The good thing about the archive was that it had plenty of blind spots. The Climber’s Union had furnished it with thick, solid, tall standing shelves, which gave Sorin plenty of ways to move around without being seen. Blind Sense also had enough radius for him to feel if someone was on the opposite side of the shelf, but the downside was that if the enemies had similar soulprints, they could detect him the same way.

  The best tactic for avoiding fights was to get out of the archive as quickly as possible without being noticed. That was a lot easier said than done, however. The tall man in charge was standing in front of the door with the archivist who actually worked for the Union, which made getting out from there non-viable. The back exit was probably still guarded. Either way, he was looking at a fight.

  Liminal Gateway was his only way out. He could etch the symbol into the wall, but it still took him thirty seconds or so to activate the soulprint, and it would leave evidence behind in the Union archives, which he didn’t want. If there was anywhere in the whole damn tower where someone might recognize that symbol and know what it meant, it was the Climber’s Union archives.

  So I need to get out of this office without being seen, carve the sign into an out-of-the-way corner where nobody will find it somehow, and leave myself completely vulnerable while I’m inside my own soulprint for fifteen seconds. Well, I’ve pulled off worse plans.

  He could probably get out of the office easily enough, but there wasn’t a lot of cover between there and the shelves. A few tables and chairs scattered a relatively open area, but there was a thick card index stand he could crouch behind at the halfway point. Now he just needed the guy by the door to face the other direction for a second.

  “You’re sure he didn’t leave already?” the man asked.

  “If he did, he didn’t go past the front desk on his way out,” the archivist told him. She looked nervous, maybe even afraid. Sorin suspected she’d rather not be involved in whatever this was.

  That didn’t mean he’d hesitate if it came down to it. If the decision was him or her, she’d already chosen herself. He’d feel no guilt prioritizing his own wellbeing over hers, but he did mentally reclassify her as someone to be disabled rather than killed if it came down to it.

  “How else could he have escaped? There are only the two exits, correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” the archivist said meekly.

  “No hidden passages? No storage rooms with exterior exits?”

  “No, nothing like that. The archives are secured specifically to prevent the theft of books.”

  The man grunted, but otherwise didn’t reply. His eyes scanned the shelves lazily, but Sorin wasn’t there. He was thirty feet away behind a flimsy wooden wall with too much glass set into it. The office wasn’t a real hiding place, and the instant anyone thought to poke their head in, he’d be spotted.

  The two men searching the archive were working their way farther and farther back from the front door, giving Sorin plenty of opportunity to dodge out of sight once he made it out of the office. All he needed to do was overcome the first hurdle, make it past the shelves, and then dodge their searches. He’d find a back corner, pull up some carpet or shift a book shelf, and etch the seven-tower sign into the wood, then cover it up and teleport out.

  It was galling how much of the plan relied on blind luck and his pursuers making mistakes. If he was caught, he could probably fight his way free, but that had risks, too. He wasn’t close enough to feel out any of their ranks, and getting that close would reveal him to them in turn. No doubt they all knew his rank, and if they were the same group Jorn had come from—he had no reason to think otherwise—then this group was likely a higher rank. At minimum, they wouldn’t be weaker, and this time there were a lot more of them.

  The man standing at the door turned his back to Sorin and pitched his voice to carry, “Any sign of him?”

  One of the searchers answered from out of sight, “Not yet, boss.”

  Sorin was nothing if not decisive, so he didn’t waste the opportunity. The archivist had turned to face the minion as well, and the second neither were looking his way, he darted across the floor. Thank God for this carpet, ratty as it might be, he thought. As long as he didn’t pass over the threadbare sections, it helped hide the sound of his footsteps.

  By the time that short conversation had played out, Sorin was behind the card catalog. That had the advantage of putting him halfway to the shelves and with a bunch of tables and desks to serve as cover, but they weren’t good cover. It also meant he was completely visible if anybody approached the door from the north wall, which he had no control over.

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  If nothing else, neither of the men were quiet about their search. Sorin couldn’t tell exactly where they were, but he knew they were on the opposite side of the archive from him. He was safe for another minute or so. Peeking around the catalog had its own risks, but he needed to see the man watching the exit to know when it was clear again.

  I miss Hallucinogen. Hell, even Hypnotic Blade Weaver could get me clear, and that’s got almost no utility to it. Just some sort of distraction.

  The man at the door turned around completely and opened it. He said something to someone on the other side, then paused for an answer. Sorin didn’t think there’d ever be a better opportunity, so even though the archivist wasn’t facing far enough away, he went for it anyway. Skittering across the floor, he darted from table to table, only to make eye contact with the woman right before he reached the shelves.

