“We talked about the cover-up at the hospital,” he said. “But you didn’t tell me the rest. You didn’t tell me what actually happened to Eamon.”
I took a breath. It rattled in my lungs.
“It was a lab,” I whispered. “In the Industrial Crescent. Varessia Quinn took him. She… she drained him, Dane. She hooked him up to a machine and siphoned him dry.”
Dane’s hands curled into fists on his knees. His knuckles turned white.
“I was too late,” I said, my voice cracking. “I broke in. I tried to stop it. But I was too late.”
Dane was silent for a long moment, processing the horror. Then he looked at me, his gaze sharpening.
“You broke in? Alone?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But I held power of my own.”
I looked down at my hands, remembering the way the magic had answered me in the tunnels.
“After the attack, things changed. Marcus assigned me a temporary partner. Riven Ashborne.”
Dane’s jaw locked. “The consultant? Mira mentioned Marcus forced him on you for a few cases. Is he the one the nurse said was watching you?”
“He helped me. He saw my magic slipping, saw me spiralling, and he provided training to control it. He saved my life at Blackwood Mill last week, before Eamon died. He took a knife for me.”
Dane’s expression was a war of emotions—confusion, suspicion, and a begrudging gratitude that someone had kept me alive in his absence.
“He saved you,” Dane repeated slowly.
“Yes.”
“So where is he now?” Dane asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “If he’s your partner… where was he when Eamon died?”
I swallowed hard, the memory of the lab rushing back.
“He was there,” I whispered.
Dane frowned. “He was your backup?”
“No.” I met Dane’s eyes. “He was with her. He stood next to Varessia while the machine ran. He watched it happen.”
Dane started to rise, a snarl ripping from his throat. “I will kill him. I will tear his?—“
“He gave me the journal, Dane.”
Dane stopped, half-standing, his face twisted in fury. “What?”
I retrieved the book from my bag—the small, battered green diary—and placed it on the coffee table between us.
“After Eamon died… He handed me this. He said Eamon made him promise to give it to me.”
I looked up at Dane, desperate for him to understand the confusion tearing me apart.
“He knew Eamon was going to be taken. He must have. He had the book. But then he walked away.”
“He ran,” Dane spat, sinking back onto the sofa. “Coward.”
“No.” I shook my head. “He went back to them. He told me he was going to buy me time.”
“Or to cover his own tracks,” Dane argued.
