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When the last Wielder fell to the ground, he stepped over their bodies, not even looking at Mira. Dawson always seemed inhumanly cold and controlled, but this version of him was even more devoid of emotion.

Dawson stood over the only Wielder who was still alive, the one she had shackled. The man’s eyes danced in panic, back and forth between Dawson and Mira. There was a pause before Dawson lifted his hand.

“No, you don’t have to—” Mira protested, but with a flick of Dawson’s wrist, the Wielder on the ground had his neck sliced by Dark Magic.

“You didn’t have to kill him. He was already down.”

For the first time, he looked at her. “Ah, with the Caster special: the idiotic shackle spell.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“They were here to kill you, and you fight back with White Magic and what…a stick?”

She tossed the wooden plank she was still clutching to the floor.

Rule number two: Fight fire with fire or you’ll get burned.

“Why not have them arrested?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose like this conversation had given him a headache. “You can’t be this naive.”

“I’m not an executioner.”

His eyes flashed a shade darker. “You’re not a Caster anymore. Stop looking at the world as if it’s black or white.”

“I’m standing in a room full of corpses. It looks pretty black and white to me.”

“This is the real world, Winters. You’re not at Ivercrest, training. These guys weren’t here to play.”

The wound on her shoulder burned, and she held her arm, looking at the carnage around them. “Why are a bunch of Wielders at Buckley’s house? And why come here tonight? The place is empty.”

Dawson shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

“Also, why is there a shield against coin travel?”

His eyes widened, and with another spell, the walls of the house glowed red, showing a whole system of shields. “Fuck, we need to get out of here now.”

“Why, what’s—”

Dawson’s hand crashed over her mouth as he silenced her. Then she heard it, too: voices in the distance. He pushed her against the wall, next to the closet.

The voices came closer, but none sounded familiar.

“Maybe a false alarm?” a man asked.

“Not with these types of shields,” a blond woman said as she walked a few steps into the room.

A cold shudder went down Mira’s spine when she recognized the uniform. Council defenders. Dawson’s body pressed her tightly against the wall, every muscle tensed. If the two defenders walked any farther, they would be able to spot Dawson and Mira.

The man sighed. “All right, I’ll write up the report.”

“No, nothing about the Buckley case gets put in writing. I’ll tell my supervisor. It goes up the chain from there.”

“What’s so special about the Buckley case?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t ask. Let’s get out of here.”

Dawson’s breath danced on Mira’s skin. She felt the cold sting of his Dark Magic on her tongue.