“Hazel.” Marcus’s hand landed warm and steady on her back, guiding her toward the bedroom. “Focus. Essential items only.”
“But the ward notes—I spent three days on those schematics?—”
“I know. I’m sorry. We don’t have time.”
When she stumbled under the weight of her bag, he steadied her elbow without hesitation. He grabbed the first aid kit while she snatched Azrael from his perch. She tossed him his spare shirt while he handed her the protective charms from the nightstand. No discussion, no questions. Their magic hummed in sync, weaving a hasty shield around them as they ran.
“Car,” Marcus said, slinging his briefcase over his shoulder.
They hit the back door just as the front one splintered completely. Through the trees, Hazel caught a glimpse of dark figures in tactical gear: at least six of them, moving in formation, weapons that gleamed with magical enhancement. Professional. Military. The kind of people who did this for a living and did it well.
One of them raised something that looked like a crossbow. Marcus shoved her behind the car as a bolt of blue energy scorched the air where her head had been.
“Get in!”
Marcus’s BMW started on the first try, tires spinning on gravel before catching. They were speeding down the narrowforest road before their attackers could round the cabin. In the rearview mirror, Hazel watched flames lick up the sides of the building. Not from the attack, but deliberate. They were burning the evidence.
They were burning everything.
“That was everything I brought,” she said. “My reference books, my notes, the ward schematics I’d been building all week. Gone.” She pressed her forehead against the cold window. At least her grandmother’s grimoires were still at the shop. Small mercy.
Marcus gripped the steering wheel harder. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” She turned away from the mirror. There was nothing left to see anyway. Just flames and smoke and another safe place gone. “Just drive.”
They rode in silence for several miles, the adrenaline slowly draining away and leaving exhaustion in its wake. Azrael had wedged himself into the footwell, ears flat, fur still standing on end. He hadn’t made a sound since they’d grabbed him.
“Blackwood specialists,” Marcus said. “Military training, magical augmentation. The kind of team you send when you want someone dead, not captured.”
“Comforting.”
“They’ll have to regroup. That buys us time.” He glanced at her, headlights of a passing car briefly illuminating his face. “Are you hurt?”
She took stock. Scraped knuckles from grabbing her bag too hard. A bruise forming on her hip from hitting the doorframe. A burn on her forearm she didn’t remember getting, probably from the energy bolt that had missed her head. “I’m fine.”
“Hazel.”
“I said I’m fine.” But her voice cracked on the last word, and she pressed her forehead against the cold window glass. Everything she’d built. Everything she’d saved. Everything hergrandmother had trusted her to protect. Reduced to ash because she’d witnessed something she shouldn’t have.
Marcus’s hand found hers in the darkness. His fingers were warm and steady, and she held on like he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
“There’s another safe house,” he said after a moment. “Twenty minutes north.”
“Please tell me it has two beds.”
Marcus squeezed her hand once before releasing it to grip the wheel. “It’s an emergency safe house, Hazel. We’re lucky it has a roof.”
The emergencysafe house made their previous cabin look like a luxury resort.
It sat at the end of a dirt road that barely qualified as a path, hidden among pine trees so thick they blocked out what remained of the moonlight. The building itself was smaller than Hazel’s bathroom at home: weathered wood siding, a roof that looked questionable, and windows so grimy she couldn’t see inside.
Marcus went in first, checking corners with the practiced economy of a man who’d done this more times than he’d probably admit. Golden energy flickered around his hands as he tested for magical traps, hexes, anything the Blackwoods might have planted in advance. Hazel waited in the doorway, Azrael tucked against her chest, watching him work.
“Clear.” He lowered his hands, the golden energy fading. “The wards here are basic. I can strengthen them, but it’ll take time.”
“How much time?”
“A few hours. Maybe more.” He looked at her, expression flat. “If they find us before then…”
