“Oh, no. Do you want me to try calling him?” He reached for his phone to do exactly that right now. Sloan would see him call and see Daniel not answer, further verifying his story that they were on the outs.
“No, that won’t be necessary. I sent a couple of his squad members to his apartment today. His phone was there, but he wasn’t. It looked like he’d packed a bag and left. His guild ring was sitting on top of his phone and laptop, both of which had been factory-reset.”
Nicolas stared, hoping he looked appropriately shocked. “He left? Are you serious?”
Sloan studied him intently. “You really don’t know anything about this?”
“No! I can’t believe—” He sat back hard. “I can’t believe he’d do something like that. Dad would be so disappointed in him. I don’t understand what’s going through his head right now. This ishome. How could he just walk away?”
It was far too easy to say those words and mean them. For so much of his life, they had been true. HQwashome. Their parents and grandparents lived and died for the guild. Every step they’d both taken in life had been on the samepath as the Garcias who came before them. At one time, leaving would have been unthinkable. Channeling that mindset took frighteningly little effort.
“I suspect he’s gone to the traitors, don’t you?” Sloan asked coolly.
Nicolas sighed heavily. “Probably. Where else would he go? He was going to those meetings, right? Nathan Accardi started those. Isaac Morrow attended them. It makes sense he’d run to them if he left here.”
“Julian Heroux is also there. Wasn’t he a friend of yours?”
Nicolas’s mouth twisted. “I thought so. I guess I didn’t know any of them as well as I thought I did.”
Sloan’s shrewd gaze bore into him, and Nicolas focused on keeping his mask up. Confused, regretful, a little disgusted. And slowly, Sloan nodded in approval.
A knock on the door interrupted them, and one of the medical staff poked her head in the door.
“Commander, we’ve got another one. Another three, actually. They’re bringing them in through the back now. Somebody found them at dawn when they didn’t report in after patrol.”
“Three more bodies?” Sloan said, and a jolt went down Nicolas’s spine. “All the same?”
“Yes. They’re mummified like the others, but they’re—different. Maxwell sent me to get you so you could see for yourself.”
“Of course. Lead the way.”
Nicolas meant to make his escape, but instead he fell into step behind Sloan and the young woman. At Sloan’s frown, he said, “Sorry, sir, I should have asked first. I’d like to see what we’re up against, if you don’t mind?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
He wasn’t the only one. A crowd had gathered around the medical wing’s doors. Word traveled fast at HQ. Nicolas stopped among them as the back exit of the administrative building opened. Medical staff wheeled the bodies in on cots, faces solemn. Nicolas came to a stop beside Cyrus, who was watching from the back of the group.
“God in Heaven,” someone breathed.
The bodies weren’t just mummified like the last ones. Large sections of the bodies’ bones were exposed. One of them was missing its eyes. Another bore deep gouges in its face and exposed extremities. They hadn’t just been killed. They’d been brutalized.
Nicolas’s stomach twisted. Ashmedai did this because of him, he was sure of it. He’d hurt him, and now Ashmedai was taking that hurt out on the evil people he hunted. Did he see the guild as the thing that stood between them? Was he taking his frustrations out on them because he saw them as an obstacle? For how long did he torture them before he killed them? Was this what he did in Hell before he’d come to the surface?
It should bother him that people were being tortured because of him. But he was too busy feeling guilty about hurting Ashmedai’s feelings.
All around him, people were crossing themselves and saying prayers for the men who’d died. All Nicolas could think about was how badly Ashmedai must have been hurting. He’d been quick and efficient with his kills up until now. The only thing that had changed was his relationship with Nicolas.
“Why is it killing some and not others?” Cyrus asked quietly.
Nicolas glanced at him, following his gaze to the end ofthe hall where they’d wheeled the bodies in. The five living members of the squad who’d been attacked stood outside in the sunlight, huddled together.
“What’s the common denominator?” Nicolas asked, unwilling to say more when they were surrounded by listening ears.
Cyrus’s molasses-brown eyes met his. Pointedly, he looked at Sloan, who was several paces away, conversing with Maxwell.
Nicolas nodded.
Cyrus hummed. “You sure?”
