I looked at the team.
“Pack up. We’re going to Highspire.”
Mira and Orinleft to file the paperwork, leaving the flat quiet.
Dane moved to the window, watching the street, his posture rigid against the pain.
I opened my kit bag. At the bottom, beneath the spare clothes and the journals, lay a black steel lockbox. I punched in the code, and the latch clicked open. Inside sat my service pistol. I picked it up, checking the magazine—full. I holstered the weapon at my hip.
I fished out my phone and dialled a number I hadn’t used in a year. Sergeant Vance was an old-school cop who despised the ACD’s interference in police work. More importantly, he hated Highspire’sgrip on the city. Last year, Vance and his team had raided the Nursery—a warehouse where Anthony Graves held children, priming them to become Scorch users. We had the ledgers tying the drug money directly to Quinn Enterprises, but Highspire had buried the connection. No executive was ever questioned, and Vance had never forgiven them for it.
“Sergeant Vance,” a gruff voice answered.
“It’s Rowan,” I said. “I’m executing a high-risk warrant at Quinn Enterprises.”
“Is this ACD sanctioned?” Vance asked immediately.
“No,” I said. “It’s a police matter. Corporate manslaughter. Mira is bringing the evidence file to the precinct right now. I need you to fast-track it through the duty magistrate and have the signed paper waiting for me out front.”
Vance absorbed the charge without missing a beat.
“And Vance,” I added. “Quinn’s people will try to use magical jurisdiction to lock us out. I need enough uniforms at the front doors to make that impossible.”
A pause stretched on the line. Then, a chair scraped back. Vance let out a low grunt of approval.
“I’ll have the warrant stamped and meet you at the doors with three units in twenty.”
“Do it.”
I hung up and turned to Dane. He was eyeing the gun on my hip, his jaw set in a stubborn line.
“I’m coming with you,” he said, pushing himself off the windowsill.
“Absolutely not,” I countered, zipping my kit bag. “Your spine is barely held together, Dane. If you walk into Highspire and a fight breaks out, you’re a liability.”
“I’m not letting you walk into that fortress alone.”
“I need to get Riven out of that building so I can interrogate him without the ACD or Marcus breathing down my neck,” I told him, my voice leaving no room for debate. “It’s an off-the-booksextraction, and if they catch us bypassing the Council, there will be hell to pay. I’m taking the risk because I have to, but I refuse to let you gamble your career on it.”
Dane grabbed his jacket from the back of the sofa, wincing as he slung it over his shoulder. “Then I’ll stay in the car. Passenger seat. Out of sight.”
He gave me a hard, amber-eyed stare that brokered no argument.
“If things go sideways in there, you’re going to need someone watching the street,” he insisted.
I looked at him, knowing the wolf wouldn’t back down.
“Fine,” I said. “You stay hidden. Understood?”
“Understood.” He opened the door. “Let’s go get him.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Riven
I stood guard over the end of the world.
The penthouse office of Quinn Tower was a clinical monument to ambition. Floor-to-ceiling glass overlooked the city that was about to be destroyed; scattered diamonds of light lay across Highspire below.