  Her face went completely pale and her mouth fell open. Eyes wide, she stared at Sorin, who just raised a finger to his lips. With a quick glance at the man next to her, she nodded once. Yep, definitely here against her will.

  Sorin disappeared between the shelves and finally allowed himself to straighten up. From here, all he needed to do was find a dingy, poorly lit corner of the archives to carve the sign, then disappear. It’d be easy, especially if he stationed himself somewhere the goons had already checked. They’d probably recheck that spot eventually looking for him, but hopefully not until they’d fully swept the archives once already.

  Blind Sense made it easy to see if there was anyone nearby, but he still had to be careful going around corners in case there was someone thirty feet away looking between shelves. There were also spots where the man at the door could see between the aisles that Sorin needed to avoid in the front half of the archives, but he quickly made his way deep enough that it became impossible for them to notice him.

  Eventually, he made his way to the back corner, where scrolls were stored in glass cabinets that were so poorly lit, he couldn’t even guess what they said. All he knew was that they were old and so fragile that simply touching them would probably cause them to fall into dust. Perfect. Just need to ease this out a foot…

  Sorin gently lifted the cabinet and pivoted one side out, then he pulled out his belt knife and hurriedly carved a rough circle into the wood paneling behind it. He knew from experience that it didn’t need to be perfect, but it did need to be close. Something that looked more like a hexagon wasn’t good enough, so he took the time to curve the lines. That wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. The seven straight lines were easier. As long as they were horizontal and roughly evenly spaced, the only thing the sign cared about was that they didn’t go past the circle.

  He was just finishing up the last line when he heard a floorboard creaking the next aisle over. Silently cursing, he shifted the display cabinet back into place. There was barely an inch of space between the wall and the furniture now, just enough for him to slip his hand into to touch the carving. Sorin wanted to just fall into his soulspace and activate Liminal Gateway, but the risk of someone coming across him was too great.

  He abandoned the seven-tower sign and ghosted down the aisle until Blind Sense picked up another person walking past the shelves one row over. Shit. I need a distraction.

  Thinking quickly, he created a tiny little ice dart, the smallest one he’d ever made, and lobbed it over the book shelves to plink off the ceiling a few rows over in the opposite direction. The goon near him froze in place for a second, becoming invisible to Blind Sense, then rushed forward. Sorin kept pace with him, prepared to fight for his life if the man turned left instead of right.

  Luck was with him, and the goon went toward the sound. Silently, Sorin returned to the cabinet, stuck his hand behind it, and activated Liminal Gateway. The whole time he was pulling anima from the tower into the connection point, he was mentally sweating, but no one found him. When he opened his eyes, the glittering silver path greeted him.

  Well, that was something, wasn’t it? The Black Hellions are persistent.

  * * *

  Glass crunched as three men walked across the floor in front of the broken cabinet. It had been shoved out of the way hard enough to tip it over and shatter the display panels, shredding the delicate scrolls inside.

  “How long ago did he use it?” Raf asked.

  “About two minutes ago,” Eldart said.

  “And you’re sure he carved it himself?”

  “I watched him do it.”

  Raf’s mouth slowly curled up into a wicked grin. The boss had been right about that guy running around with Rue. When Raf had reported Jorn’s death up the chain, he’d just been hoping for some reinforcements to keep his territory secure. He wasn’t all that important, small enough that he only handled eight people, but he’d been working to change that with all the information he’d been getting about climbers from his spy in the Meat Grinder.

  Being hustled into a meeting with the Black Hellion himself was a shock, but Raf had scented opportunity. Whatever was going on here was important if the big boss himself was getting involved, and that meant if Raf could successfully represent the Hellions’ interests, he’d earn some recognition from the guy who owned Floor 0’s underworld. A promotion would be the least of his rewards.

  All he had to do was confirm that the stranger no one had ever seen or heard of before had a specific soulprint that let him teleport around by carving a weird circle with some lines in it. And here was the proof. It was exactly what the Black Hellion wanted.

  “Cut out this panel. Be careful not to damage the carving,” Raf ordered.

  One of the no-names Raf had borrowed for the job got to work. Eldart looked over at Raf, then tilted his head to the Union woman who’d let them into the archives on her boss’s orders. It was amazing how starved for coin these people were that a few danirs was all it took to bribe them.

  “No loose ends,” Raf said.

  Eldart’s grin matched Raf’s. Wordlessly, he flung a needle coated in a paralytic at the woman. She collapsed on the spot, still alive but unable to struggle or fight back. The gang would take care of disposal once they were done with her.

  The no-name handed the freed panel to Raf. “Perfect,” he purred. “Let’s go. We’re done here.”