Under different circumstances—if he weren’t Highspire property and if his proximity didn’t make my shoulder scream in agony—I might have lingered on the view. He was striking, possessing a lethal sort of elegance that usually caught my eye. But right now, the attractionwas an unwanted complication, a confusing layer of heat beneath the warning bells ringing in my head.
His pale blue eyes were glass, unreadable, locking onto mine with an intensity that made the air around him shiver.
He watched me. I watched him. The air thinned until it felt like we were standing inside a held breath.
“You,” I managed, steady despite the tremor in my chest. “You’re here for the Silverite. Just like at HQ.”
A flicker—a ghost of a smile. Cold. Controlled. “A shared interest, then. A pursuit.”
“A shared problem,” I corrected. “We’re working a murder case, Mr. Ashborne. Not a research thesis.”
“Of course.” His gaze dipped to the book in his hand. “Though in this instance, research and murder appear… connected.”
I looked at the spine. The leather was ancient, the gold lettering worn.
The Echoes of Shattered Dawn - Fragments and the Metals That Caught the Lightby Arin Brightleaf.
Arin Brightleaf. The author Aelira hinted at.
“What did you find?” I demanded, reaching for the book.
He shifted. Subtle. Swift. Just enough to put it out of reach.
“That would undermine my own efforts, wouldn’t it, Detective?”
“I’m not interested in your games,” I kept my voice dead level. “A woman is dead. Her magic was drained. And the only physical clue we had disappeared the moment your name cropped up.”
His mouth twitched, something like amusement. “Are you suggesting I removed evidence from police facilities?”
“Did you take the shard?” My heart hammered. I had to hold my line. “Answer me.”
His eyes locked onto mine. Blue, flat and endless. Nothing in his face moved. But the density of his magic pressed closer, heavy and intimate. My flesh burned.
He finally spoke—soft as a blade slipping free. “Myinterests occasionally intersect with… disappearances. But I try not to leave anything traceable.”
Not a denial. Not a confession. Exactly what he wanted.
“The book,” I pressed. “What does it say about the Silverite?”
He glanced at the spine, a trace of something unreadable shifting in his expression. Then he looked back at me, his gaze dropping to my shoulder—to the heat there, to the way I shifted my weight to guard it.
“You look… unwell,” he observed.
The pain spiked behind my eyes. My scar pulsed. He saw too much.
“That’s none of your concern. Hand it over.”
“Perhaps another time.”
He stepped back. The shadows behind him seemed to lengthen, to reach for him.
“Stay out of the dead zones, Detective,” he said softly. “You aren’t built for them.”
Before I could grab him, before I could even shout, he slipped around the corner of the stack. I lunged after him, rounding the bend a heartbeat later.
But the aisle ahead was empty. No footsteps, no door swinging shut—just dust motes dancing in the stillness.
Shadow-walking. A signature of a high-level Umbrakynn, but witnessing the physics of it up close made my skin crawl.
