. In case your father asks me to enhance them. Which he occasionally does for security,” I lied.
I pressed my palm against a rune. The magic recognized my touch and went dormant. I laced my own back door into every fucking rune I ever made. None of the wards worked on me the way they did on others. I always had a plan. An escape. Thanks to Eda Mire.
I pushed the window open. Cold air rushed in. Silas, thank the Furies, landed on the grass outside, eyes bright with urgency.
Wickett stared, then followed me out. “Clever witch.”
“Occasionally.”
We climbed down using window ledges, stonework, anything that would hold. We landed, rolled, and came up running.
Not toward Chancellery House. Too obvious. We circled the compound’s perimeter, using shadows and taking the long way around.
When we paused between the buildings, both breathing hard, Wickett pressed his shoulder against the stone, and Imirrored him. Faint moonlight filtered through the clouds, just enough to see the yard and judge our final jaunt across the open expanse of yard.
He was staring at me. Not his typical calculating assessment, but something else entirely. Something that made my breath catch.
“What?” I whispered.
“You’re smiling.” He was using that quiet, calm tone he had. “After breaking into my father’s office, nearly getting caught, stealing evidence... you’re smiling.”
I hadn’t realized I was. But he was right. The adrenaline, the success, the sheer audacity of what we’d just done... it felt like being alive.
